The Abortionist's Daughter Read Free Page B

seem ludicrous to all.
    Steven took the phone call in his study. One of his friends was a reporter for the local newspaper, and he listened now as the reporter told him that Diana Duprey had drowned in her lap pool. Her husband had discovered the body. An autopsy had been requested. Did he have any comments?
    “I don’t understand,” said Steven. “How did she drown in a lap pool?”
    “Might have bonked her head. They don’t know. But hey, people drown in hot tubs,” the reporter said. “It’s nothing new.”
    Steven sat down in a daze. “I just saw her this morning. She was fine.” Trudy poked her head in. Steven waved her away.
    “What, like you had coffee or something?” said the reporter.
    “Or something,” Steven said. “How do you know about this?”
    “I’m outside the house as we speak,” said the reporter. “Freezing my butt off, I might add. But they just carried out a body, and it wasn’t Frank.”
    Trudy poked her head in again. This time Steven pivoted in his chair. On the wall behind his desk was a framed photo of himself standing alongside the Reverend Jerry Falwell, both wearing grins as wide as collection plates.
    “So I was wondering if you had any comment,” said the reporter. “On the record, as spokesman for the Coalition.”
    He was referring to the Lifeblood Coalition, an anti-abortion group Steven had founded six years ago. In the past two years the Coalition had stepped up its protests at Front Range abortion clinics; some suspected it was behind the bombing of a clinic down in Colo-rado Springs last summer, which had left a twenty-three-year-old student in a wheelchair. Steven O’Connell, of course, denied any involvement and continued to maintain that his organization did not condone violence of any kind.
    Right now Steven felt too stunned to say much of anything, let alone something for the record. But as spokesman for the Coalition, he groped for the right words.
    “This is terrible news,” he finally said. “Dr. Duprey and I had our obvious differences, but this is a terrible tragedy and I extend my heartfelt sympathies to the family. May the good Lord bless them with the strength and courage to get through the coming days and months.”
    “Some people in the Coalition have made threats,” said the reporter. “Is this the work of an activist?”
    If Steven had been less drained, he would have bolted up and vehemently denied the suggestion. As it was, he wearily reiterated his position that the Coalition did not operate in that manner.
    “Some of your members do,” said the reporter, referring to a young man who had gone to jail for firing three shots through another doctor’s window a few years ago.
    “We never condoned that,” said Steven. “We do not condone the taking of any life—that of a fetus
or
a doctor.”
    “Some people think that if you kill the abortion doctor, it’s a net gain for mankind,” said the reporter.
    “Well, that is not our group,” said Steven.
    From down the hallway came the sound of a scuffle. “Flamer!” someone yelled.
    “You’ll have to excuse me,” said Steven.
    “One more thing,” said the reporter. “Did you have any kind of a personal relationship with Dr. Duprey?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Were you having an affair?”
    Steven was dumbfounded. Diana Duprey was certainly an attractive woman, with her bright smile, her jangly bracelets, and that wild mane of curly black hair. But to suggest—
    “Don’t you have better things to do?” he said icily.
    “I was just asking,” said the reporter.
    “Well, you have my denial,” said Steven. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have family obligations.” He hung up the phone and swiveled around to find Trudy with her arms folded tightly across her large breasts. Behind her the photographer fussed with his camera.
    “Send him home,” Steven said wearily. “This is no day for pictures.”
    —————
    The rest of the town wouldn’t find out about Diana Duprey