by Michael Fine
The producer rolled footage of Brock Owens from four months earlier while Owens was a presidential candidate. He looked into the camera and said, “Our nation has had enough of the culture wars over the past twelve years. The time has come to focus on the issues upon which all Americans can agree: strengthening our economy, creating jobs, keeping the country safe, helping repair the environment. If elected President, I will steer clear from divisive issues that others use to drive a wedge between people.”
Alvarez loved that he worked with outstanding professionals. He looked at Senator Carrington and asked, “That was the President just a few months ago while still a candidate. How is his support for—and, apparently, involvement in—bringing this kind of legislation forward consistent with his promise to steer clear of these kinds of cultural flashpoints?”
“The President fully supports our efforts to get this law passed,” Carrington said, ignoring Alvarez’s question.
“It is critically important that we pass this law as soon as possible,” Reverend Brooks implored. “Every day, thousands of babies are slaughtered. We must act to protect them.”
Alvarez was about to speak when Carrington added, “Our goal is to get the Sanctity of Life bill passed and on the President’s desk by March 15th.”
“That’s just over five weeks away,” Alvarez said, unable to keep the amazement from his voice.
“Thousands of unborn babies will be killed in that time,” Reverend Brooks said in his best Pastor’s Voice. “This is an emergency. A humanitarian crisis.”
Alvarez heard his producer in his ear again and said, “Senator, when the Supreme Court overturned Roe, the decision was based on the principle that abortion was a state’s rights issue. Do you really think your bill would be held as constitutional?”
Carrington was a man who prepared for everything. He had his aides lead mock interviews all week, and he knew this question would come. Damn Julian Kingsley, and the four Justices who joined his opinion, for relying on the principle of states’ rights to overturn Roe. Carrington paused and considered his response. He turned to look Oscar Alvarez in the eye, sure he was facing away from the camera, and said, “We shall see.” Only Oscar Alvarez saw the twinkle in the Senator’s eye.
After another whisper in his ear, Oscar Alvarez looked into the camera and said, “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back in just two minutes with more tough talk.”
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday, February 14 (ten days later)
Stanford Dish near Stanford University
Sanford, California
29 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill
For the past ten days, since Hope heard about the so-called Sanctity of Life legislation about to be rushed through Congress, she had tried—and failed—to keep her emotions in check. For better or for worse, her schedule was too hectic to allow her to fully process the situation.
Since she’d fixed her citations and submitted her paper describing the results of the latest trial of her artificial womb, she’d been inundated with emails and calls from researchers around the world. Faye had told her early on in her tenure at the lab that responding quickly and encouragingly to every inquiry was critical. While the artificial womb was “her baby,” pun not intended, Faye convinced her that at some point it would only be a success if others joined her efforts.
Finally, on Wednesday evening, Hope had time for herself, away from the hospital, away from the lab, and away from work at the Pancake Shack. She put on a pair of shorts, her faded LSU t-shirt, and her running shoes and “ran the Dish” as it was called, in the hills near Stanford. The Dish, a popular recreational area for hiking and jogging open to the public from sunrise to sunset throughout the year, got its name from a still-functioning radio telescope in the area. Stanford students and others in the Bay Area had been coming to the area for decades.
Finished with her run, she sat at the top of the hill, pondering her future.
She stared at the text message from the private detective for the hundredth time. He’d found Derek. In some shithole swamp in the Florida Keys. For now. Apparently, Derek was even more of a dirtbag as an adult than he was as a high school kid, surprise surprise. The detective said Derek had a habit of moving around, leaving town after one brush with the law or another. Okay, great, so now what? She was almost three thousand miles away, in her final year at Stanford Med School, and, if she was honest with herself, more than a little scared of the man. What if he sends someone else, only this time it’s someone competent? Or who has a knife or a gun? What if he’s turned into a full-on psychopath and comes himself? Besides, the Sanctity of Life Bill was the proverbial bigger fish to fry. That was the real priority, she knew.
As the sun went down over the hills, Billy walked up and sat next to her. He was breathing hard and his shirt was wet with perspiration.
“Hi there,” Hope said. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Billy sucked in a few deep breaths and said, “Sure, no problem.” He smiled. He noticed that Hope didn’t smile back. She normally liked to tease him gently about being out of shape. That’s when he figured something was really awry.
“What’s wrong?” he said, reaching out and placing a hand gently on Hope’s shoulder.
Hope shrugged his hand off. She was stewing.
“You haven’t called me back in, like, forever,” Billy snapped. “I just figured you were crazy busy. Like always.” He realized suddenly that it had been since election night that she’d gone dark. “Is this about the election? I know you must be unhappy…”
“Unhappy? Unhappy?!” Hope was shouting. “‘Unhappy’ doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling.”
Billy noticed a group of Stanford students nearby. They were staring. “Keep your voice down, Hope.” He nodded his head toward the students.
Hope hissed the words “I will not keep my voice down” through clenched teeth. Her reaction surprised Billy; she was normally reluctant to draw attention to herself.
