Right to Life

counting on the pistol to be the simpler of the two and that probably it would be the easier of the two to find, that most people would want a pistol in the nightstand drawer by the bed in case of intruders.

She went to the phone on the kitchen wall and punched in 911 and let the receiver dangle. Maybe the police would trace the call here and maybe they wouldn’t but she didn’t have time to talk.

Why hadn’t she done this months ago? 911. Such a simple thing.

Greg. Mom and dad. The Organization.

The fucking Organization!

There isn’t any.

The cat followed her down the hall.

There were two night tables in the bedroom and she didn’t know who slept where or which side would be Stephen’s side so she went to the nearest. In the drawer there were a dirty jumble of pads and pencils, cough drops, matches, an address book, a Vicks inhaler, an open package of Kleenex, a tin of aspirin. No gun. She walked around the bed to the other side and opened the drawer and there it was, the pearl handle and the gleaming polished silver and now at the sight of it she remembered what Stephen had done that day exactly. As though she’d memorized it without knowing, stored it away for just this very moment. Her finger went to the cylinder latch and she checked the chamber. The gun was loaded, not even the first chamber empty. She didn’t have to search for cartridges. She threw the cylinder back into place and threw the safety, left the frying pan where it was on the bed and walked out into the hall.

All you need to do is get his keys, she thought. Put the key in the ignition and drive away. And that’s the end of it. The end of all of this. You have the gun. He can’t stop you. He can’t hurt you at all anymore.

Just get the keys.

But when she got to the living room and turned and saw him coming through the back door, slamming the door, pausing at the landing at the top of the cellar stairs, saw the old claw hammer in his hand, saw him take in the sight of Kath slumped across the table and saw his face darken with that now-familiar blush of rage it was not the keys she wanted, not anymore.

She felt her own face twist tight into a snarl and the sudden wild pounding of her heart and she raised the gun and fired twice, the gun jumping in her hands and woodchips flying off the doorjamb and as he crouched and stepped back toward the door she fired again lower this time, the bullet slamming him back against the door and bright arterial blood spurting off his thigh and he was shouting no no no no which she could barely hear above the high roar in her ears, his face gone sickly, cowardly white as she stepped forward and forward again with the gun held out in front of her and realized she was roaring too, a sound the like of which she’d never heard before twice in his presence she’d made these strange and awful sounds, the first against the X-frame and as she closed in tighter watched him try to make himself small in the corner, shrinking away, down to his goddamn proper size, trying to crouch in the corner — the snake — and she took one more step uil she was sure she’d get it absolutely perfectly right this time, obeying the tidal pull of her own perfect instincts in this single perfect moment and shot him in the chest and shot and shot again.

Watched him slide to the floor.

Watched him smear his filthy death across the walls.

Watched urine soak his pants and puddle up beneath him.

Saw the open mouth and the open eyes and the bright blood flowing. And felt the baby kick.

SIXTEEN

New York City

November 10, 1998

“Greg.”

“Hello, Sara.”

They’d spoken on the phone a few times though she’d yet to see him. It had been much too hard on her to have to see him.

Now it was still hard. But she was glad to.

He looked older somehow but then so did she. The hospital’s bathroom mirror had revealed that very clearly to her this morning. The face that peered back at her was drawn and pale and lines she couldn’t remember seeing only yesterday spiderwebbed her forehead. “Mother? Could you just give us a minute?”

Her mother had stayed at the hospital throughout.

Her father hadn’t.

“Certainly, dear.” She patted Sara’s hand and got up off the chair. “Nice to see you, Greg.”

“Nice to see you too. Mrs. Foster.”

The door closed behind her and then they just stared at each other, smiling.

On the phone there had been too many tears. Too many regrets and apologies. He was staying on with his wife and son. He was committed to them. Of course he was. He blamed himself for not finding her, for giving up hope of ever finding her. He’d tried, god knows. He and her mother had harassed the police for months. Of course he had. He was a good man.

It was good to be able to smile at him now.

“You saw her?”

“She’s beautiful, Sara. She looks just like you. Just like her mom.”

“She really is beautiful, isn’t she.”

“She is.”

She patted the bed. “Come sit. Talk to me.”

He walked over and sat down.

“Are you all right?” she said.

“I’m all right. Question is, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. A little tired. I was only in there a little over two hours. With Daniel it was more like four. I think she wanted out. Hell, I don’t blame her. But what I meant was, are you all right with… all this now?”

“Sure I am.”

“Diane? Alan?”

“Well, like I told you, Alan was pretty upset at first. But it was more knowing about the two of us than about you being pregnant. I think he’s squared away, though. I know Diane is.”

“You sure?”

“She says she wants to meet you. And the baby. How would you feel about that?”

Just how civilized are we going to get? was what he was asking.

“I don’t know, Greg. Give me some time. Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure. Of course.”

He sat there looking at her a moment and she watched his eyes turn sad and he reached over and took her hand, the eyes saying, is this all right to do? and hers saying yes, it is while they pooled with tears, both of them still smiling and she thought, yes, I still love you too, always will even before he said it.

“I still love you, Sara. Always will.”

“I know.”

He began to cry. She squeezed his hand.

“It wasn’t such a horrible thing we did, was it?”

His voice breaking with sorrow.

“No, Greg, no. What we did was love one another and I don’t think that was horrible at all, do you? Do you really? In your heart? And you’re doing the right thing now. You know you are. Alan needs you. Diane needs you. And we’re okay, you and I. Aren’t we?”

He wiped the tears off his cheek and nodded.

“What about you?”

She laughed. “I think I’m going to be very busy for a while.”