Susan left the coffeepot on the table. Charlie came out thirty seconds after Susan went back. A small, wiry man with black hair and a gold-capped tooth in front, he shook her hand. The man behind the partition called out something, and Charlie called something back. It sounded like the cook was running a spoon back and forth on some pots and pans.
Susan rolled her eyes. “They get a little excited, you know? You’ll get used to them.”
Dynah was feeling good, really good for the first time in weeks. Minimum wage wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep body and soul together.
“You come at right time, Dynah Carey,” Charlie said. “If you not come today, tomorrow I be waiting tables, and then nobody come. Not even Harvey.”
Harvey laughed. Unabashed, he turned on his stool and looked straight at them. He didn’t care if they knew he was listening. “She’s pretty enough to bring you some customers, Charlie.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Susan said, hands on her hips. “Am I chopped liver or something?”
“You’re cute, too, honey. Mouthy, but cute.”
“We glad to make your acquaintance,” Charlie said, pumping Dynah’s hand.
“I’ll show Dynah the ropes,” Susan said.
“Ropes?” Charlie gave her a blank look and glanced around. “What ropes?”
Susan grinned at Dynah and patted Charlie’s shoulder. “Never mind, Charlie. I’ll train her. All right? Don’t you worry about anything.”
Charlie took Dynah’s tab. “Meal free. Three squares a day. Very good for you and baby.”
Dynah blushed.
Charlie headed back to the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about it,” Susan said gently. “You’re in good company.”
Joe drove all through Mendocino looking for Dynah’s car. He spotted several of the same make, year, and model, but they were the wrong color and bore no fish symbol on the back or NLC sticker in the window. He parked and walked the streets crowded with summer tourists, asking business owners if she’d come in looking for work. Several remembered her but didn’t know if she’d stayed in the area.
He camped at Salt Point and went to church in Mendocino on Sunday morning. It was a small, quaint church with a high-steepled New England design, the oldest on the West Coast, a historical landmark.
Dynah wasn’t in attendance.
Since there was no other Christian church in the town, he figured she must have attended services elsewhere, probably up the coast at Fort Bragg.
He drove north and had a hamburger at McDonald’s.
Maybe she headed home.
He found a pay phone and called the Careys.
“No, she’s not here, Joe. She called again this morning while we were gone,” Dynah’s mother told him. “She sounded better this time, Joe. She found a place to live. She didn’t say where. She said she has a job, but not what. She didn’t leave a number. She wasn’t on the line very long.”
Dynah enjoyed her new job. The first few days were slow, and Harvey was the only regular. He came in every morning at eight, just as Susan had said he would. Dynah kept his coffee replenished while he read his newspaper. Sometimes he chatted with her about his years in the lumbering trade. From eight thirty until just past ten, tourists came into the café, pausing in their scenic drive south, and Dynah was kept busy taking orders and serving. The tips were good. People tended to be generous to a pregnant waitress, especially one as young as she was.
As to lodgings, Dynah stayed where she was, content in the small motel above Highway 1. The manager was kind enough to hold winter rates for her on the agreement that Dynah would do her own housekeeping and handle a portion of the laundry. Each evening, following a long day of waiting tables, Dynah would tend the washing machine and dryer. Propping her feet up to ease the swelling, she would read her Bible while waiting for the wash cycle to end or the dryer to shut off. She usually finished her share of the workload by ten and went to bed immediately afterward.
Sunday was her only full day off. Exhausted, she attended the later services of a different church each week. Parishioners were friendly and curious. She didn’t feel like talking about her circumstances and usually sat in the back, where she could leave quietly and unobserved as soon as the worship services ended. Sometimes she departed before the pastor or priest made the walk to the door to give his blessings to attendees.
She didn’t know what to do about the baby. All she knew was the problem wouldn’t go away. Each day made it grow larger.