“Talk to me Hope. What. Is. Going. On?”
Hope held her knees close to her chest. She rocked forward and back.
“Hope? What’s going on? Please talk to me.”
“Did you know that today is the nine-year anniversary of Angel’s death?”
Billy knew; he’d wanted to plan a romantic getaway for Valentine’s Day and had asked one of the nurses about Hope’s schedule a few weeks earlier. The nurse, after confirming Billy knew about Hope’s sister, told him the exact date of her death and discouraged him from planning anything on a day of the year that, for Hope, brought back such a painful memory. He’d nodded solemnly and thanked her.
“Yeah, I know,” Billy said softly.
“Have you heard about the bill Senator Carrington and the President are pushing?”
“The ‘Sanctity of Life’ bill?” Billy asked. “Who hasn’t?”
“It’s going to pass. Republicans regained control over the House and they still have control over the Senate. And Owens is going to sign it.”
“Maybe,” Billy said. “Maybe. But there’s no way it’d stand up in court. The Supreme Court would strike it down.”
Hope turned to face Billy. “You don’t understand, do you? Kingsley is a partisan hack. So are the others, frankly. They’ll find a way to declare the law constitutional.”
“But the court’s legal argument for overturning Roe was that abortion should be a state-by-state decision. The same nine people are still on the court. How could they possibly now say that it’s not up to the states?”
“You are so naive,” Hope said. She reached out and clutched one of his hands in hers. “They will do anything they have to. Anything.” After a long pause she added, “I need to stop them.”
A frisbee landed a few feet away and interrupted their conversation. A sweaty guy in a Stanford t-shirt ran toward them to retrieve it. He apologized, picked up the frisbee, and ran back toward his friends. He wanted no part of the black cloud that hung over the ma
n and woman and the serious conversation in which they were engaged.
Billy started to ask Hope what she meant when she said, “I can’t concentrate on my research. I can’t concentrate with my patients. I keep dropping plates and glasses at work. I—”
“So? What? What, exactly, do you want to do? You’re the one who always has a plan, always works her plan. What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know!” Hope shouted. “And I hate not knowing what I’m going to do. But I have to fight these people. I have to.”
“Are you talking about… dropping out of school?” Billy asked, astonished. “That’s insane. You’re almost done with your last year of residency. You are, literally, just a few months away from being a doctor.”
“I have to do something,” Hope said, practically in a whisper.
“Please don’t do anything rash. At least think about it for a while. Talk to as many people as you can. Your boss at the lab. Your boss at the diner. Me. Anyone. Everyone. Please.”
Some part of Hope knew Billy was trying to help her and knew he was right. But a much bigger part of her wanted to strangle him. Couldn’t he see the danger? What would happen to millions of women and young girls? If Carrington’s bill was passed, signed into law, and upheld by the Supreme Court, millions of women would be at risk. While she resented her mother for leaving when she and Angel were so young, she saw now what a danger to the country President Spencer had been, and that her mother was unimaginably brave to fight against him despite the cost. Now, what was about to happen was far, far worse for the country. Certainly for women. She realized she truly understood what her mother had done and why, that her mother felt that she had no choice but to fight, no matter the cost. It was Hope’s turn to do the same.
In a flash, an idea came to her: she needed to demonstrate to the politicians in Washington that her artificial womb worked.
“Listen, Billy. I’m going to need you to look after Xander for a while.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Thursday, February 15 (the next day)
Pancake Shack
Palo Alto, California
28 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill
Charlie was scrubbing the grill while Hope wiped off the condiment holders and ketchup bottles. He had the stereo system tuned to his George Ezra playlist and was dancing in place as he worked. Despite the fact that he’d started his day at 5:30 a.m. and that it was almost midnight, Charlie was still going strong. The man was a force of nature, Hope mused.
When the work was done and Charlie was taking off his apron, he walked toward Hope, who was mindlessly wiping down the counter for a third time.
“What’s bothering you, kiddo?”
Hope stopped wiping, looked up and smiled. Charlie was always looking out for her. She shrugged, not really knowing where to start.
“Look, you’ve dropped so many plates and glasses over the past week, I thought I was hosting Greek weddings every day. So either you’ve suddenly developed a palsy of some kind or something’s on your mind. I’m guessing it isn’t the palsy.”
Hope’s smile widened. This man, her adoptive father in a way, always had a way of wrapping her in a sense of warmth. She took a deep breath and talked about the bill Senator Carrington and Reverend Brooks announced a week and a half before, and about how the President apparently not only supported the legislation but actually had a hand in crafting it.
“I know all this,” Charlie said gently. Many might mistake his good nature, the permanent twinkle in his eye, and his profession as indicators of an uneducated man. Well, he thought, he was uneducated in the traditional sense. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart or didn’t read. Or didn’t care about politics.
