Carla climbed into the back seat of Michael’s car determined to have a gracious attitude and happy countenance. It didn’t come naturally these days when it seemed all Nancy could talk about—and Michael, too, when Carla was with the two of them together—was their wedding.
“Hi, Guys!”
“Hey, Carla.”
“Hey, what’s up, little sister?”
“Not much. How about with you?” Carla wondered why in the world she’d asked such a question. She kicked herself for encouraging another round of wedding talk.
“We were wondering if you would join us for lunch—with Patrice.” Michael turned to look at Carla momentarily.
“With Patrice? You’re both having lunch with her?”
“It’s shocking, isn’t it?” Nancy laughed pleasantly at Carla’s surprise. “Well, you know I was planning to meet her at Forbes’ Place next Saturday, but she called to ask if I could do it today instead. I told her I had some errands to run with Michael but that perhaps we could both meet her. I didn’t expect her to take me up on it, but she did! And then she said she’d like to have you come, too.”
“I don’t believe it,” Carla answered with fervor.
“Well, frankly, neither could I. I said, ‘You mean Carla as in Michael’s sister?’ And she said yes. ‘Well, I’ll ask her,’ I told her. So we’re asking you.”
“Wow. That’s random.”
“Mmhmm. What do you make of it?” Nancy’s curiosity was as strong as Carla’s.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think Marc has told her he took you out to dinner?” Nancy’s face was a big question mark.
“I wouldn’t know,” Carla said, sighing.
Nancy said nothing, and Carla appreciated once again her friend’s sensitivity. She had talked at length with Nancy about the wonderful time she had had with Marc, and of his insinuation that he’d like to take her to dinner again. However, he hadn’t made a single move to do so. It had left Carla in a quandary, but now, three weeks later, she had resolved to put false hopes behind her and had been able to get herself back into the position of secretary and only secretary to her boss.
“I’d really rather not go,” Carla announced.
It was Michael who responded first. “Ah, c’mon, Carla. What do you have to lose? It will only take an hour or so, and we’ll have a good lunch. You know I don’t see much of you these days except on the way to and from the clinic. I’d surely like to have your company. Besides, lunch is on me. You have nothing to lose.”
Carla sighed again. “Patrice has never been very friendly towards me, but I’ll come if you really want me to.”
“We do! I wonder if she’s still sweet on Marc?” Nancy queried.
“I wonder too,” Michael declared, “but he was a different man before his baby died. What do you think, Carla?”
“I know Marc really used to care a lot for her, but he cooled down to freezing—for a while anyway. I don’t know what’s going on now. She certainly never calls the office anymore, but maybe she calls him at home. At any rate, I have absolutely no clue why she’d want to see me, and I have to admit it makes me a little suspicious.”
“Ah, don’t worry,” Michael advised. “We’re only called to love.”
Carla didn’t feel like answering. By this time the three were getting out of the car, and the conversation abruptly ended.
“Hey, Carla!” A young man sauntered over to her side. “How’ve you been?”
“Pretty good. How are you, Dan?”
“Fair to middlin’, I guess.” He smiled at her. Carla knew he was interested in her like she wanted Marc to be. Oh, well, she sighed, drumming up polite conversation. “How’s work going for you?”
“I guess I can’t complain. I got promoted this week.”
“You did? Good for you! I hope it came with a raise.” She smiled good-naturedly. “So what’s your new title?”
“I’m office manager! And yep—a big one. How about celebrating with me?”
“What did you have in mind?” Carla asked.
Dan smiled. “I’ll take you to the restaurant of your choice,” he offered.
“OK,” Carla agreed. “Sounds like fun.” Then, because it felt good to switch the subject, she did. “Has it been busy today?”
“I just got here myself.”
“Where’s Kirk?”
“Over on the other side.”
“I’m going to find out.”
“Mind if I come along?”
“I don’t mind,” Carla replied, disingenuously. She had hoped to end their conversation so as to let the details of her tentative date with Dan go undiscussed in hopes the plans would fizzle.
“So how about next Friday?”
“Uh… I think that would be fine.” Carla felt remorseful for her attitude. Who said she couldn’t have a nice time with a guy she wasn’t head over heels attracted to? She encouraged herself in fact that they could have a very good time. Besides, maybe he wasn’t head over heels attracted to her, either, and just wanted someone to take to dinner. “What time?”
“Is 6:00 all right?”
“That sounds great, Dan.” She smiled at the pleasure and relief written all over his face.
