“Six to eight weeks,” the doctor said. “Any decision has to be made soon. Termination is more difficult after the first trimester.”
“How soon will I need to do it?”
“Within the next two weeks. On the other hand, you are healthy and young and would probably carry a healthy baby to term.”
“Do you do it here?” she asked the man with the kind eyes.
“No. We’ll give you the information you need if that’s what you decide.”
“But, not you?”
“No, not me. Not me,” he said, shaking his head.
“Okay, Debbie?” Clifford asked when she came back. She said nothing and he threw the van into reverse. When he finally spoke again it was to ask if she wanted to stop.
“You want lunch or a soda?” he asked, the worry etched on his face.
She shook her head and quietly began to cry.
“I am so sorry, sorry,” she wept, “you shouldn’t have to go through this.”
“It don’t bother me,” he said quickly, afraid of her tears.
“It’s so stupid,” she sniffed. “I can’t do anything right anymore, nothing.”
Leave it alone, he told himself, but had to ask, “You need some help or something?”
“I’m pregnant,” she cried. “Pregnant.”
Ah, man.
“What a mess,” she said, the tears falling. “What a stupid mess.”
“I hear that,” he nodded. It was a mess, her mess, and he sure wasn’t going to ask her anything about it. It had to be Jason. Sure, except Jason was talking a lot about DC and that girl he used to date. If it wasn’t Jason, then who?
He shook his head. With his luck, they’d think it was him and there he was, his big black self, driving her to the doctor. Wouldn’t Brown like that.
“It’s okay, Clifford,” she said and touched his arm. “I don’t want to put you through this. Please don’t say anything. I’ll be okay. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, promise.”
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “Ain’t none of my business.”
*
“You’ll be in Christmas?” George checked with her. “That’s what my schedule says.” He steeled himself for an argument.
“I’ll be here.”
“You might have to do the Christmas dinner story,” he said. “It has to be you or Adkins and he does it all the time. That’s what he says, anyway. You’ll be on with Cappy.”
“Ah, George, come on,” Cappy whined as he walked to the desk. He knew he was working Christmas. The schedule had been hanging in the photographers’ room for a month, but it was worth a try.
“I got kids, George. Don’t you ever give it a rest?”
“That’s okay,” Clifford moved in behind him. “I’ll take it. I got no plans.”
“You mean it?” Cappy asked in surprise. “Really? You don’t have to.”
“You can cover for me New Year’s.”
“You got a deal,” Cappy laughed.
George frowned. He didn’t like them changing the schedule, making their own plans. He didn’t understand why they fought him all the time. It was their job, damn it.
“Too bad,” said Ellen when Debbie came down the cubicle row. “I think this is the first Christmas I haven’t worked in five years.”
“When are you leaving for New Mexico?” Debbie asked.
“Tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”
“Do you have friends there?”
“Debbie, I lived there for three years. Of course I have friends there.”
“I’m sorry,” Debbie said. “You don’t talk much about things like that.”
“Things like what?” There was a warning note in her voice.
“Personal things, like what you do and who you see when you aren’t here.”
“Maybe I think some things are my business.” Now her voice was tight.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Debbie nodded.
“Debbie, do you have something on your mind?”
“No,” she said, sitting down at her desk. “I was only thinking that you know so much about everyone but nobody knows much about you.”
“And what is it you want to know?” Ellen asked, leaning back in her chair.
“Nothing, I guess,” said Debbie. “Sorry, I’m just in a funny mood.”
“So it seems,” Ellen agreed and went back to writing her story.
SPORTS
He tapped the script twice on the desk and laid it down. It was a signal that the next part of this newscast would be relaxed and he was the one that made that choice. He swiveled slightly in his chair to face John Devlin.
“So, John, the hometown team looks like the one to go with this year.”
He smiled. Tom Carter was a sportsman, a jock, and the audience knew it. And boy, there wasn’t any question about his loyalties. Hometown teams all the way.
Jean Ann leaned forward as though to make a comment, to join in with them. Carter, sensing the movement, cut her off.
“So, how do they look for tomorrow’s game, John?”
They told him he had to work with her, make it look all honky-dory and friendly, but that sure as hell didn’t mean she was going to sit in on his newscast and talk about sports. He made that his rule when they first brought her on. God, he hated her.
26
She loved the drive to Albuquerque, the texture of it. For the first few hours, it was the deep reds and blues and purples of desert buttes and mountains stretching across all horizons. Then, there were those miles when the whole world went flat before the desert finally fell away and the roll to the forest began.
Somewhere between that flat stretch and the pines, she gave up a deep sigh and sat back ready to enjoy the rhythm of the wheels and the forward movement. By Flagstaff, that place of green and white, she would be totally relaxed.
There would be snow by Flagstaff, on the ground, and the smell of it in the air. She always turned on the radio when she got close to the town and listened to the station where the drumbeat of Navajo was strangely punctuated with white man’s words. The suck-breath, push-breath Navajo would suddenly spit out “hamburger” or “Chevrolet.” Money words.
