Seasons of the Heart (39 page)

“I need a glass of water for … Mrs. Smith.”

The nurse looked at Leslie and sighed, then slammed shut the partition. Leslie had just about decided that her request was going to be ignored when the nurse opened the partition again and shoved through a paper cup filled with tepid water.

It was better than nothing. Leslie brought it to Evie and urged her to sip it. She was terribly worried. Evie seemed to be taking this so hard. She had barely eaten anything for the past week, and several times Leslie and Kimberly had been wakened by her screams as she had nightmares. Every morning the dark circles under her eyes seemed bigger. She was smoking incessantly, and drinking cup after cup of coffee.

Leslie had gotten the name of an abortionist from a boy she had been dating, who said that several of his frat brothers had sent their girlfriends there. The doc was very cheap and no questions would be asked about her marital status.

Evie knew that she couldn’t go to any of the reputable practitioners in San Francisco because they might know one of her parents. But Oakland was more anonymous, and, as promised, the doctor asked no questions. The operation would take thirty minutes and cost only three hundred dollars: less than half the going rate.

Evie and Leslie had been taken aback by the untidy office and the coarse, gum-chewing receptionist, but everyone said that the man knew what he was doing.

Finally the receptionist opened the door and called out, “Mrs. Smith—the doctor will see you now.”

Summoning what courage remained, Evie stood up, smiled at Leslie, and walked through the doorway into the operating room. The doctor was a thin, bald little man in his late fifties. Evie immediately disliked him, even though she had to admit that, unlike the waiting room, both he and the operating room were scrupulously clean.

He asked her politely to disrobe and lie down on the table, where he put her feet up in stirrups, then left the room.

Evie was perspiring and trembling, trying not to cry. The feeling of terror and humiliation—of total mental and physical exposure—was something she could never have imagined. The nightmares she had been having were nothing in comparison.

She had almost lost her nerve and was starting to get up when the door opened and the doctor returned, together with a nurse whom Evie hadn’t seen before. The nurse was black, and her look betrayed without the need for words what she thought of rich kids who got pregnant and couldn’t cope with having a child.

She stood by and calmly studied Evie’s body as the doctor rattled off a list of the risks involved in having an abortion, speaking so quickly that Evie could barely comprehend what he was saying. Finally he thrust a pen into her hand. “We’ll need you to sign and date this form….”

It was at that moment that Evie fully realized what was going to happen to her. But it was too late to back out. She had to go through with it. She couldn’t endure the thought that otherwise she would be betraying everything Ann and Phillip stood for.

She began to write: “Ev—”, then scratched out the letters and wrote, disguising her handwriting, “Mrs. C. Smith” and the date. Then she lay back on the narrow, uncomfortable table while the doctor began work. He picked up a metal instrument that looked like clippers. Then Evie felt the slight prick of a needle as she was injected with a local anesthetic.

She heard the doctor say, “Hold on now,” and then there was a pain that seemed to start in her loins and spread throughout her body. She twisted her body, trying not to scream. The doctor shouted something at her, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t hear him. She knew she was going to die. How would they find out who “Mrs. Smith’s” next of kin were? Leslie would tell them…. Leslie would tell Ann and Phillip….

The pain seemed to flow away. She opened her eyes and saw the doctor leaning over her. He patted her hand and said softly, “That’s it—all taken care of.”

The nurse took Evie’s arm and said, “Put on this robe and follow me, miss.” Evie was shown to a cot in a darkened room. The room was hot and airless. There were two other women there, both lying motionless. “You lie down now, honey,” the nurse ordered. Evie thought the woman seemed a little more sympathetic now.

The pain had returned, but no one came with medication or even a cup of water. One of the women was moaning quietly. After what seemed days, but what was in fact exactly one hour, the receptionist came to the door and said, “Mrs. Smith—you may go home now.”

Evie allowed herself to be dressed and was given pads to absorb the bleeding. Then she was taken back to the reception room, where Leslie was waiting. The woman held out her hand. “That will be three hundred dollars cash, please.”

Leslie picked up Evie’s purse, opened it, and carefully counted out the money.