It turned out to be a busy day at the clinic. There had been only six clients, according to Kirk, up until the time Carla, Michael and Nancy had arrived; however, within the next half hour, six more arrived, and then seven more during the following hour.
The protesters called out to the clients, which included mostly parents and a few young grandmothers accompanying their daughters, as well as a solitary girl. One of the grandmothers was obviously surprised and disgruntled by the number of picketers and their efforts to change the minds of the pregnant women entering the abortion clinic. The clinic volunteer tried to prevent any dialogue, making an effort to escort the woman and her daughter quickly to the door; but the woman, feeling she and her daughter were being wrongfully subjected to the cries of the protesters, glanced over at one of the picketers. “Hey, stupid. It’s none of your _______business! Get a life!” she called over her shoulder and then stopped, waiting for a reply. It wasn’t long in coming.
“I’ve got a life, and I’m trying to save another one—your grandchild’s.”
“Oh, get out of here,” she replied in disgust, before being hurried through the door of the clinic.
“Please don’t kill your baby, Mom,” a female protester managed to yell before the door closed and locked behind them. The escort, still outside, shot a disparaging look in the direction of the protesters and then went to stand beside another clinic volunteer who was enjoying a cup of coffee and a donut.
“That’s one more child!” A protester called out to the escorts standing by the door. “Let’s see… Is that eleven or twelve to think about tonight?”
The abortion clinic volunteers, talking nonchalantly, promptly changed the direction they faced, away from the protesters.
The clinic door opened and a young man walked out, heading for his car.
“Hey man, be a father to your child, not a murderer!” It was Dan’s plea, but the man kept walking.
“Go get your wife and baby out of that death house,” another protester called out. The man unlocked the door of his car and sat for a moment, then started the engine.
“Where’s he going, do you think? His girlfriend’s still in there.” It was the second protester asking for an explanation from Kirk.
“He’s probably going to get money. They only take cash.”
“Do they take credit cards?” Carla asked.
“I don’t think so. Can you imagine all the couples who would want to cancel their payments when the first wave of remorse overwhelms them?”
The young man drove out and, sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, drove back in.
“Daddy, Daddy, please let me live. I don’t want to die,” a woman called out in a pleading voice. He kept walking, now accompanied by an abortion escort on either side.
“Hey, be a man and get your wife and kid out of there before it’s too late.”
“C’mon, honey, bring your money! We’ll kill that baby for you,” a woman cried loudly. Signs could be seen from two directions, and protesters were now calling out in a cacophony of sounds, above which could be heard a chant: “Don’t kill your baby! Don’t kill your baby! Don’t kill your baby! Don’t kill your baby!”
The abortion escorts hurried the man in through the door, and within a few moments it was quiet again.
“That poor kid!” Michael exclaimed.
“The guy that just went in?” Carla asked.
“Yeah—and his baby.” Michael walked over to the gate where a security guard and a volunteer stood talking and laughing. He looked at first one and then the other. They stopped talking and returned his gaze, until he began singing “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” quietly but unabashedly at first, then louder and louder as the two turned and walked towards the building entrance.
Carla and Nancy watched as the escorts went up to the locked door and rang the bell, waiting to be let inside.
“I don’t think they liked your song, Michael,” Nancy said, a sympathetic smile of resignation on her face.
He raised his eyebrows. “Yep. But that’s all right; maybe it will keep ringing in their ears tonight.”
……….
The following Monday was a day Carla would remember for a long time. When she walked back into her little office following her mid-morning break, she saw a note on her desk, neatly folded, with her name on it. Someone must have come in when she was away from her desk. The writing looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
Standing there, she opened it, puzzled. “Sig.” As she’d only whispered the name, she was surprised to hear Marc Garman’s voice from behind her.
“You know this guy?”
She half-jumped. “I’m sorry,” she explained. “I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry.” Marc apologized, then persisted, “Is he… a friend?”
“Well, kind of. He’s a guy I used to date.”
“The one who took you out for the big date that didn’t turn out so well?”
“Mmhmm.” Carla was surprised Marc remembered that detail.
“But you didn’t leave on friendly terms, did you?”
“No…” Carla stretched out the word. “He… he wants to take me out to dinner tonight.” Somehow she felt she wanted Marc to know; she also felt very insecure suddenly.
“You don’t want to go, do you?” Marc’s tone of voice was serious.
“No. No, I certainly don’t. I’d just as soon never see him again.”
“You don’t have to go, Carla.”
