The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,78

would start in on her, and this time there would be no escape. Sooner or later she’d give in. And whatever Martha decided, it wouldn’t be good for her, and it wouldn’t be good for the baby.

It would be good only for Martha Ward, who would then spend the next few years exacting emotional payment for having “gotten you out of that mess, even though I had nothing to do with getting you into it!” A three-way bank shot, the kind Andrea knew her mother loved best, leaving Andrea feeling guilty, grateful, and indebted, all at the same time.

But not this time. This time Andrea was going to take care of it—take charge of her own life. Her mind made up, she turned off onto a side street, resuming her search for a parking spot. She finally found one three blocks from her destination, pulled into it, and automatically locked the rusting Toyota, even though she suspected it was worth more stolen than not. Hunched against the cold drizzle that had begun an hour before, Andrea trudged back toward the clinic, her steps heavy, her eyes fixed on the pavement in front of her.

The doctor’s office was on the third floor. To Andrea’s surprise, the door was unlocked. There were several women in the waiting room. Only one, a neatly dressed Asian woman several years younger than she, glanced up when she came in. The woman smiled briefly, then quickly lowered her eyes again to the magazine she was leafing through. A white-coated receptionist behind a glass partition looked up and said to Andrea, “May I help you?”

Andrea hesitated. There was still time to change her mind, still time to turn around and just walk out.

But then what?

Then, nothing.

No school, no decent job, no life.

Ever.

“I was wondering if Dr. Randall has an opening today,” she asked.

The nurse glanced down at the appointment calendar that was spread open before her. “Can you come back at two?”

Andrea nodded, gave the nurse her name, then filled out a medical history form, and filled in her MasterCard number, uttering a silent prayer that Gary had neither canceled the card nor run it past its credit limit. The first was doubtful; the second not at all unlikely. Leaving the office, she went back to the street, spotted a Starbucks half a block down on the other side, and settled in for the long wait.

When she returned to the office at exactly two that afternoon, the waiting room was empty. “Right on time,” the nurse said, smiling at her again. She opened the inner door and led Andrea into the doctor’s office, where a man of about forty, with a blond crew cut, the build of a football player, and a ruggedly handsome face rose and offered her his hand.

“I’m Bob Randall.”

As Andrea sank into the chair opposite the doctor, he reached for the forms she’d filled out, and she saw the gold wedding band on his finger. Damn.

“Do you want to talk about this?” Randall asked.

Andrea groaned to herself. Now what? Was she going to have to explain herself to the doctor too? What business was it of his? The operation was perfectly legal—hundreds of women had it every day, and thousands more, she believed, should have.

The doctor seemed to read her mind. “I don’t mean about having the abortion,” he said. “I just mean about the procedure itself.”

“You mean you’re not going to guilt-trip me?” Andrea asked.

Randall shrugged. “It’s your life, and your body, and nobody but you has the right to tell you what to do with it. You’re old enough to know what you’re doing, and if you’re as healthy as you say you are, there shouldn’t be any problems. You’ll be out of here in little more than an hour.”

For just a moment, Andrea hesitated. Even though she’d been told Dr. Randall wouldn’t lecture her, she hadn’t really believed it.

But this was it.

No questions, no arguments.

She nodded her head. “Let’s do it.”

The doctor took her into another room, left her alone while she changed into a hospital gown, and then came back, this time with the nurse. He checked Andrea’s blood pressure and pulse, her respiration and reflexes. He listened to her chest, palpated her stomach, then told her to stretch out on her back and put her feet in stirrups.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he told her.

“Go ahead,” Andrea said. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Fifteen minutes later it was all over. There had been surprisingly little discomfort; the