“I feel like I need to do something, Charlie. Ever since Angel died, it’s been my mission to find a way to help girls and women who end up in a similar situation. Rape is bad enough. But worse, I think, is the law. Men should not be in a position to tell us what women can and cannot do with our bodies. Especially in the cases of rape and incest.”
Charlie raised his hands in an “I’m on your side” motion.
“Do you know about my research at the lab?”
“Yes, kiddo. I listen to every word you say. I may not always understand everything, but I know that you’re working on a way to remove fetuses from pregnant women as early in their pregnancies as possible so they don’t have to carry unwanted pregnancies to term.”
Hope was, once again, pleasantly surprised by this amazing man.
“Well, I have a crazy idea,” Hope said. She described her plan, such as it was. As she did so, she realized it was really more of a fantasy. Still…
“How long have we known each other now, kiddo?” Charlie asked. “About ten years?”
“A little less, I guess, but yeah, that’s about right.”
“In all that time, I don’t think I’ve ever told you about Charlie Jr.”
“You have a son?” Hope exclaimed.
“C.J. was an amazing young man. Smart as a whip, kind-hearted. A lot like you. Had his whole life in front of him.” Charlie’s eyes watered as he remembered his boy. “He joined the military, said he wanted to help bring peace to the planet.”
Hope was at a loss for words.
“C.J. died in a training exercise down in San Diego, about a year or so before you first came to work here. Remember when President Spencer decided to send troops to the southern border? C.J.’s squad was doing training exercises for that deployment when another marine’s weapon accidentally discharged.” Charlie was openly crying now.
Hope walked around the counter and gave Charlie her fiercest hug, something he normally did for her. He looked down at her and smiled gently.
“A fucking training exercise. For what? For a political stunt, that’s what.”
“Thank you for telling me about C.J.,” Hope said. “But… why are you telling me that story now?”
Charlie wiped his tears and inhaled deeply. His barrel chest rose and fell. “Because,” he said, “I’m in. Whatever you want to do, I’m in.”
“Oh, no, Charlie. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Did you ask? I’m offering,” he said. He puffed his chest out and put his hands on his hips. “I’m in. Just try and stop me.”
Hope hesitated. Charlie was a middle-aged man, a short-order cook, a small business owner. What she had in mind was crazy.
As if reading her mind, Charlie said, “Listen, there’s something else you need to know about me.” He motioned to one of the booths and he and Hope sat down. “Many years ago, I was a lieutenant in the Army. My men and I were deployed in Afghanistan. The executive summary is that Uncle Sam screwed us and almost all of my men died one horrible, fateful morning.”
“Oh my God,” Hope said. She didn’t really know what to say. “But… why are you telling me this?”
“Ever since that day, I’ve secretly helped people wronged by the government. The guys who survived from my squad help me.”
“But you work all the time. How—”
“We’re closed two days a week, remember? That’s not so I can rest or because I believe in observing the Sabbath.”
A thought flashed through Hope’s mind.
“That morning I came in for a job… you were injured. You blamed it on the meat slicer, if I remember.”
“A rare Friday night adventure down in L.A. I’d just gotten back, not thirty minutes before you walked in the door. Barbed wire can do some serious damage, that’s for sure. I knew you were a keeper when you helped me that day.”
“I remember thinking how strange it was that the machine looked so clean.”
After a beat, they both laughed.
“But you have the restaurant. And, let me remind you, the Capitol Building is not here in California.”
“I am aware, Miss Sassypants.”
Hope grinned. Through the years, this was Charlie’s nickname for her whenever he thought she was being sassy, as he called it.
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“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Hope hated that he joked about that, still, even after he’d had a minor cardiac event several years earlier. She wanted to admonish him for his bad taste, but instead said, “Well, that’s good. Because for the first time in my life, I have no real idea of what to do.”
“Lucky for you, ol’ Charlie is on your team. My guys and I can help. I’ll call them tonight and ask them to be here tomorrow. Let’s meet again tomorrow night, midnight.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Hope said. Sorta.
Charlie turned off the stereo system and grabbed his coat. The two friends walked out the front door, and Charlie locked it. He turned to Hope and took her hands in his.
“Love you kiddo,” he said, gently squeezing her slender fingers in his arthritic paws.
“Love you, too, old man.” She gave him another hug before walking to her car.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Friday, February 16 (the next day)
Pancake Shack
Palo Alto, California
27 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill
At midnight the following night, Hope and Charlie were done cleaning up, and sat in a corner booth sipping decaffeinated coffee when the bells on the front door chimed. A man walked in and spotted Hope and Charlie in the corner.
Hope’s first reaction was, “Hubba hubba.” Her second reaction was, “He looks like a sea captain!” The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, had short, coiffed brown hair, and a bushy brown and gray speckled beard.
“Hey Q,” Charlie said, waving. He stood and gave the man a big bear hug. Turning to Hope, he said, “Quinn, meet Hope. Hope, Quinn.”
Quinn reached his hand out and shook Hope’s hand. She liked that it was a firm handshake, that he hadn’t softened it because she was a woman.
