An Accidental Life (51 page)

Still.

She didn’t want to go back to working long hours, days, nights, weekends. She wanted to stay home with Daisy. She wanted to watch her child grow up, but she wanted to work too. She loved the practice of law.

She looked at the computer that Peter had bought for her and thought of the work that she’d done for Brightfield right here at home. Brightfield had mentioned once the idea of starting an appellate section at the firm. That was something she could build on, and, perhaps some of that work could be done right here at home, with Daisy at her side. She was good at this, he’d said—good at winding her way through the cases, good at the analysis required to write these briefs, and maybe someday even argue them in court. She could pick and choose her cases—take only those she really cared about.

She watched the fire burning low. The research for Brightfield’s briefs was like digging for clues, solving a mystery, she’d found—and each time she turned up an answer, something new, a new holding, or some particular reasoning by a court that applied to her case, she felt good. It was a feeling of victory, as though she’d helped to change someone’s life for the better.

Rubbing her hand over Daisy, she imagined the baby in a bassinet beside her, with the fire blazing and the baby dozing under a blanket while Mommy worked. For a moment—just a few seconds—she closed her eyes and let herself drift with her imagination. And then Daisy moved, kicking, and burst the bubble, pulling her back into reality.

She shook her head. What a crazy idea.

Rebecca looked back down at her draft. Vince had made a statement in his closing argument that had been nagging her. She thought about the problem, then looked up the Roe decision on the computer again. She’d read the opinion so many times while writing this brief that she was certain she had it memorized.

But now, she started again at the beginning, reading line by line, concentrating on that worrisome point. Vince had seemed to imply the constitutional right to choose an abortion declared by that Court also burdened a born-alive infant like Baby Chasson. When she came to the end of the decision, she sat back, looking into the flickering fire, thinking about what she’d just read. She’d missed it before. The answer was there. It was subtle, somewhat oblique.

She read through the section she’d remembered, and smiled. Then she went back through the case law dealing with the issue. At last she sank back in the chair, stunned at the clarity and simplicity of the answer. All bets were off after a live birth under
Roe v. Wade
. The mother’s consent was extinguished.

By the time she’d finished and put down the pen, it was two o’clock in the morning. She closed her eyes, and exhaled. When she opened them again, she saw the fire had died down to ashes and glowing coals. Minutes passed as she sat there thinking about Peter’s case and the raw irony of an accidental life.

One would think that knowing a live birth was a risk at least the clinic would have prepared for that event, but somehow that hadn’t seemed to matter. The most obvious evidence of that fact was the lack of crash carts and provisions for postnatal emergency care in even the most expensive abortion clinics. But it hadn’t mattered at New Hope Hospital either, when Abby was born. It was only Alice that had made the difference.

Live-birth survivors of abortion were the best-kept secret in the world.

59

Alice had returned to work the
next day with a promise from Peter that he would call her as soon as he heard from the judge’s clerk, but he’d said he thought the one-man jury would be out for days. She was on her way home now, still hoping he’d call. She’d be in court to hear the verdict, one way or the other, she’d promised herself. And she would call the Gordys as soon as she’d heard, as she’d promised.

Promises, promises. Charlie had promised to come back to her after the war, and look what had happened.

She’d made promises to herself, too, from time to time. Promises to enjoy life. Promises to travel, to see the world.

The streetcar slowed for the turn from St. Charles to Carrollton Avenue, and Alice looked up at Camellia Grill and saw her stop was near. She was tired, and hungry. When the car stopped at Oak Street, Alice got off. Ahead she saw Ciro’s Christmas lights blinking, and she veered toward the grocery store to find something good to eat to make up for the lackluster day. Through the large plate-glass windows she saw Ciro’s girl, Franchesca, standing behind the register, and a customer talking to her as she made change.

A bell rang over the door as Alice entered the grocery store. The customer turned to go and Franchesca looked up and greeted her. Ciro’s daughter was a pretty girl, Alice thought as she nodded and walked on past. She wandered through the shelves and vegetable stalls for a minute and then decided on an alligator pear for dinner, and some sharp cheese for a sandwich. She picked out a large ripe avocado, soft to the touch, and selected the sharpest cheese and took them both to the counter where Franchesca waited.