Back at the sorority house, Evie fell onto her bed and was asleep within seconds. Kim, who had an important exam and couldn’t go along to the abortionist’s, was waiting in the room the three of them shared. “Is she okay?” she asked Leslie in a whisper.

Leslie shrugged. “I guess so. What can I tell you? Go get some pain-killers—the doctor didn’t give her any—didn’t want her passing out in the street, I guess.”

Kim was wakened in the middle of the night by Evie’s moans. She switched on the light and went over to her friend’s bed.

“Evie—what’s wrong?”

There was no response.

She put her hand on Evie’s forehead; it was feverish. Her eyes were open but glazed and unseeing. Her head and shoulders were soaked in sweat. Her breath was rasping.

“Les—wake up!” Kim shouted. “Evie’s sick. We’ve got to get her to a hospital.”

Leslie sat up in her bed and thought for a moment. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry. Evie wanted this kept quiet, you know. Maybe we should wait.”

“Les—for God’s sakes look at her!”

“Okay … maybe you’re right. She looks pretty bad. We’ll take her over to old Doc Cheng as Mrs. C. Smith. That’s the name she used today at the clinic.”

When Kim pulled back the covers, she screamed. “Oh, Jesus—look!”

Evie was lying in a pool of blood.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Leslie said decisively. “Take her pulse.”

While Leslie was dialing, Kim said frantically, “Les—I can’t find it!”

Although it seemed like hours, it was only minutes before they heard the ambulance screaming up Piedmont Avenue. It stopped in front of the sorority house and two men in white jackets jumped out. Several girls sleepily put their heads out their windows, then returned to bed. Evie was carried out on a stretcher.

Half an hour later, Kim and Leslie paced the waiting room at Herrick Hospital. The nurses had rushed Evie into the emergency room and called one of the attendings.

Twenty minutes later a doctor emerged, grim-faced. “Who’s here with Mrs. Smith?”

Kim and Leslie stepped forward. “We brought her in,” Leslie said. “Is she all right? We’re friends of hers.”

The doctor hesitated. “I really need to speak to the family. Is her husband available?”

Leslie swallowed hard. “No, he’s not.”

“Well, she needs to go into surgery immediately, and we need consent from the next of kin. If she has parents—anyone—they should be called.”

The two girls looked at each other helplessly. Evie had made them swear to secrecy, but surely that didn’t apply now.

But Mrs. Coulter was in New York this week, and Mr. Coulter was living God knows where with his girlfriend. “She has parents—but they’re not available either,” Leslie announced defiantly.

The doctor looked at her very hard. “Ladies, I wasn’t born yesterday. That is a very sick young lady in there. She might not make it. Do you want to take that responsibility?”

They stared at him mutely.

“All right. If that’s the way it’s going to be, we’ll have to proceed without consent. But I would advise you to rethink your position, if
Mrs
. Smith is truly your friend.”

“We have to get in touch with her parents!” Kim said once the doctor had gone. “What if something happens?”

“Forget it! Evie would never forgive us if we told them.”

“It’s gone way beyond that. We can’t keep this to ourselves.”

Looking at Kim’s terrified face, Leslie weakened. “Where would we get their phone numbers?”

“I think Evie carries a little phone book in her purse. You brought it along, didn’t you? She must have them written down.”

But as soon as they had fished the small leather volume from Evie’s purse, they realized their predicament. They knew the names “Adam” and “Linda,” but unfortunately had never bothered to find out the last names. Their only hope was that Mr. Coulter would be in his law office that morning.

Hour after hour, they waited outside the surgical suites. Every time they saw a nurse emerge, their hopes rose, but as dawn broke, Evie was still in surgery. Finally it was nine and a hollow-eyed Leslie went to the pay phone and dialed Phillip’s office.

“Mr. Coulter? This is Leslie Winston.”

“What is it, Leslie?” Phillip asked, knowing immediately that something was wrong.

“Oh, Mr. Coulter, it’s Evie! She’s in the hospital, and she’s been in surgery since four-thirty. We couldn’t call you because we didn’t have your number at your girlfriend’s.” After hours of intolerable strain, Leslie began to cry.

“What are you saying, Leslie? Has she been in an accident?”

