Whispering Rock

“It’s a fact no one around here gives birth in daylight,” Jack said, serving his wife a short beer.

“My very able helper,” Mel said. “When I have a delivery at Doc’s, Jack usually sits up through the night in case I need him for anything.”

Mike came into the bar, took his place beside Mel. Jack introduced him as a former LAPD police officer who’d served with him in the Marine Corps. Next was Doc.

“You know, there’s a lot of interesting experience in this little bar. I bet it would be good for some of the kids to hear about your career choices. How about it?”

Mike said, “I’ve done that, actually.”

“You have? How’d it go?” Zach asked.

“Hmm,” he said, shaking his head. “They wanted to know two things—have I ever shot anyone and have I ever been shot. My answers were yes, and not yet. Shortly after that I was shot. I don’t think that’ll get the department any recruits.”

“I’d be happy to talk to the kids about birth control, sexually transmitted disease and sexual assault,” Mel said. “I’ve been looking for a way into the school—this is pretty conservative country.”

“Mel,” Jack said, “Zach was just saying he’s new and hopes he’s not just passing through.” Preacher came into the bar with a rack of clean glasses. “Preacher, meet Zach, new high school teacher in town. He’s looking for some volunteers to talk to his students about their career choices.”

“Hey, man,” Preacher said, shoving his rack under the bar, wiping a big meaty hand on his apron and sticking it out. “Nice to meet you.”

“You could talk about being a chef,” Jack said.

Preacher looked at Zach, smiled and said, “No way in hell. I barely talk to my own wife. Welcome to town.” Then he went straight back to the kitchen.

Zach leaned over the bar and looked past Mike and Mel to Doc. “Dr. Mullins?” he questioned hopefully.

Doc lifted his one whiskey of the day along with a bushy white eyebrow. He sipped, put the whiskey down and said, “In your dreams, young man.”

Zach picked up his beer and said, very good-naturedly, “That went well.”

“You know what you got yourself here, young man,” Jack said. “You got yourself an excellent place to have a beer.”

“How about you, Jack? You’d do it, right?”

“Sure, Zach. I’ll go tell the kids all the advantages of owning your very own bar. Right after that, Mel can teach them sexual responsibility. Kind of a little family business.”

“That’s it,” Zach said. “An excellent place to have a beer.”

Three

Sue and Doug Carpenter and Carrie and Fish Bristol—best couple friends—had been having an after-work beer at Jack’s a couple of times a week since he opened, so Mel knew them well. And Sue had called Mel to make an appointment for her sixteen-year-old daughter. On the phone she had said, “The girl is pregnant and we have to do something.” Well, this was Mel’s job—to give medical attention to pregnant women, whatever their age or marital status. And Sue was a bit put out that Mel insisted on seeing her patient alone first.

“What have we got, Brenda?” Mel asked, looking at the chart.

“I guess I’m pregnant,” she said. “Figures.”

Mel looked up from the chart. Brenda was a high school junior. From gossip between the Carpenters and Bristols at the bar, Mel had gathered that this girl was an honor student, cheerleader, student council officer—a leader. College bound; scholarship material. Nature certainly doesn’t discriminate, Mel thought. “Do you know how many periods you’ve missed?”

“Three. Can you get rid of it?”

Mel tilted her head, surprised by the caustic edge to the girl’s question. Brenda had always been soft-spoken, on the sweet side. The tragedy was usually that these young girls were ready to throw away their lives, their promising futures, based on some immature romance with a young boy. Didn’t sound as if Brenda was suffering from that syndrome. “You have lots of options, but first things first—how about I examine you to be sure that’s what’s going on.”

“Fine,” she said shortly. “Whatever.”

“Okay, let’s get you in this gown. Everything off. And I’ll be back. How’s that?”

Rather than answer, Brenda snatched the gown and didn’t even wait for Mel to leave before she began undressing.

Mel went to the kitchen, had a sip of her diet cola and ran this over in her mind. Maybe Brenda was just mad at her mother for finding out. Maybe the boy had taken off. Maybe a lot of things, she thought. She reminded herself to stick to the facts for now.

She gave Brenda a few minutes, knowing better than to stretch this out for too long. Brenda didn’t need to settle her nerves; she needed to get this over with.

“Have you had a pelvic before?” Mel asked her.

“No,” she said shortly. “Just do it.”

“Sure thing,” Mel said. “But let me get your blood pressure and listen to your heart first, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever.”

“Brenda, excuse me, but are you angry with me?”

“I am angry in general,” she said.

Mel sat on her stool and looked up at the girl. “Because …?”

“Because this sucks.”

“Well, people make mistakes. You’re human …”

“Yeah? I could live with that if I knew I was making a mistake!”

“Okay, let’s back up a little. Want to tell me about it?”

“Why bother? Do it, okay? You’ll just think I’m as stupid as I already think I am.”

“Try me,” Mel said, crossing her legs, resting her arms on her knee.

“I went to a party. A kegger. I got drunk. I woke up sick. Puking sick. The guy I was with said he passed out and nothing happened. But obviously someone is lying if I’m pregnant.”

Mel couldn’t help herself—her mouth dropped open. “Brenda, you told your mother about this?”

“Not until two periods didn’t come, because how was I going to know? I did one of those home test things. I never thought it would be … positive …”

“Were you sore? In your vagina?”

“I was sore everywhere! Like I’d fallen down a flight of stairs! And so sick I wanted to die. My vagina was about the last thing on my mind!”

“When you woke up—you were dressed? Any evidence of rape?”