The girl rang up the purchase, making friendly chatter while making change. Alice studied the framed photographs on the wall behind the counter while she waited. There were pictures there of Ciro, his wife and their children, and of an older woman, his mother, she supposed. Nearby were younger boys on a rocky beach eating gelato, and behind them green hills rose to the sky.

“Your family?” she asked as Franchesca handed her some change. She nodded toward the pictures as she put the money in her pocketbook.

With a glance over her shoulder, Franchesca pulled a brown paper bag from under the counter and placed Alice’s purchases inside. “Yes, m’am. That’s from two years ago, in Santa Margherita, in Italy. Dad’s family is from Genoa, up in the north of Italy, near Milan. Have you ever been to Italy?”

“No.”

“Well, I want to go and Dad says he’ll take me there after my first year of college. But I’m just a junior in high school. That’s a long time to wait.”

“I’d love to go someday.”

“Dad won’t let me go alone. He says it’s a place to fall in love, and I’m too young.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Can you believe that?”

Alice laughed.

Bells tinkled overhead as Alice walked through the glass door framed in colored Christmas lights, heading across the street to her lonely apartment.

60

Peter was almost finished with breakfast
when Rebecca walked into the kitchen, still wearing her robe. She swiped hair back from her forehead, blew out her cheeks, opened the refrigerator door, and stood there peering in.

“Tired?” Peter’s voice was too cheerful.

“Exhausted.” She pulled out a bottle of orange juice, shut the door, and turned toward Peter. “I couldn’t sleep last night, worrying about the verdict. I can’t understand what’s taking him so long.”

“It’s a big responsibility.”

Judge Morrow had had the case now for over a week. She took a glass from the cabinet over the counter and filled it with juice. Returning the bottle to the refrigerator, she trudged toward the table where Peter was and sat down in a chair across from him. The baby was due any day now Dr. Matlock had said and she was more than ready.

“Daisy’s developed a different sleep cycle from Mom’s,” she said, making a face. Lifting the glass, she drank a few gulps of the orange juice, and then set it down.

“What are your plans today?”

She lounged back, arms dangling at her sides as she looked at Peter. “Brightfield’s got something new for me. Another appellate brief. He says it can wait until after Daisy arrives. There’s no big hurry. But I’d just as soon get started now; thought I’d start checking out some cases this morning.” She rubbed her stomach. “She was restless last night. I think she’s getting bored in there.”

“Promise not to call him Daisy when he arrives. In fact, why don’t you practice? Just say it once—Gatsby.” He reached across and she swatted his hand away, laughing.

“Not a chance, my love.” For a few minutes she watched Peter drinking his coffee and reading the paper. Then she leaned across and pushed the paper down, so that she could see his face.

He raised his brows.

“I’ve made a decision, Peter.”

“Uh-oh.”

She sat back, looking at him. She’d been thinking about how to break this to him for the past week. He set the paper aside and looked at her, so she just came right out with it. “Listen. I’ve made a decision to resign from the firm, Peter.”

His brows shot up.

“My plan is to set up a law firm of my own, handling only appellate briefs at first, and later on, when Daisy’s older, I’d like to be able to do the arguments in court too once in a while. But here’s the best thing: the firm will be headquartered right here at home, in our study.” She hesitated. “With the computer, I can do it. What do you think of that?”

He leaned back, stretching his arms, wrists loosely resting on the table. “I think it’s a great idea, Rebbe. In fact . . .” he nodded, “I think it’s a smart move.” He chuckled. “Bill Brightfield wanted to set up an appellate section at the firm anyway, so this way you can provide those services, do the same work, and take the profit.”

Rebecca smiled. She’d thought of that, too. Brightfield would sulk for a few days, she was certain.

“Won’t you miss working downtown, the action?”

“No. This way I can be with Daisy.” She shook her head and gave him a somber look. “I didn’t like a single one of those nannies I interviewed, Peter. Finally figured out why. It’s because I can’t stand the thought of not being around when she takes her first step, or speaks her first word. Can’t stand the idea of being away all the time. So . . . I’ll use the study.” She gave him a sideways look. “You can have a corner.”

