THE SPLIT: Chapter Eleven

In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.

Lorinda knew enough not to set off an alarm at a government surveillance agency by searching online for “pregnancy termination” or “abortion” or “abortion drug” or “abortifacient.” Although even if she’d decided to live dangerously and search those terms, there was no knowing what could pop up: Just as they did with radio and television broadcasts from the USA, and however much the government denied it, everyone knew — or assumed — that the authorities limited the reach of internet searches, and kept a tight rein on content it deemed “acceptable.” Sometimes, of course, you got lucky, and a search might yield as many as 10,000 results. But that only happened with regard to approved topics, such as “rights” or “miracles” or “Trump.” Best not to tempt fate by searching radioactive subjects like “termination.”

Which didn’t mean she wasn’t becoming obsessed with solving her problem. Over the next two weeks, her inability to envision a realistic plan sent her into an increasingly disturbing mental roundelay of desperate remedies she’d heard about (in cautionary public health talk shows) or read about (in lurid fiction) or imagined: violent exercise, staircase, bleach, wire hanger, mugwort, caffeine pills, parsley, vitamin C, ladder, staircase … bleach, wire hanger….

In the meantime, Emmie had started insinuating herself into the daily routine of a doctor she occasionally worked with, Dr. Henry Holman. He was the oldest doctor in the hospital, the head of OB/GYN at Perfecton General, and rumored to be a liberal originally from someplace in the USA. As far as Emmie could tell, he enjoyed speaking with her. Sometimes she even imagined he was flirting with her, despite being older than her parents.

She had been wondering how to discreetly arrange a tête-a-tête with him when she suddenly found herself assigned to assist him in a routine C-section. As they were wrapping up, it was simply a matter of saying, “Hey, can we have lunch tomorrow? I have something I need to ask you. It’s … kind of private.” He agreed immediately.

And now there he was, alone at a table at the far end of the cafeteria, in a corner by the windows, the day’s special (“Tex-Mex Chipped Beef”) plated before him on a tray. He was short and stocky, with a white fringe of hair outlining a bald pate. He wore the usual white lab coat over a white shirt and dark blue tie. It was a little early for lunch and the place was nearly empty. Toting the sandwich she’d brought from home, Emmie grabbed a can of soda and a coffee and headed for his table. He didn’t look up until she was a few steps away, then smiled and gestured for her to have a seat. 

“I hope you don’t mind meeting at this time,” said Dr. Holman, softly. “I’ve made the assumption that we’ll want some privacy. We’ll talk in low voices and smile a lot. I picked this table because it’s the farthest from the cameras and microphones, but you never know.”

“Okay,” said Emmie, smiling in a way that she hoped didn’t seem too fake.

“I’m seventy-three years old,” said the doctor. “I never thought, when I was in med school, that one day I’d want to avoid … surveillance in a hospital cafeteria. I would have retired already, but it’s not so easy these days.”

“The doctor shortage,” said Emmie with an inappropriately bright smile.

“That’s right. In any case, I’m a dinosaur here. All the younger staff seem used to the cameras and mics.” He laughed. Emmie wasn’t sure if the laugh was real or for the cameras. “I got into my specialty because — I know this will sound naïve at best — I wanted to help people. I wanted to help women. And their babies. Long before The Split I was recruited to run OB/GYN at the Sealy in Galveston —”

“Back when there was a Galveston,” said Emmie, trying but failing to look upbeat.

He nodded. “This was before it was underwater,” said Dr. Holman. “Obviously. Before that I was working in Boston. Galveston was a great opportunity, I thought. And it was, for a while. Then the laws changed. No more … procedures for women who needed them. Then Hurricane Claude and no more Galveston. Then they moved me to Austin. Then came The Split.” Dr. Holman forked a bite of chipped beef into his mouth and tried to look like he was enjoying it. “Then they moved me here to establish the department. Which I did.”

“It’s a great department,” said Emmie, eagerly.

“Well,” said the doctor, “it’s not bad considering what we’ve had to work with. You wouldn’t think it was so great if you’d seen the department at Brigham & Women’s in Boston.” He smiled. “But enough about me. You said you wanted to ask me something?”

Emmie realized she hadn’t had a single bite of her lunch. Wondering if that looked suspicious, she raised the sandwich to her mouth and took a healthy chomp, then washed it down with a bracing slug of NoLa Cola. She had rehearsed obsessively what she was about to say, but now her mind was entirely empty. “Okay, Doctor Holman —”

“Please. Henry.”

“— Henry, I, um, know someone … who knows someone who, um —”

“Finds herself in a certain state?”

Emmie stopped dead. The man was a mind-reader. “Yes!” she whispered, eyes wide. “How —”

He waved away her amazement. “It was an easy guess. And if I had been wrong, you’d correct me. But …” He scrutinized her closely. Gone was the crinkly-eyed amusement. Now he looked like a tired, wary old man.

“But what?”

“Can I trust you, Emily?”

She nodded solemnly.

He seemed to debate something within himself, and finally sighed. “All right. I have to say this carefully.”

“I understand,” said Emmie.

“Women have the same … issues they’ve always had. And it’s much harder now for them to deal with some of those issues. They can end up in prison, along with the doctors who are just trying to help them live their lives.”

