Free Interlude by Lela Gilbert Page A

her on the cheek as they parted.
    She took the elevator to her room, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed on her bed. Why was she so tired? Was fatigue a symptom of pregnancy? Her back was still unusually sore and for that matter so were her breasts. She stared at the ceiling in horror, fear assaulting her from all directions.
    Why was she marrying a man she didn’t really know all that well? Was he some sort of a spy? Did he have a weird, secret life, carefully hidden from her? It was entirely possible, considering how little time they’d spent together.
    Or, like her father’s friend Red had said so unkindly, was Jon just an ignoramus—a foolish man who would trade his future with her for a dangerous job and a little excitement?
    Was she about to marry a man who wasn’t really the person she thought he was?
    Worse yet, was she carrying his baby?
    As the minutes passed all her uncertainties gave way to the echo of his words, shouted to anyone who might hear. “Tell Betty I love her.” She loved him too, even in the midst of this present crisis, and longed to somehow convey that knowledge to him. There was an unexplainable link between them, no matter what transpired.
    Will it last? The familiar question resurfaced in her thoughts.
    This time, however, there was a reply. The still, small answer was unmistakable.
    It’s up to you.

4
    B etty awoke feeling disoriented and depressed. She had slept fitfully—ambulance sirens approaching the hospital across the street had awakened her several times. And, once again, Jon’s battered face had invaded her chaotic dreams.
    Her lower backache continued, aggravated by a night of tossing and turning. Her breasts were still tender. She flipped on the television, trying to distract herself from all thoughts of pregnancy. A news anchorwoman reported:
    A demonstration by a group of Christian fundamentalists intended to close down an abortion clinic in Southern California, was interrupted by police late yesterday. A spokesperson for Planned Parenthood said . . .
    Off went the television. Abortion clinics. That’s just what I need to hear about. Planned Parenthood . . .
    Suddenly, a panic-inspired idea flashed. Impulsively, she grabbed the yellow pages out of a nightstand drawer.
    Let your fingers do the walking, she grimly consoled herself as she leafed through the P’s.
    She dialed a number. The person who answered referred her to another number. She immediately called it.
    â€œYes. I’m interested in finding out if I’m pregnant. Can you help me?”
    Her call was transferred to a counselor. Quite unrehearsed, Betty blurted out, “It’s been six weeks since my last period, my boyfriend’s away for an extended time and I’m afraid I’m pregnant.”
    â€œWe can schedule an appointment for you today, Miss, if you’d like to come in.”
    â€œIf I am pregnant, do you, uh . . .”
    â€œWe can discuss your options when you come in.”
    â€œIf I were to want an abortion, would I be able to do it today?”
    â€œI’ll have to check our schedule. Probably so, but first let’s find out whether you need one. What is your name?”
    â€œUh . . . Fuller. Beth Fuller.”
    â€œOkay, Beth. Can you be here at 11:00 A.M. ?”
    â€œDo I need to bring anything with me in case we go ahead with the . . .”
    â€œNo, it’s an out-patient procedure. Just be sure someone is with you to drive you home.”
    â€œI’ll be coming in a cab. Will you take an out-of-state check?”
    â€œYes, of course. We’ll see you at eleven.”
    Betty hung up, her thoughts racing. I’ll just get it over with and think about it later. God, I’m sorry, but I can’t face this. I know You’ll forgive me. It’s just too much.
    She checked the clock. It was 9:00 A.M. This time tomorrow she’d be on a plane home. Or would she? Could she fly less than twelve hours