He laughed. “Sure . . .
now
you say that.”

“And while Daisy and I are still getting used to each other, well, I’ll stick to what I know—the Mangen & Morris work, but I’ll work as an independent contractor. I’ll hire an assistant if I need one. This way I can set my own schedules. Then later on, when she’s in school, well, I’ll go national. Plenty of firms don’t have appellate expertise. It’s an opportunity.”

“And Gatsby will love having Mom around.”

“The name is Daisy.” She smiled. “Mothers know.”

Then she fell back in the chair, hands clapped together. “This is exciting, Peter.”

Just then she felt a sharp kick from Daisy. “Come feel this!” She looked up, motioning to Peter. “Hurry. The child never sleeps. She’s moving around more than usual this morning. I think she likes the idea.”

Peter rose, walked to Rebecca, knelt beside her, and put his hand over the baby. A grin instantly split his face as he looked up. “He’s busy today.” His eyes met Rebecca’s and lingered. Then he lifted his hand, cupping her neck as she bent down for his long slow kiss.

Straightening again, Rebecca looped her arms around his neck, looking down into his eyes. “I’ve always known we have something special together Peter. But . . .” Her expression turned grave as she searched his eyes. “Now, we’ve created this miracle between us. At least, this little life growing inside seems a miracle to me.”

Peter was silent.

“Just think, we’ve made a child together. And, well . . . I think our love’s grown stronger and deeper through this bond. Everything’s changed! Even our relationship has changed.”

He nodded. “We are a family now. Not just two people in love, living separate lives, Rebbe.”

“I think someone is listening when we pray. I think . . . I think that Daisy’s a gift. A gift from God, like Amalise has always thought.”

“I know. I’ve been giving thanks.”

She bent and touched her forehead to his, as they held onto each other. When, after a few seconds, she drew back, she caught Peter blinking, and wondered if those were tears.

Peter drew back and rose, giving her a long look. Suddenly he glanced at his watch and his eyes grew wide. “I’ve gotta get going.” He picked up his coffee cup from the table and drained it, setting it back down, and turned. “But I’m one hundred percent on board with your idea, Beauty. It’s better than anything I could have dreamed, really.”

Then he gave her a look. “Are you certain you want to do this? Give up the partnership you’ve worked for all these years?”

“I’m sure. I’ll have you and Daisy, and home, and work that I’ll love. What could be better?”

“Well. I’m excited. I’ll be married to the managing partner of a national law firm. That and Daisy; what more could a guy ask?” He picked up his briefcase from the chair. “I’m off now.” But as he held the door handle, he turned quickly back to her. “Call the minute anything happens, Rebbe?”

“I will.”

“Even a twinge. Promise?”

“Of course.”

“The numbers are on—”

“I know. On the bulletin board beside the refrigerator.”

As she heard the car door shut, the telephone rang. She pushed herself up with a groan, and walked over to the phone on the wall near the door to the living room, hearing the engine starting up in the garage.

“Hello?” she said, leaning against the wall.

“Rebecca? This is Molly. The verdict’s in!”

A beat went by. Then she dropped the telephone, letting it dangle from the curling cord as she hurried to the door and flung it open. Leaning out, “Peter!” she called.

He was already backing the car out of the garage, but he spotted her.

“We’ve got a verdict!” she shouted.

61

Alice hung up the phone. The
judge had reached a decision. She’d taken the call at the desk in the file room, and now she sat there looking down at the stack of files that must be put on the doors of each examination room right away for the first wave of patients.

The verdict would be read at ten o’clock this morning.

Dr. Matlock walked up and looked over the counter. “I need the file for Miss Waddington, please. She’s already in the room.”

Clutching the files, Alice told Dr. Matlock that she would have to leave the office for a while.

“Impossible,” he said in a sharp tone. “Nonsense. We’ve got a patient already waiting in the room, and a full schedule this morning.” He tilted his head, his brows drawn together. “What’s gotten into you lately, Miss Hamilton?”