“But he didn’t leave a number, and I have no way of contacting him.”
“I do.”
“You do!” Carla showed her shock. “How?”
“I think he was high when he came in today. That’s pretty bad for nine-thirty in the morning. He asked for you, and I told him you had a doctor’s appointment and might not be in at all today. I told him to call back in a couple of hours when I’d heard from you.”
“But…”
“So now I’ve heard from you.”
“But Marc, he knows my car.”
“Give me the keys and I’ll move it.”
“Where?”
“I take my car to the garage on Blake Street. I know the guy who owns it. He’ll drive me back over. Don’t answer the phone. He was stoned when he called, so just wait ‘til I get back and I’ll talk to him. If you don’t want to see him, you’re not going to.” He smiled reassuringly. “OK?”
Carla was still in a state of shock as she fumbled for her keys and handed them to Marc. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“No problem.” He walked out, and Carla was left with a double shock—at hearing so out of the blue from Sig, and at Marc’s big-brother attitude. She could tell he was not impressed with Sig.
She opened the note again. “I want to take you to dinner tonight. I’ll call later.”
“Yuck!” she said out loud, trying to regain her composure. “Why in the world is he back?” She sighed in exasperation and began her routine assignments. When the phone rang, she left her seat and went down the hall to the girls’ room, wondering if the receptionist would spill the fact that she was at work.
Within twenty minutes Marc was back. He smiled at her as if nothing had happened, but he did tell her he’d told the receptionist when he left to tell any callers that she’d not seen Carla today.
Carla smiled. “Well, Vicki hasn’t seen me today, actually. I came in the back door.”
“I know, honest secretary,” he teased. “She told me. But I told your…friend…that he should call me later, so that’s how we’ll leave it.”
The day went smoothly enough after that. It was a productive one for Carla. At lunchtime she and Nancy talked about the time they’d all spent with Patrice, and most of the afternoon Carla found herself thinking of Patrice and the different turn her life had taken from an almost fairytale romance. But apparently Patrice didn’t feel that way—or certainly didn’t want anyone to know she felt that way.
“Marc and I had a good thing going for a while,” she had remarked, “but he was just getting too serious.”
Carla wondered about the circumstances surrounding their breakup. She strongly suspected it centered on the abortion of their baby, but she had no way of knowing for sure. “Things can get so muddled,” she muttered to herself as she thought of the tragic turn of events for Marc and Patrice, as well as of Sig’s coming back on the scene.
At four p.m. the phone rang in Mr. Garman’s office, and somehow Carla knew it would be Sig. A moment later, Marc opened the door and said, “Well, Carla, he said he was going over to your apartment to check up on you, so I had to tell him you weren’t sick—you just didn’t want to see him. He hung up.”
“Oooh.”
“Are you—afraid of him?
“Well… no, not really.”
“You just don’t want to see him.”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did he sound like he’d been drinking?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Carla took a deep breath and sighed slowly. “Mmm.”
“Why don’t you go to Nancy’s place tonight?”
Carla looked up in surprise. Marc had turned into a big brother again. “Oh, I’ll be OK. Nancy and Michael have plans tonight. I’ll be fine.” She mustered a reassuring smile.
Marc’s eyebrows communicated that he wasn’t convinced, and Carla hastened to add, “If he comes around, I just won’t answer the door. I really don’t want to talk with him if he’s been drinking. Otherwise it would be OK.”
“I understand.” Marc turned and went back into his office.
After work, Marc gave Carla a ride to the shop to get her car, and she drove straight home. She half expected Sig to call, so when the phone rang, she hesitatingly picked it up.
“Hello?” she ventured.
“Hi, Carla.” It was Michael. “We just picked up some Linder’s ice cream. Can we stop by and have some with you?”
“Sure!” Carla couldn’t remember ever wanting ‘family company’ so much in her life. “I’ll start some coffee.”
When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, she opened the door eagerly. “S-Sig!” she stammered, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “I… I was expecting someone else.”
“Hey, Sweets!” Sig said in a way that grated Carla. May I come in?” His speech was slurred and he was obviously drunk.
“Well, uh… actually I’m expecting company.”
“The more the merrier, I always say.”
Carla stood at the door feeling quite helpless as he walked right in past her. She really did not want to close herself in with Sig.
“You OK, Carla?”
“I’m OK. Are you?”
“Couldn’t be better. Haven’t seen you for a long time.”
“No, not for more than a year.”