She was confused about everything. She hadn’t been to see a doctor since the first weeks of pregnancy. Since she wasn’t on welfare, she didn’t think she was eligible for a free clinic, even if there was one in Fort Bragg. She didn’t have the money for doctor’s visits, let alone a hospital delivery.
What was she going to do when the baby came? Have it in her motel room without assistance? Then what? Leave the baby on a church doorstep in the hope that someone might take it in, no questions asked?
God, what am I going to do?
She lay on the bed in her motel room night after night, staring at the ceiling, worrying about the future. The long hours on her feet working took a toll on her. Tonight she had fallen asleep in the laundry, the hum and roll of the dryer mesmerizing. Her back ached. Her feet and ankles were swollen. Her head ached.
A long, hot shower helped ease her sore muscles. Climbing wearily into bed, she tucked an extra pillow between her knees to ease the ache in her lower back. Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep—only to find herself back in the clinic, Ms. Chambers blocking her way out. Her mother was at her side, holding her hand, drawing her toward an examining room where Dr. Wyatt waited. He was wearing a white coat and pulling on rubber gloves.
“It’ll only take a few minutes, and it’ll be all over.”
Dynah could hear the sound of a machine in the background, like water being sucked down a drain. Someone was screaming. Was she the only one who heard it? How could they all stand and look so calm when someone was crying out like that?
“It’s not so bad,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“I don’t want to do it!”
Ms. Chambers glared at her in contempt. “Don’t be such a coward! I did it. Why shouldn’t you have to do it, too?”
“You can’t come home,” her mother said. “Daddy won’t let you.”
“I can’t do it!” Dynah broke free and ran into the corridor.
Ethan was sitting in a chair, his head in his hands. He looked up at her, his face streaked with tears. “You should’ve been my wife, but you’re not good enough anymore.”
Turning away, she saw her father standing at the counter. “I told you to get rid of it. It’s a monster, and I won’t have it in my house.”
Crying, she ran down the hall, trying to find a way out. All the doors were locked. The hall turned to the right and then the left and the right again, growing narrower. She saw the door at the end and raced to it, pushing it open. Another door was on the other side, and Janet was standing in front of it.
“I don’t see why you’re making such an issue of it, Dynah. If anyone has the right, you do. Besides, it’s no big thing. Everybody’s doing it.”
Dynah pushed past her to the door. When she opened it, she fell headlong into Dean Abernathy’s office. He was in the process of shuffling stacks of papers on his desk. As she tumbled to the floor, he stopped and stared down at her. “She’s in here! She’s in here!”
She could hear the sound of running feet coming closer and closer, and she clambered to her feet.
Dean Abernathy stood and came around his desk.
Dynah sat up abruptly, bathed in perspiration, her heart pounding. Trembling, she drew the blankets more tightly around her and listened.
The room was dark and quiet, the alarm clock on the bedside table reading 3:45.
How long, O Lord? How long will You forsake me? I’m alone. I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do. How is it I felt Your presence all my life and now You are n
owhere to be found? Was my relationship with You an illusion? Were the stories of You merely fairy tales told to me by my father and mother? Where is Your protection? Where is Your mercy?
Unable to sleep, she got up at five and showered again. It was Sunday, but she didn’t feel like attending church. Instead, she drove down the coast to Mendocino.
She parked on Kasten Street in front of the bakery. Hungry, she purchased a freshly baked apple fritter and a tall cup of steaming French roast coffee laced with cream. Wandering along Main Street, she paused to admire the Kelley House, a Victorian restored by citizens of the community and made into a museum. It wouldn’t open for hours yet. Across the street was Jerome B. Ford House, a state museum. Beyond were the trails along the cliffs overlooking Portuguese Beach. She walked the meandering path through the grasses to the point.
A lumber mill had stood here a hundred years ago when Mendocino was a bustling community made up of seafaring men from New England, Scandinavia, Portugal, China, and the Azores. Immigrants had flooded California during the gold rush. By the 1880s, mining and whaling had diminished, but the wave still came, bringing farmers, fishermen, and loggers.
