Now everything was scheduled. In T minus three days, this would be over. Nothing could change what had happened, but I wouldn’t be pregnant with Stanton’s baby anymore.
Only one problem: someone had to drive me to and from the clinic and stay with me for forty-eight hours in case of . . . complications.
I shuddered at the thought and tried not to remember all the things the nurse had mentioned as potential problems. Everything had to go smoothly. It just had to. I could barely cope as it was. And God help me if I had to take more leave to recover. That would require explanations I wasn’t ready to give, money I couldn’t afford to pay.
The papers in my hand seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, and I felt like I was knee-deep in wet cement as I walked back to my rental car.
I dropped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. For a moment, I just closed my eyes and let the air-conditioning blow in my face. I wasn’t particularly hot, but the cool air felt nice, and I was all about clinging to anything that didn’t feel bad.
Eventually, though, I shook myself awake. I needed to get the fuck away from this place. At least until I had to come back at 0700 sharp on Friday morning.
I drove to the shithole motel near Tripler on autopilot. I keyed myself into the cold, empty room—the AC was constantly in high gear—shut the door, and leaned against it.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
I looked around the room, as if it could offer some answers. The envelope full of cash was still sitting beneath the television. I’d left it there by mistake, but after I’d realized where it was, I’d secretly hoped the maids would steal it.
I’m sorry, I could hear myself telling Stanton over the phone. The money’s gone. I can’t get it done.
But no. All the money was there. Down to the last hundred-dollar bill.
And even if it had been gone, he’d have just sent me more. Or ordered me to bite the bullet and go to military medical.
Damn. I should’ve just had it done on Okinawa. But then there’d be no hiding it. And I didn’t even know if abortions were legal on Okinawa, let alone if I’d be able to find an English-speaking doctor.
The doctor at the clinic here on Oahu had spoken perfect English, of course. The nurse who’d seen me had, anyway. She’d understood every word I said, and she’d understood that I was scared.
This isn’t an easy thing, she’d told me gently. We’re going to take good care of you, but it’s okay to be nervous.
How the hell was I supposed to explain I wasn’t scared of the procedure? Well, okay, I was scared of it, but I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I didn’t get it done.
My stomach turned, and I swallowed hard to keep what little I’d eaten where it belonged. I pushed myself off the door, took a few steps, and sank onto the foot of the rock-hard, neatly made bed. Breathing slowly, I cradled my head in my hands.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to work out. Being “that girl”—the Sailor who got herself knocked up and had an abortion before the rumors got out of hand—was never part of my plans, especially since I didn’t do the necessary things to get myself knocked up. I’d had my heart set on a military career since I was a teenager. Everything had been laid out, planned from here to retirement. Forget twenty years. This Sailor was staying in for thirty, retiring as a master chief. I refused to consider anything less.
Single motherhood wasn’t something I could cope with. I’d already watched my own mother struggle to raise me alone, and there was no way in hell I was putting myself through that. I had a career plan, damn it, and I was well on my way to making it happen.
Though, so far, it was hell.
I loved the job itself. I loved seeing the world, working on ships and bases and steadily moving up the ranks. With my most recent eval, I was pretty much a shoo-in to make MA2.
When I’d enlisted, I’d had no idea what I was getting myself into. From the beginning—all through boot camp, school, a deployment, shore duty—I’d felt more alone than I ever had in my life. My last command thought I was a bitch and a cold fish. This command thought I was a ditzy whore, and thanks to Okinawa being so isolated, I didn’t have anyone except my command.
And what good did they do me now, while I sat alone in Hawaii, facing down a procedure that scared the hell out of me?
I’d never even considered how I felt about abortion. I was a lesbian. Accidental pregnancies were as much a part of my reality as athletic cups and prostate exams.
God, this was a nightmare. I didn’t know how to feel. What to think. Which way was up. Was this the right thing to do? The wrong one? I couldn’t even fit I’m pregnant into my head. How was I supposed to make a decision about something I couldn’t begin to comprehend?
I ran my fingers through my hair and choked back my tears. No crying. I’d done enough of that. Hormones and stress had already gotten the best of me twice today. No more crying, damn it. It wouldn’t solve anything.
Solve anything?
I laughed bitterly and lay back on the bed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. There was no solving this. No matter what happened at that clinic on Friday morning, this situation still existed. I’d still been raped by a man with too much power and influence to be afraid of repercussions. I still had to answer to that man.
And here in Hawaii, still confused and still pregnant, I was still alone.
I got up and grabbed my laptop off the table beside the bed. The motel’s Wi-Fi wasn’t great, but it connected, and before I could question what I was doing, I opened up my email and sent a message to Reese’s work address.
Need to talk to someone ASAP—do you have Skype?
And I waited.
The instant I saw the message from Kim, my heart went into my throat. The millions of worst-case scenarios that had kept me up all last night went through my head. I quickly replied, and we exchanged Skype handles. As soon as my laptop had connected, I pinged her, and thank God, she was online.