“I know. And —"

“Oh, but wait.” He contrived an expression of naughty mischief, as though telling her a dirty joke. “Are we talking about you?”

Her laugh wasn’t all that fake. “Uh, no.”

“Okay. Look,” said the doctor, having another taste of his lunch and a sip of his bottled water, “I’m not going to be here for much longer. As far as I know I’m the only one here who is …” he stopped to think about how to phrase it. “Who is capable of directing a woman to someone who can help her. Sometimes,” he said, “medical ethics, and just plain compassion, may conflict with the law. Do you agree?” He leaned back and, in a sudden weird shift she realized was for show, chuckled theatrically.

Emmie tried to laugh back, but her emotions were moving too fast. This whole exchange was leaving her relieved, and excited, but also anxious and a little paranoid. Of course, no one had actually said anything bad, and he seemed trustworthy. So she figured, “Fuck it,” and said, “As a matter of fact, my friend … my friend’s friend may need to find … something that isn’t legal, and that many people think is unethical, but that I think would, um, be very important to her physical and mental health.”

The doctor smiled at her, had another bite of his lunch, chewed it thoughtfully, then hit the table and chuckled as if he’d just thought of a good joke. “Then you know what I’m saying. Women need options they can’t get here in Perfecton. Or in most of this…” — he almost spat the word — “country.”

“Yes,” said Emmie. “It’s difficult.”

“It’s beyond difficult. Before I retire I need to know that women here won’t be trapped. At the mercy of these barbarian … pious … hucksters.”

Emmie was suddenly worried that the doctor was getting carried away. His voice was rising, he was gesturing broadly, he was no longer smiling. To break the spell, she leaned back and laughed, and then laughed some more. Dr. Holman hesitated for a moment, then joined her.

“Thank you,” he said as his laughter subsided. “I’m passionate about this. It’s hard to keep it bottled up.”

“I agree with you,” said Emmie. “I’m afraid. But I agree.”

“I’m going to give you the name of a contact, a doctor in Austin. A former colleague of mine,” he said softly. “As far as I know there’s not a single doc between here and there who can provide … help.” He directed his eyes to the table. She followed his gaze and saw, next to her sandwich, a tattered business card. When he dropped it there she didn’t know; it was a sort of magic trick, a sleight of hand. She looked back at him. “You’ll be very careful with that, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she said, forcing a big camera-ready smile.

 “I’m going to miss this place,” he said. “You … my other colleagues ... Tell you what I won’t miss, though.” He looked down and frowned at his plate. “This food.”

 As Lorinda finished her booze inventory that afternoon, a message from Emmie popped up: “Hey! Wanna go for a little drive after work tonight? I’m on a double shift.”

“Sure,” Lorinda responded immediately. “I come straight to the hospital?”

“Right. See U then.”

It was a tiring evening for Lorinda. None of her favorite regulars, lots of weird drink orders, some guy complaining about her “piss-poor pour.” She stopped at the parking-lot exit and thought about which way she wanted to drive to the hospital. She looked down the street to the right, then to the left, as if that would help her decide. Aside from a shiny black Zhiguli pickup truck parked on the left, the street was deserted. She headed right.

Although it was a dark night and the brown haze was particularly thick, as soon as she turned into the hospital parking lot Lorinda spotted Emmie, in her dark green scrubs, standing outside the main entrance.

“Take you home?” she asked as Emmie closed the Ryonbong’s flimsy passenger door.

“I have my car here. Let’s just drive around for a while.”

“You got it,” said Lorinda, heading back out of the parking lot. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been hanging out a little with this old doctor, Dr. … I won’t say his name. You don’t need to know his name. Anyway, they say he’s, like, a liberal from up north, the USA, been here forever, head of OB/GYN.”

“And?” said Lorinda eagerly, turning out of the parking lot. “Does he … you know?”

“Him? No way. Last time a doctor performed a termination in Perfecton the whole town knew about it in a few days,” Emmie said. “They both went to jail, the doc and the woman. And the laws are stricter now.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“Anyway,” said Emmie. “This doctor. He gave me the name of someone who does that procedure. An old colleague of his. In Austin.”

“Austin! That’s really far.”

“Yeah,” said Emmie, “but think about it. Big city, lots of people, people don’t know each other. It’s not like Perfecton. Here’s her business card.” She dropped the card on the seat next to her.

“You’re my hero, Emmie. Thank you,” said Lorinda. Then she shuddered.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about falling down a flight of stairs. Or off a ladder. Drinking poison. Playing football. Doing gymnastics. I can’t have a baby now, Ems.” Then, glancing at her rearview mirror and squinting through the haze, “That’s weird,” she said. “I think the same truck was parked down the street when I left PumpJack’s. What are the odds?”

 “There are a lot of trucks around here,” said Emmie.

“Hang on,” said Lorinda, making a sudden turn into a driveway, backing out, and heading rapidly in the direction from which they’d just come, toward the pickup. The truck, now only ten or twelve car-lengths away, responded by doing the same thing, speeding off ahead of them and squealing down the first side street. By the time they reached the street, all they could see was a cloud of black smoke hovering in the fetid air.

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PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.

Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.

Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.

Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.

Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.

Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.

Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.

Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.

Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.

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