The Things We Do for Love

"Positive. "

"Oh," he said softly, and though he looked dazed and terrified, he was trying to smile, and the attempt pushed some of her despair aside. "What now?" he finally asked in a voice that was thick and tight.

She refused to look at him. She could tell that he was on the verge of tears. She couldnt see him break. "I dont know. "

"Could you . . . have . . . you know?"

"An abortion. " She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as if something inside were tearing away. Tears burned again but didnt fall. It was the same thought shed had. So why did it hurt so much to hear him say it? "Thats probably the answer. "

"Yeah," he said, too quickly. "Ill pay for it. And go with you. "

She felt as if she were slowly falling underwater. "Okay. " Even to her own ears, her voice sounded distant.

LAUREN STARED OUT THE WINDOW AT THE BLUR OF green and gold landscape and tried not to think about where she was going, what she was doing. David was beside her, his hands tight on the steering wheel. They hadnt spoken in almost an hour. What was there to say now? They were going to

take care of it.

She shivered at the thought, but what choice did she have?

The drive from West End to Vancouver seemed to take forever, and with every passing mile, her bones seemed to tighten. She could have had this done closer to home, but David hadnt wanted to risk being seen. His family was friendly with too many local doctors.

There, through the filmy glass of the car window, was the clinic. Shed expected picketers out front carrying signs that said terrible things and showed heartbreaking pictures, but the entrance was quiet today, empty. Maybe even protesters didnt want to be out on such a bleak and freezing day.

Lauren closed her eyes, battling a suddenly rising panic.

David touched her for the first time. His hand was shaking and cold; strangely, his anxiety gave her strength. "Are you okay?"

She loved him for that, for being here and loving her. She would have said so, but her throat was tight. When they parked, the full weight of her decision pressed down on her. She wasnt taking care of something, she was having an abortion.

For a terrifying moment, she couldnt make herself move. David came around and opened her door. She clung to his hand.

Together, they walked toward the clinic. One foot in front of the other; that was all she let herself think about.

He opened the door for her.

The waiting room was full of women--girls, mostly, sitting alone, their heads bowed as if in prayer or despair, their knees clamped together. A belated gesture. Some pretended to read magazines; others didnt pretend that anything could take their minds off why they were here. David was the only boy in the room.

Lauren went to the front desk and checked in, then returned to an empty chair and filled out the paperwork shed been handed. When she finished, she took the clipboard up to the desk and handed it to the woman, who looked it over.

"Youre seventeen?" she asked, looking up.

Lauren felt a rush of panic. Shed meant to lie about her age, but shed been too nervous to think clearly. "Almost eighteen. Do I . . . " She lowered her voice. "Do I need my moms permission for the . . . for this?"

"Not in Washington. I just wanted to make sure it was accurate. You look younger. "

She nodded weakly, relieved. "Oh. "

"Have a seat. Well call you. "

Lauren went back to her seat. David sat down beside her. They held hands but didnt look at each other. Lauren was afraid shed cry if she did. She read the pam phlet that was on the table, obviously left there by another unfortunate girl.

The procedure, it stated, should take no more than fifteen minutes.

. . . recovery enough for work within twenty-four to forty-eight hours . . .

. . . minimal discomfort . . .

She closed the pamphlet, set it aside. She might be young, but she knew that what mattered was not the pain or the recovery or the length of the "procedure. "