She stood at the edge of the point watching the waves crash on the rocks, white spray bursting into the air, foam swirling, the cool mist stinging her cheeks. She drew her jacket more closely around her, awed by the power of the sea.
O Lord God, who is like You? You are almighty, creator of heaven and earth. Your faithfulness surrounds me. You rule the swelling sea. When its waves rise, only You can still them.
Closing her eyes, she lifted her face, feeling the salt wind caress her. Opening her arms, she opened her heart to the Lord as well. And then she could hear His voice again. Oh, God, oh, God.
Oh, Father, I have treasured Your Word in my heart so that I might not sin against You—but now I see I haven’t heeded that Word. That’s why I’ve been so distressed. That’s why I’ve received no answer to my prayers. Oh, God, all this time I’ve been asking Your permission to end the life of this child. I’ve asked You to take it from me. I’ve asked for Your approval of sin. Forgive me, Lord. My God, You have never forsaken me. I’m the one who turned away from You.
Jesus, forgive me. Oh, Father, I long for You. Sometimes I wish You were here in body. Sometimes I wish I could feel Your arms around me, holding me.
Oh, Father, open my eyes, that I may behold the wonderful things You have done for me. Set my feet upon the rock, Lord. Anchor me in Your love. My faith is weak, as I am weak. You alone are my strength and shield. You alone, Lord. You alone.
Joe found her car and parked beside it. It was early yet, stores closed, streets empty. Only a few restaurants and cafés were open. The doorbell jangled as he entered the bakery. The waitress said a girl who fit the description he gave had come in and purchased an apple fritter and coffee an hour ago.
Borrowing a pen, he wrote a quick note on a napkin. Hold tight. I’m looking for you. Joe. He stuck it under the windshield wiper of Dynah’s car and started off. He hadn’t gone twenty feet when he came back. Popping open her hood, he pulled out the rotor and pocketed it. He wasn’t taking any chances.
Walking briskly along Main Street, he passed a dozen people out taking morning strolls. Across the street were the Mendocino headlands and the cliffs overlooking Big River, the bay, and the grand Pacific for as far as the eye could see. Several pairs of joggers were running the trails. Then Joe stopped, narrowing his eyes.
Someone was out there, standing on the far point, looking at the Pacific Ocean. Long blonde hair twirled in the wind.
“Yes!” Joe said under his breath. Thanking God, he crossed the street and strode toward her. When he came closer, he slowed, watching how she wrapped her arms around herself as the wind came up, her ankle-length flowered skirt fluttering around her slender legs. She was wearing hiking boots and thick socks.
As though feeling his presence, she turned. Joe watched her eyes widen in surprise. He smiled, walking toward her.
“Joe,” she said, clearly unable to believe she was really seeing him.
He stopped in front of her, drinking in the sight of her. Her cheeks were wind-stung pink, her blue eyes solemn. She had lost the haunted look.
“Hi,” he said. When her arms loosened about herself, he put his arms around her, his heart taking a flip when he felt her hands slide around his back, returning the embrace. He felt the fullness of her body and thanked God again. She hadn’t given in after all. Praise God!
Dynah leaned into him, savoring his warmth, feeling his hand lightly cup the back of her head, moving down over her back in a comforting caress. “What are you doing here, Joe?”
“You broke a date. The fifteenth. Remember?”
She withdrew. “Oh. I forgot. I’m sorry.”
He smiled, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I forgive you.”
“How did you find me?”
“You talked about this area at the prairie reserve, remember? And your mom showed me the family albums. I started at Dillon Beach and worked my way north.”
“Oh, Joe. All that trouble . . .”
“No trouble.” He tipped her chin up playfully. “You look good, Dynah. Real good.”
Blushing, she laughed self-consciously. “Growing by the day,” she said and opened her coat.
“You’re doing the right thing.”
She closed the coat around her again to ward off the cool wind. “Don’t credit me with anything, Joe. I haven’t been able to make up my mind up to this point.”
“And now?”