“I can’t explain over the phone, Mr. Coulter. Please come right away. It’s Herrick Hospital in Berkeley. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Not even pausing to grab the topcoat he had just taken off, Phillip rushed out, leaving the receptionist staring after him, open-mouthed.

When he arrived at the hospital, he raced up the stairs to the surgical floor, but the waiting room was empty.

He grabbed a passing nurse. “I’m looking for my daughter—Evie Coulter.”

She stared at the obviously distraught man. “Was that the emergency case we just had? Young girl, looks about eighteen?”

“Yes, yes, that’s her.”

“She’s just come out of surgery, but she’s still critical. They’ve taken her directly to intensive care.”

He found Leslie and Kim huddled together outside the ICU. His face was like death as he cried, “Is Evie in there? Can I see her?”

“They told us we can’t go in yet.”

Phillip reached over and grabbed Leslie’s shoulder. “Now you tell me what’s happened to her, young lady!”

The two friends looked at each other guiltily. At the sight of Phillip’s grief, all at once they realized the enormity of what they had done. They had encouraged Evie to have the abortion with little thought as to the consequences, and now they saw the agony of a parent who might be about to lose his child.

Taking a deep breath, Leslie was about to speak when the ICU door opened and a doctor emerged, tiredly rubbing his neck.

Seeing Phillip with the girls, he walked over and said, “Are you Mrs. Smith’s father?”

Seeing his hesitation, the doctor added, “Evie’s?”

Slowly, Phillip nodded.

“Well, I’m Doctor Neilson, the surgeon. Have the girls told you anything yet?” When Phillip shook his head, Neilson said, “Your daughter had an abortion. Unfortunately she seems to have gone to a real butcher. The placenta wasn’t completely removed. That’s why she began hemorrhaging in the middle of the night. She lost so much blood that she went into a coma. We’ve given her transfusions and managed to stop the bleeding, but she still hasn’t regained consciousness.”

Abortion … blood loss … coma … Phillip couldn’t believe they were talking about his daughter. Yet Leslie and Kim were there, and their expressions told all. It had to be true.

“May I see her, doctor?” he said stiffly.

“Just for a moment.”

The sight of Evie’s motionless body, hooked up to an array of machines and tubes, almost made him faint. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

“She has a good chance,” the nurse murmured. “We just have to monitor her very carefully.”

Phillip nodded wordlessly and allowed himself to be ushered out.

Once out in the waiting room, he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. The furthest thing from his mind was the fact that Evie had needed the abortion. Not for a moment did he think of blaming her. All he cared about was that she lived. When he looked up he saw Evie’s roommates sitting across from him, their faces drawn with fatigue. It was Kim who, in a choked and trembling voice, told him of their role in arranging the abortion. Phillip didn’t have the heart to be angry.

“Girls,” he said quietly. “Go home. There’s nothing more you can do for her.”

When they had gone, Phillip dialed Ann’s number in New York. He hesitated to call Adam’s apartment, but he had no choice. Ann had to be told. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered. In desperation, Phillip knew that he would have to call Adam’s office. Maybe Ann was even there.

But again, he was stymied. “Mr. Gayne is out for the day. May I give him a message?”

Wearily, Phillip replied. “Yes. Please tell him to have Ann Coulter call this number. It’s an emergency.”

Phillip hung up. There was nothing more he could do. Hour after hour he walked the floor. There was no change in Evie’s condition. It was 7:00
P.M
. when he remembered Linda.
Good God, she must be frantic!
They were expecting dinner guests and he’d promised to be home early to help cook.

Linda answered the phone in an anxious voice. She’d called Phillip that morning to ask him to pick up some wine on the way home, and his secretary had told her he had run out the door without telling anyone where he was going.

All day, while Phillip had been trying to reach Ann in New York, Linda had been calling Phillip’s office, hoping to hear some word of him. At six o’clock, she decided something terrible had happened to him. She called off their dinner and sat down to wait.

When she heard Phillip’s voice, she started to sob from sheer relief. “Phillip—where in God’s name are you? What happened? I’ve been sick with worry!”

“Linda, sweetheart. Forgive me. I’m sorry to have been so inconsiderate. I just now remembered the dinner party.”

“Phillip, it doesn’t matter at all. Just tell me what’s wrong.”