was right: if news got out that Patrick’s wife had terminated a pregnancy—regardless of the reason—his political career would be finished. She would go through with the abortion, but she would do it in secret. It was the only way she knew how to protect her baby from suffering and Patrick from a truth that had the power to destroy him. She would do this on her own, and she would keep that secret until she was dead and buried.
But as she stared at the map on the screen and the red pins signifying Texas clinics spread out so sparsely, she wasn’t sure she would be able to do it on her own. The logistics were too complicated, and she was being watched too closely. She had to find another way.
When she saw the flyer stuck to the community message board, it felt like a bolt of lightning coming from the sky.
trust women. trust us.
we are a nonprofit organization of women dedicated to helping women. no questions asked. anonymity guaranteed.
There was a phone number listed underneath. Rebecca didn’t know if they would be able to help her, but it felt like a lifeline. She pulled a tab off the flyer and shoved it in the back of her wallet.
She waited until Patrick went to work one morning and then drove herself to Walmart, where she bought one of those prepaid cell phones, the cheapest she could find. She went through the checkout with it and then circled back inside with a shopping cart and stocked up on cleaning supplies and Christmas decorations and whatever else she could think they needed. She wanted to make sure she had a valid receipt in case somebody started asking questions.
The woman she spoke to on the phone was kind, gentle, considerate. She told Rebecca that providing someone to drive her to the clinic in Albuquerque wouldn’t be a problem. There was a pause on the line when Rebecca told her the address, but it was so quick she almost didn’t notice. The woman made the appointment for her, too, and told her what to bring with her, and what to expect. When Rebecca got off the phone, she walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and winced it down.
There was a date set for just over a week. It was real now, and she knew there was no going back.
Rich
The polished brass bar gleamed as Rich swept his hand across it. “The way I see it, I’m half artist, half soldier. It takes a certain finesse to do what I do, but you’ve got to be willing to sacrifice the blood, sweat, and tears for it, too.” The music—piano-heavy innocuous jazz pumped from speakers embedded in the dark, wood-paneled walls—wasn’t so loud that he needed to raise his voice, but it was loud enough for him to know that he wouldn’t be overheard. It was one of the things he liked about the place. That and the fact that it reminded him vaguely of his club back in D.C., albeit a very poor imitation.
He nudged his empty rocks glass toward the bartender with a nod, and the bartender pulled a bottle of whiskey off the shelf and poured another double. “It’s long hours and sleepless nights and shitty hotel rooms in shitty towns, and at the end of the day, even if your guy wins, you’re not gonna be the one who’s up there on the stage in front of your adoring fans, if you see what I mean. What I mean is, you can’t do it if you’re looking for glory. Nobody’s ever gonna slap you on the back and tell you that you’re The Man, because The Man is the guy you’re trying to get elected. You can’t forget that. Not for a second.”
He picked up his glass, sniffed it, and frowned. “They call this top-shelf? This is rail shit,” he muttered, raising it to his lips and tipping it down his throat anyway.
“Some people say to me, they say, ‘Rich, why aren’t you the one up there on that stage? You could run for anything—you could run for a bus and win.’ And you know, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. Back when I was in college—I went to school in New Haven—back in college, I was VP of the student council. I won the highest proportion of votes in the history of the YCC: it was an absolute landslide. So