“Well, I thought we should get reacquainted,” he said, half-staggering back to the door and closing it. “So you’re expecting company?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Oh… some friends.” Carla didn’t feel like divulging who it was, and his audacity irritated her.
“I’d forgotten what a nice little place you have here.”
“Where do you live, Sig?” She was beginning to recollect her wits.
“Well, that’s a good question. Right now I’m at the Circle Q Motel.” He looked at her as if he expected an adverse reaction.
“Where’s that?” Carla asked nonchalantly, staying close to the door, and praying silently that Michael and Nancy would come soon.
“It’s just off the interstate south of town.”
“Are you—are you still working for the same company?”
“Nah. It got to be boring.”
“I thought you liked it so well.”
“Not really.” He looked around. “Well, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
“Thank you, but no. I have friends coming over.”
“Ah, that’s right.” He paused. “Well, I’m starved. Do you have anything to snack on?”
“No,” Carla answered bluntly.
“Ah, come on,” Sig said, walking toward the kitchen. “Your refrigerator can’t be completely empty, now, could it?” he asked, opening the refrigerator.
“What gall!” Carla exclaimed under her breath.
“Is this turkey?” Sig asked, holding up a sealed plastic deli bag.
“Yes, Sig, that’s turkey.”
“Can I fix you a sandwich?”
“No thanks.”
“Well, then, I’ll fix one for me. There’s not really enough for two anyway.”
“I’m expecting company. I think it would be best for you to go.”
“OK, OK. Just let me fix my sandwich and I’ll be on my way.”
Carla said nothing, wanting to go over to the kitchen and slap a sandwich together just to get Sig out of her apartment, but she felt more secure standing next to the door.
“So why weren’t you at work today?”
“Well,” Carla said, racking her brain for a suitable reply, knowing that Sig was aware that she actually was at work. “Well…”
“I know. You were at work. You just have a nosy boss covering your tail. Is he hot on you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I wouldn’t think you’d want your boss screening male callers. Is he some kind of control freak?”
“I don’t really care to discuss my boss—or anything else for that matter.”
“Not even our trip to Moose Lodge and how you bolted?” He let loose a string of expletives. “You really made me look like an amoeba.”
“I’m sorry. You were…uh… I was uncomfortable.”
“I don’t like looking like a fool, Carla. You know what it makes me want to do? I’ll show you what it makes me want to do.” There was a belligerent tone in his voice as he began opening drawers and slamming them shut. When Carla heard him opening the utensil drawer where she kept her sharp knives, she made the decision to open the door and run out of her own apartment. But as she opened the door, it was blocked.
“Wh…? Thank God!” She gasped, collapsing against Marc Garman’s chest with overwhelming relief. “I think he’s getting a knife!”
Marc pushed her behind himself. “Hey, get out of here—before I call the police!” Marc’s tone of voice was one she’d never heard before. Sig appeared at the door with one of Carla’s kitchen knives.
“Drop that knife and get out of here!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I said, drop it!” Marc’s command must have sounded sufficiently menacing to Sig, because he did drop the knife, letting it fall from his hand as he half-trotted, half-stumbled out the door and down the hall, muttering obscenities.
Marc addressed Carla while keeping his eyes on Sig. “Go inside and lock the door. I’ll make sure your friend leaves.”
Carla glanced at him with a frightened look in her eyes. “Be careful!”
“Don’t worry.”
Carla walked back into her apartment and to her dismay discovered that Sig’s jacket was still lying on a chair in her living room. She grabbed it and ran after Marc. “His jacket! He left his jacket!”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But I don’t want him coming back to get it.”
“Here!” Marc grabbed it from her and quickened his pace.
“Hey, man! Here’s your jacket.”
Sig turned and stopped. Carla saw that Marc was considerably taller than Sig, but at the moment the difference seemed about three feet—a winner versus a loser.
Marc caught up to Sig and held out the jacket which Sig snatched away and then resumed his quickened swagger. Carla couldn’t tell if he was just hurrying or if it was anger that gave speed to his stride. She heard Marc yell something at him, but she couldn’t make it out. Sig turned as if in acknowledgement of whatever it was Marc said, however, and raised a hand that would even have appeared to border on congenial.
Carla stood by the window, watching and listening as much as she could through the crack she’d unobtrusively opened. She watched Sig get into his car and drive away while Marc stood there, waiting. And then, just as Marc turned to re-enter the building, Carla saw Michael and Nancy pull up to the curb. Marc must have seen it, too, for he turned again, and headed for his own car.