As soon as Kim appeared on the screen, my gut twisted. She was pale, and eye makeup had left muddy streaks down both sides of her face.
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice and expression. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Hawaii.” She wiped her eyes. “To get . . . to get an abortion.”
My heart dropped. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m not. I’m kind of freaking out.”
“About the . . .” I hesitated. “About—”
“The abortion.” She shuddered. “And they told me today, I have to have someone with me.” She kept her gaze down. “To drive me to and from and to stay with me. While I . . .” Kim swallowed, and maybe it was just the webcam, but it looked like she lost some color. “While I recover.”
“When is it scheduled?”
She winced. “Friday morning. 0700. I’m scared to death, and I don’t know where the hell I’m going to find someone here who—”
“I’ll be there.”
Kim blinked. “You . . . really?”
“I’ll . . .” Shit. Logistics. “I’ll find a way. You shouldn’t be there alone.”
“But . . .”
“Do you need someone there with you?”
She bit her lip, then nodded slowly, and God, she looked like a scared little girl. I wanted so bad to go through the computer and hug her. No two ways about it: I was going to Hawaii if I had to threaten Alejandro over my leave chit.
“I’ll get Gutiérrez to sign off on a leave chit, and I’ll work out a flight. Can you hang in there until then?”
Kim nodded. She smiled, and though she was still obviously tense, it seemed genuine. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Less than an hour after I chatted with Kim, I handed the emergency leave chit to Alejandro.
“What’s this?”
“MA3 Lockhoff is in Hawaii and . . .” I swallowed, not sure how much to divulge. “I don’t think she should be
alone right now.”
He eyed the chit, then looked at me. “Does that qualify as an emergency?”
“Ask Stanton. I’m sure he’ll sign off on it.”
His eyebrows rose. “Is there something I should know about?”
“Please. Just sign the chit.”
He glanced down at the paper. “Wait here.”
“What?”
“Just wait here.” He gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He didn’t wait for a response before he headed out of the office.
I texted Weiss: Stuck in MA1’s office for a few.
Not ten minutes after Alejandro had gone, I heard him coming down the hall.
“Hey, Weiss,” he called out. “You’re in dispatch.”
I cringed. I owed Weiss a drink for that. Poor dude always got stuck in dispatch when I had to step away from patrol. Which meant . . .
Oh, please, Alejandro. Tell me it’s approved.
He stepped into the office and handed me the chit. “Go pack and get some sleep. Your leave starts now and there’s a Space-A flight tomorrow morning. Be at the terminal at 0200. I’ll make sure you’re a priority one.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
He held my gaze. “I appreciate you doing this for her.”
I hesitated. “Well, someone has to help sweep things under the rug, right?”
“Better you than me.” Alejandro chuckled, and the sick feeling in my stomach intensified. He really was on Stanton’s side, wasn’t he? That would explain why he’d hand-routed the chit and gotten all the signatures in record time—he knew damn well Stanton didn’t want anything interfering with what Kim was doing.
No wonder Kim had caved in and gone to Hawaii.
She really didn’t have any allies.
Space Available flights were always a gamble, and it looked like I was up against a lot of people this morning. At least a hundred sleepy-eyed service members and dependents were crammed into the terminal area, nervously watching the screens and counting down the minutes until roll call. I had to get on this flight. Had to. If I didn’t, the next one wasn’t until Friday morning, which would be too late.
While I waited, I ran through some contingency plans in my head. There was no way in hell I could afford a commercial ticket, especially not on such short notice. If I couldn’t be there to help Kim, maybe I could get someone else to help out. It wouldn’t be ideal, having a complete stranger taking care of her during that kind of emotional havoc, but in the absence of other options . . .
On my phone, I scrolled through my Facebook friends to see if any of them were still stationed at Tripler or Pearl Harbor. I didn’t dare send a male. Though they were decent guys, the last thing Kim needed right now was to be drugged out of her mind, in terrible pain, and at the mercy of a man she didn’t know.
Fortunately, it turned out there was a Patriot Express flight leaving today—a passenger jet that went to Seattle via Iwo Kuni and Yokota—and most of the people crowded in here were getting on that flight, not the one to Hawaii. After roll call for Seattle, only five of us remained.
I exhaled. The plane to Hawaii had twenty-three seats available.
The flight was on time, thank God, and they didn’t even bother doing a formal roll call since there were so few of us. With every step of the process—check-in, security, transport to the plane—I was sure someone was going to come out and tell us the flight was canceled at the last second. It had happened to me before.
But then I was on the chilly cargo jet. The engines were started, and the crew was getting situated. We were really leaving.
Before they told us to stow our electronics, I sent a quick email to Kim:
Onboard. I’ll be there in a few hours. Hang in there.
Once I’d gotten off the plane and made it through customs, I hurried to baggage claim where she’d said she’d meet me.
