Jack Ketcham - Right to Life

November 10, 1998

"Greg."

"Hello, Sara."

They'd spoken on the phone a few times though she'd yet to see him. It had been much too hard on her to have to see him.

Now it was still hard. But she was glad to.

He looked older somehow but then so did she. The hospital's bathroom mirror had revealed that very clearly to her this morning. The face that peered back at her was drawn and pale and lines she couldn't remember seeing only yesterday spiderwebbed her forehead. "Mother? Could you just give us a minute?"

Her mother had stayed at the hospital throughout.

Her father hadn't.

"Certainly, dear." She patted Sara's hand and got up off the chair. "Nice to see you, Greg."

"Nice to see you too. Mrs. Foster."

The door closed behind her and then they just stared at each other, smiling.

On the phone there had been too many tears. Too many regrets and apologies. He was staying on with his wife and son. He was committed to them. Of course he was. He blamed himself for not finding her, for giving up hope of ever finding her. He'd tried, god knows. He and her mother had harassed the police for months. Of course he had. He was a good man.

It was good to be able to smile at him now.

"You saw her?"

"She's beautiful, Sara. She looks just like you. Just like her mom."

"She really is beautiful, isn't she."

"She is."

She patted the bed. "Come sit. Talk to me."

He walked over and sat down.

"Are you all right?" she said.

"I'm all right. Question is, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. A little tired. I was only in there a little over two hours. With Daniel it was more like four. I think she wanted out. Hell, I don't blame her. But what I meant was, are you all right with… all this now?"

"Sure I am."

"Diane? Alan?"

"Well, like I told you, Alan was pretty upset at first. But it was more knowing about the two of us than about you being pregnant. I think he's squared away, though. I know Diane is."

"You sure?"

"She says she wants to meet you. And the baby. How would you feel about that?"

Just how civilized are we going to get? was what he was asking.

"I don't know, Greg. Give me some time. Let me think about it, okay?"

"Sure. Of course."

He sat there looking at her a moment and she watched his eyes turn sad and he reached over and took her hand, the eyes saying, is this all right to do? and hers saying yes, it is while they pooled with tears, both of them still smiling and she thought, yes, I still love you too, always will even before he said it.

"I still love you, Sara. Always will."

"I know."

He began to cry. She squeezed his hand.

"It wasn't such a horrible thing we did, was it?"

His voice breaking with sorrow.

"No, Greg, no. What we did was love one another and I don't think that was horrible at all, do you? Do you really? In your heart? And you're doing the right thing now. You know you are. Alan needs you. Diane needs you. And we're okay, you and I. Aren't we?"

He wiped the tears off his cheek and nodded.

"What about you?"

She laughed. "I think I'm going to be very busy for a while."

She was going back to teaching when she could. Greg knew that too.

"Yeah. I guess you are. You gonna need any help? Anything I can do, I mean?"

"That's between you and Diane. But no, not at first, anyway. I've got my mother with me and we'll be fine. Talk it over with Diane if you want to. See how involved you really want to get. Then we'll talk, you and I. Take your time. We'll see."

He nodded again and then he was silent for a while. "I hear she finally died," he said. "That bitch. Katherine."

"She never came out of the coma."

"Saves us a lot of trouble, doesn't it."

"Trouble?"

"Court and all."

"Yes. I guess it does."

"I just wish I could have…"

"Greg. I'm sorry but I honestly don't want to talk about it, you know? It's over for me. It should be over for you too. Am I right?"

"You're right. I just…"

"Greg."

He laughed and shook his head.

"You're right. I'm talking like a fool. I'd probably better go. You need to get some rest."

He squeezed her hand and leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek and then stood beside the bed but would not release her yet, did not let go of her hand, seemed to want that one last minute holding her. She realized she wanted it too.

"Have you got a name yet?" he said.

She smiled. "I'm thinking Megan," she said. "It's Anglo-Saxon. It means strong."

Her mother was asleep in the guest room. Her baby whose name was now indeed Megan slept beside her bed in the crib. She lay staring at the ceiling trying not to remember what was impossible not to remember but thankful for the soft warm bed and the quiet apartment and her all old familiar belongings gathered around her, all of it like a comforting womb of its own from which her life could go on and spread itself unconfined, grateful too for this other familiar presence at her feet who had somehow in those months taken the sting from out the whip, the edge off the knife.

The cat sleeping beside her on the bed. The cat who now also had a name.

Ruth. Ruthie. From the Hebrew.

Friend.

"Police operator 321. Where's your emergency?"

"It's my mommy."

The voice on the other end was so small that even its sex was indeterminate. The usual questions were not going to apply.

"What happened to your mommy?"

"She fell."

"Where did she fall?"

"In the bathroom. In the tub."

"Is she awake?"

"Unh-unh."

"Is there water in the tub?"

"I made it go away."

"You drained the tub?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Okay. My name is Officer Price. What's yours?"

"Suzy."

"Is there anybody else in the house, Suzy?"

"Unh-unh."

"Okay, Suzy. I want you to stay on the line, okay? Don't hang up. I'm going to transfer you to Emergency Services and they're going to help you and your mommy, all right? Don't hang up now, okay?"

"Okay."

He punched in EMS.

"Dana, it's Tom. I've got a little girl, can't be more than four or five. Name's Suzy. She says her mother's unconscious. Fell in the bathroom."

"Got it."

It was barely ten o'clock and shaping up to be a busy summer day. Electrical fire at Knott's Hardware over on Elm and Main just under an hour ago. Earlier, a three-car pile-up on route 6 – somebody hurrying to get to work through a deceptive sudden pocket of Maine fog. A heart-attack at Bel Haven Rest Home only minutes after that. The little girl's address was up on the computer screen. 415 Whiting Road. Listing under the name L. Jackson.

"Suzy?"

"Uh-huh."

"This is Officer Keeley, Suzy. I want you to stand by a moment, all right? I'm not going to put you on hold. Just stay on the phone. Sam? You with me?"

"Yup."

"Okay, Suzy. Your mommy fell, right? In the bathroom?"

"Yeah."

"And she's unconscious?"

"Huh?"

"She's not awake?"

"Unh-uhn."

"Can you tell if she's breathing?"

"I… I think."

"We're on it," said Sam.

"Is your front door unlocked, Suzy?"

"The door?"

"Your front door."

"I don't know."

"Do you know how to lock and unlock the front door, Suzy?"

"Yes. Mommy showed me."

"Okay. I want you to put the phone down somewhere – don't hang up but just put it down somewhere, okay? and go see if the door's unlocked. And if it isn't unlocked, I want you to unlock it so that we can come in and help mommy, okay? But don't hang up the phone, all right? Promise?"

"Promise."

She heard a rattling sound. Telephone against wood. Excellent.