“I’ll go through with it, whatever it takes.”
They walked along the cliff trail and down the beach. The sun was up, clouds clearing, the wind a whisper over the sand where the Big River met Mendocino Bay. The day warmed.
Dynah removed her coat and sat down on it. She took off her hiking boots and socks and stretched her legs out in front of her, pulling her skirt up so that her knees and calves took the sunshine.
“You look tired,” Joe said.
“I haven’t been sleeping very well.”
And no wonder, he thought, having to make it all on her own. “Have you seen a doctor?”
She shook her head. “Not since leaving school.”
“We’ll get you an appointment.”
She looked at him. “We?” She smiled faintly. “Are you going to take care of me, Joe? Are you going to solve all my problems?”
“You think I’ve been looking for you just to say hi and bye? I’ll stand by you.”
She searched his eyes. “I know we’re friends, Joe, but there’s more, isn’t there? Why does it matter so much to you that I have this baby?”
Joe had known she’d ask him someday, just as he’d known he’d have to answer. At least in part. The rest in time, God willing.
“I got a girl pregnant when I was seventeen. She had an abortion.”
She closed her eyes and raised her knees, drawing her skirt down like a silken tent, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Did you love her?”
He looked out at the waves crashing on the rocks across the bay. “No.” Sighing, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Sex was the big thing with me in those days. . . .” He glanced at Dynah, relieved to see she didn’t look disgusted.
“I’m listening, Joe.”
He didn’t like talking about his past, but she needed to know. “It was a gang thing, making conquests. The guys considered an illegitimate baby a trophy. Children were a physical proof of manhood.” He shook his head in disgust. “I bought into the whole mentality until Teresa got pregnant. Then reality struck. Hard.”
He spoke slowly. “She didn’t want to have the baby. She was afraid her parents would kick her out. My mother said she’d take her in. She even offered to adopt the baby. Teresa said she’d think about it and let me know. She called me two days later and told me she’d had an abortion.”
His dark eyes filled with tears. “It still gets me in the gut sometimes.
I’ve heard all the rhetoric about it being her body, her choice, and I understand all that. The trouble is, you can’t reason away some things. You can’t alter human nature. That baby was mine, too, part of my flesh and blood. When Teresa aborted my child, it was like she killed part of me.”
“Did you hate her for it?”
“Yeah, I hated her. For a long time.” His mouth tipped in self-contempt. “Not that anyone knew how I felt. I was a cool dude in those days. Nothing fazed me. It was easier blaming her than facing my part in the fiasco.”
Looking away, he let out his breath. He rested his forearms on his raised knees and was quiet for a long time. “Teresa and I didn’t last a month after she had the abortion. We were both angry. When we broke up, she got involved with another guy in the gang. Four months later, she was pregnant again. She had another abortion.”
Agitated, he stood up and moved a little away from her. He stared out over the rippling water. “Last time I was home, I looked her up. I wanted to make amends for my part in what happened. She’s living in Watts. She has two children by different fathers. She’s drinking, using dope, and living on welfare. Her life’s a mess.”
“Not everyone who has an abortion ends up like that, Joe.”
“No—” he turned to look at her—“but sometimes I wonder if there aren’t a lot of people out there like me. Playing it cool. Acting like nothing fazes them. Pretending it doesn’t matter. All the while dying inside.”
Dynah thought of her mother and grandmother. How many others suffered in silence, too ashamed and too afraid to speak about their pain? The world wouldn’t let them grieve for children they had aborted. How could they when the rhetoric said there was no child? How does one grieve what doesn’t exist? No one wanted to admit the truth. Even those who never had part in a decision of life and death suffered. Like her father.
She remembered a speaker at NLC saying one-and-a-half million babies were aborted every year. His focus had been on the children lost. Now, she wondered how many mothers cried in anguish over their decision. How many fathers felt as helpless and angry as Joe? What of the men and women who married them later and lived in the shadow of death? What of their children? What of the generations to come?