I scanned the thin crowd. On the third glance, I realized she was right there, but I barely recognized her at all. Though I’d seen her in civvies before, she looked like another woman entirely, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. It wasn’t even the early signs of pregnancy—though the top of her T-shirt fit differently now, she wasn’t showing yet.
Her smile was weak but may as well have been a huge beaming grin for all it lit up the terminal.
I stepped out of the secure zone and was so damned relieved to see her, I gave her a hug.
She stiffened at first, and I thought for a second that I’d overstepped my bounds, but then she wrapped her arms around me and relaxed.
She barely whispered, “Thank you so much for coming, MA2.”
“You can still call me Reese.” I stroked her hair and added, “No ranks. We’re not at work.”
“Okay.”
“How are you holding up?”
As she let me go, she shrugged. “Holding up.”
Well, it was something.
We loaded my seabag into the trunk of her rental car and left the base. While she drove and we made small talk, I surreptitiously watched her, trying to figure out what had changed.
She normally wore makeup that just toed the lines of what the Navy would allow. In civvies, she went all out, even for casual functions like command barbecues and softball games. Today, she had on a little bit of mascara, and she might have had something on her lips, but it was so subtle, I couldn’t tell.
The plain T-shirt was loose and comfortable, the shorts short enough to keep her cool in this heat but still long enough to cover up the butterfly tattoo that was usually quite visible in civvies, despite being halfway up her inner thigh. Instead of strappy sandals, she had on a simple pair of flip-flops.
Though she looked exhausted, especially with no makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes, she was . . . Wow. Even when I hadn’t had a high opinion of her, she’d caught my eye, but like this, she messed with my pulse. I was a sucker for the natural look, and even when stress and exhaustion had taken their toll, Kim was one of those women who didn’t need much, if any, makeup. She also didn’t need the push-up bras and stripper heels she was so fond of. It was a crime that someone like her thought she needed any enhancement when she looked this good in her own skin.
At a stoplight, she glanced at me. “You want to grab lunch?”
“I could go for some coffee if nothing else.”
“Yeah, me too.”
We found a fast-food dive a couple of blocks from the air base gates and grabbed a corner table below the air conditioner.
Kim wrapped both hands around a water bottle. “I feel a lot better now that you’re here.”
“Good.” I watched her for a moment. “How are you doing, though? With everything?”
“I’m . . .” She picked at the label on the bottle. Then her shoulders dropped, and though she kept herself together, it was like a dam had broken inside her. “I’m a mess, Reese.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “I know you are. I wish there was more I could do.”
“There, um . . .” Kim closed her eyes and took a breath before meeting my gaze. “There is, actually.”
“There is? What?”
“Look, I know you’re a mandated reporter. But . . . I need to tell someone.” Her eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not going to file anything, but I need someone to know what happened. Especially before tomorrow.”
I fidgeted. This was dangerous ground. “I can’t keep it quiet, though. There are civilian advocates you can talk to.”
She reached across the table and put her hand on my arm. “Reese, you’re the only one from the island I can trust. Everyone else is in Stanton’s back pocket.”
“What about here? There has to be someone at Pearl or even Tripler who—”
“No.” Kim shook her head. “He’s been in way too long. Knows way too many people. I can’t trust anyone else except for you, and I . . .” Her eyes welled up, and she swiped at them. “I can’t keep carrying this by myself.”
My ch
est ached. I gnawed my lip. White Beach was a tiny, isolated base on a tiny, isolated island. Most of the commands tended to stick together—aviators hung out with aviators, cops hung out with cops. Which meant when bad things happened, the only person a cop could lean on was . . . another cop. Who would be required by the UCMJ to report something like this or risk being charged with dereliction of duty.
I took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Kim, you know what happened, not me. But whatever did happen, if you need help, you’ve got to talk to someone.”
“Who?” She met my eyes, and hers were wide with desperation. “Gutiérrez is buddy-buddy with Stanton. All the chiefs have their noses wedged between Stanton’s ass cheeks. He’s got friends all the way up to the captain.” She sniffed sharply. “There’s literally no one I can talk to who isn’t either Stanton’s golfing buddy or another cop. And anyone here?” Kim scowled and shook her head. “God knows who they know.”
“What about the SARC?” Even as I said it, my heart sank a little. That asshole came by the precinct quite often, ostensibly to be present and visible, as well as to discuss solutions with the higher-ups. That illusion might’ve stuck if we hadn’t all heard some of his and Stanton’s conversations through the office door. I was no expert, but I was pretty sure sexual assault prevention didn’t involve birdies and nine irons. And if our SARC was fucked up, there was no way to be sure the ones on this island wouldn’t be, too. Especially now that several people in sexual assault response departments throughout the military had been strung up recently for sexual assault themselves.
Fact was, there was no one I could suggest to her because I wouldn’t have trusted any of them with my own report.
“Or maybe not the SARC.” I shook my head. “God, I’m so sorry.”
“Damn it.” She rubbed her temples. “This is so messed up.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You’re trying to be a good cop.”
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