Hannah's Choice

A Novel

By

Scott Burkhead 

Chapter One - The News 

            Hannah Woodson sits on the examining table thinking she must have gotten it wrong.  She is tall, nearly six feet.  The gown, made for someone smaller, does not cover her backside and the steel table is cold.  Yes, she must have heard it wrong.  “There has to be a mistake,” she says.

            “We ran the test twice,” the doctor says, frowning.

            “But I’m on zero-birth regimen.”

            “You were injected?” 

            “No.  Patch-device.”

            The doctor looks at her watch. “I’ll refer you to a clinic.”

            “A clinic?”

            “You aren’t authorized.”  It is a declaration, but Hannah takes it as a question and shakes her head.  The doctor scribbles something Hannah cannot read on a white pad.  “This will get you in,” she says.

Hannah stares at the script as if the markings on the paper hurt her eyes.  Although she is tired from staring at her screen since early morning, editing new manuscripts and old books for a government agency, that is not why she stares.  It is because there are words which confuse and disturb.

“It’s the abortion order,” the doctor says impatiently.

            The examination had taken longer than expected.  Hannah misses her train and, instead of waiting, decides to walk home.  She is a slender woman, with good posture; when deep in thought, as now, she wears a stubborn expression and walks pitched forward as if fighting a headwind.

The empty street, sun-starved and silent, stretches before her, the late afternoon air cold and damp.  What Hannah has just learned clutters her mind, becomes clear, then vague again.  In the past when she thought about getting pregnant, those thoughts were joyful, not like this.

Her waist-length coat is lined, warming her upper body, but polyester slacks leave her hips and legs chilled.  Sturdy boots keep her toes and ankles warm though after several blocks they begin to rub.  Her feet hurt.  She regrets not waiting for the next train.  Her eyes are suddenly wet.  She wipes them quickly, looking around to be sure no one sees.  She’s pregnant.  This thought, in spite of the problems it portends, makes her smile.

After awhile, she doesn’t know how long, she realizes she has taken a wrong turn onto a street of starter box apartments, one room units, fifty floors high.  The walls of the towers close in.  For a moment she thinks a building is moving, falling towards her.  Each narrow alleyway holds potential danger.  The twilight gloom is eased by the dim glow of streetlights mounted high on poles at the end of each block.  Looking up, she sees the red sensor on the security eye a few feet above her head.  Usually she is annoyed by the intrusion, the thought of someone far away watching.  Today it implies safety.

Shaking her head to halt the internal chattering, she focuses on getting home.  It is hard, thinking about what the doctor said.  And hard contemplating an abortion and what it will mean to her husband and their relationship. 

A couple in their forties, both wearing expensive imitation fur, walk briskly toward her.  Curfew is in less than an hour but they walk with confidence, not at all like people who worry about curfews.  There is a moment of shared air as they pass, then they’re gone, their eyes fixed on the broken sidewalk.   Hannah shivers and buttons the top of her coat.  A familiar street appears.  Another ten minutes and she arrives at the shopping district near the apartment she shares with her husband.  Although eager to get home, she stops at the Swiss Miss store.  Chocolates are expensive, but she buys a box of four anyway.  The kind Noah, her husband, likes – ones with the soft center so the flavor explodes twice.

            “You’re late,” Noah says, the moment she enters the apartment.  “I was worried,” he adds, his tone softer.

Swiping her finger over the biometric sensor, she hears the soft click of the door locking.  “I missed my train – protestors blocking the streets.”  Hannah hates lying but Noah seems edgy. If she tells her news and how she has wandered around confused and scared, there will be a discussion – no, argument – and she is not ready for that.

“Who this time?” Noah asks.

“Christians, I guess.”

Noah is tall and serious; he believes in eating sensibly and keeping himself fit.  Nevertheless, his eyes light up when he sees her gift.  Candy is only part of the treat, Hannah knows.  Like a child, he is delighted to have a surprise.

After dinner Noah happily devours three of his chocolates.  Later, they pass the time with an internet backgammon match.  Not wanting to damage a peaceful evening, she still does not tell him.  Perhaps she’ll talk with her counselor first, or just go ahead to the clinic and not tell Noah at all.