Bex drew in her breath. “I believe a woman should do whatever she wants with her own body, I do. But I can’t say I’d personally make that choice.”
“You do remember I’m not here to get an abortion?” Wren said.
“Well, of course. But…”
She couldn’t say what she was thinking. That even if Wren was headed inside for a completely benign reason, there were still other women in there, maybe women who hadn’t had aunts to bring them here, who had run out of options. Women who were creating secrets they would hide from others. It made her sick to her stomach.
Wren set her unfinished chocolate crème donut on the console between them. “Don’t get any ideas,” she warned.
Bex watched her walk toward the Center. But then a truck crossed her field of vision. It stopped dead in front of her Mini, blocking her view.
Bex honked her horn and gestured:What the hell?The man in the truck glanced at her dismissively. She wondered if he was lost. He was alone in the car; there was no woman with him who might have an appointment.
She saw Wren reach the chain-link fence and the line of pro-lifers. One woman leaned over, reaching for her.
Oh, hell no.
Bex was out of the car and huffing toward the Center faster than green grass through a goose. She caught up with Wren and looped her arm around her niece, anchoring her tight to her side.
Wren turned, surprised. “But—”
“No buts,” Bex said firmly. “You’re not going in there alone.”
—
“YOU’RE LATE,” said Helen, the dispatcher, as Hugh walked into the police department.
Hugh checked his watch. “I’m ten minutes early,” he said.
“Not for the staff meeting.”
“Whatstaff meeting?”
“The one that’s going on in the staff room,” Helen replied.
“Shit.” Hugh waited for Helen to buzz him in, and then took the stairs two at a time to the basement, where the staff room was. The last time he’d missed a staff meeting, the chief had gone off on him for not taking his position seriously, and how was he supposed to treat Hugh as a de facto second in command when he skipped the less glamorous parts of police work.
He skidded around the corner, hoping to make an unobtrusive entrance, when he heard the chief’s booming voice. “Finally, Detective McElroy’s decided to grace us with his presence. Speaking of presents…”
The whole of the force began to sing “Happy Birthday.” His secretary, Paula, held out a platter of donuts arranged into the numbers 4-0. One had a candle stuck in it.
Hugh blushed. Hehatedbeing the center of attention. He hatedbirthdays. They were basically markers in the calendar year to renew his license and his registration, and to have an annual checkup.
Paula walked toward him and set the platter down on the table, so he could blow out his candle. “Make a wish,” she said, standing at his shoulder.
“Who told you it was my birthday?” he said through a rigid smile.
“Facebook,” Paula murmured. “Never should have friended me.”
Hugh closed his eyes and made a wish, blew out the candle. “We all chipped in,” one of the junior detectives said, “and we bought you this.” He held up a cane, decorated with a bright red bow.
Everyone laughed, including Hugh. “Thanks. That’ll come in handy when I want to beat the crap out of you later.”
“Paula,” the chief said, “don’t forget to make a prostate exam appointment for our boy.” He clapped Hugh on the shoulder. “All right, grab your donut and let’s get back to work. It’s not like it’s Jesus’s birthday. Just Hugh’s.”
Hugh accepted the good wishes of everyone in the department, until he was left alone with Paula in the staff room.
“You don’t look so happy for a birthday boy,” she said.
