She used her doctor voice—encouraging, brisk, professional. The girl wiped her wet eyes with her sleeve as she stepped into the examination room, shutting the door behind her.
Cocheta pressed her hand against her chest. “How you doing, Doctor? I’m so nervous, it’s making me lightheaded. I was afraid I’d keel over, just from walking up those stairs.”
Bria turned to the nurse, taking care to keep her voice low. “You said her mother would be here with her.”
Cocheta heaved a deep breath. “I tried, I did! Nova won’t tell her mother about it. Absolutely won’t budge on that. She’s scared to death about what her mother will do if she finds out.”
“Cocheta, I’d feel a lot better about this if she had family support.”
The nurse darted a look at the exam room door before sheresponded. “That girl got her first period when she was nine years old. You know what her mother did? Gave her a pad and told her if she ever brought any babies home, she’d kick her ass out.”
“Oh, my God.” It was a tragic situation, but it also scared her. She turned away from the nurse, wishing she had time to think it through.
The nurse said in an urgent whisper, “If you don’t fix this tonight, I can’t guarantee what the outcome’s gonna be. That poor child actually threatened to try a coat hanger. Lord! I swear, I thought those days were history.”
The suggestion terrified Bria. She rubbed her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself. There was only one reasonable solution. The stakes, though, were enormous. “Who got her pregnant, who’s the father? Did you get her to open up about that?”
Sounding rueful, Cocheta said, “I asked. She still won’t say. So legally, I’m supposed to call the Division of Human Resources, or the police. As you know.”
Bria did know. “Mandated reporter statute.”
“Yeah, we’re mandated reporters under Alabama law. But I grew up on the Creek reservation in Poarch. So I never really felt like state law governed me, because my tribe had a treaty with the feds. Does that make sense?”
“No.” The discussion made Bria’s head hurt. Cocheta’s interpretation of her legal liability was flat wrong. “We’re both mandated reporters in Alabama. Both subject to Alabama state law.”
“Okay, right. But if we call the police or DHR, you know what’s going to happen, what they’ll force her to do. She’s just thirteen, Dr. Gaines. Barely thirteen.”
Bria knew what the child’s fate would be. She also knew that the assistance that Nova Jones and Cocheta Bass wanted her to provide could end her medical practice and send her to prison.
Alabama had the toughest anti-abortion law in the country, and it placed criminal liability squarely on the backs of doctors. Under the Alabama Human Life Protection Act, intentionally performing an abortion was a Class A felony.
Maybe Cocheta could read her mind. She said, “Doctor, I know the spot I’m putting you in. Good Lord! We’re both putting our lives on the line for this girl. I threw up twice today, just from nerves. Thought about backing out. But I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.” Her voice cracked when she added, “If she ends up trying to kill herself or butcher herself—”
Cocheta didn’t finish the sentence, because the door to the examination room opened. Nova stepped out with bare feet, clutching the loose ends of the blue hospital gown behind her back. Nova’s toes curled up on the tile. But it wasn’t the cold from the air-conditioning that made the girl tremble.
Nova’s voice was shaking when she said, “Please, Doctor. Help me.”
Bria caught her breath. Everything fell into place inside her head. She smiled as she reached out and wiped away the tears under Nova’s eyes. “I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna do what’s right. Everything will be okay, don’t you worry.”
CHAPTER
2
Judge Mary Stone
STONE FAMILY FARM BULLOCK COUNTY, ALABAMA
One day, I’m going to strangle that goddamn rooster. Maybe I’ll strangle him today.
That was my first thought after being rudely—no, savagely—awakened on a Monday morning in late March.
The night before, I’d spent the wee hours staring up at the farmhouse ceiling. I grew up on this farm in rural Alabama. So I never developed a habit for sleeping in because farm life is too hard to afford that luxury. My daddy used to say he couldn’t take a vacation day until the livestock agreed to take one, too.
It’s not so different for judges. Pending cases take up residence in the mind.
I’d been agonizing over a decision I’d be called on to make. It was no exaggeration to say I’d been dreading this cursed day forweeks. Counting down the hours until I had to choose between life and death. And trying to determine the wisest course.
I rolled out of bed, pulling a long-sleeved T-shirt over my head and fastening the suspenders of my overalls. Didn’t bother to glance at my reflection in the mirror while I brushed my teeth. At that hour, it didn’t much matter how I looked.
