Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

Stone reminded him to read the Architectural Digest piece, and they said good-bye. Stone asked Joan to make copies of the aircraft material and messenger it to Sean Patrick.

“I think I’m going to go upstairs and lie down for a while,” he said to her.

“Aren’t you feeling well?”

“Just very tired,” he replied. He went upstairs and stretched out on the bed. He’d been having these periods of feeling exhausted since Arrington’s death, and right now, he couldn’t face any further work for the day.

55

S tone and Peter got ready to go to Elaine’s for dinner and met downstairs.

“I’m going to go pick up Hattie,” Peter said. “We’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Stone gave him some cash. “We need to open a bank account for you and set up an allowance.”

“Thanks, Dad, I’d appreciate that.”

“Joan will set it up on Monday.”

They walked to Third Avenue together and took separate cabs.

Peter wondered what this was about. Ordinarily, the doorman in Hattie’s building would have put her in a cab, and she would have met them at Elaine’s, but Hattie had said she wanted to talk about something.

He got out of his cab at her building, and she came outside. He opened the door for her.

“Can we walk for a little bit?” she asked.

“Sure,” Peter replied. He paid the driver and got out. She slipped her hand into his, and he put both in his coat pocket. They walked up Park Avenue in silence for a couple of minutes.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.

“All right.”

“No one else knows, and you have to keep it a secret.”

“Of course.”

Hattie took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m pregnant.”

Peter stopped and turned to face her. “But we haven’t…” He stopped, his mind reeling.

“It was someone I went out with before I met you,” she said. “It only happened once.”

Peter thought about that. “I want to help,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’ve already decided to have an abortion, and I won’t brook any arguments about it. If you find that unconscionable, I’ll understand, and you can go your own way.”

“I want to help,” he said again. “Does the guy know?”

“No,” she said, “and he’s never going to.”

“Good,” Peter said.

“I’ve looked this up on the Internet, and I’ve found a clinic up on First Avenue in the Nineties.”

“What kind of clinic?”

“Licensed, part of a nationwide family planning organization.”