Chapter 34
CHAPTER
Bria Gaines
UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA
Bria read through the final page of the police report. Turned it upside down on top of a stack of documents resting on a rickety metal desk. She was sitting in an office Ben Meyers was renting, a small space in a mostly deserted strip center on the outskirts of Union Springs.
When Bria looked up, Meyers was watching her. “You made it through? Read all the way to the end?”
“Of course I did.” Bria rubbed her eyes. She’d been reviewing police and medical reports through most of the afternoon.
“You buzzed through that file pretty fast. That’s all.” Meyers picked up the stack of paper and slid it into a folder. “I don’t want you to miss anything that might make a difference to our defense.”
“I’ve read that file so many times I could quote it back to you chapter and verse. Do you actually think I’d ignore the evidence against me? I’m not an idiot.”
Meyers looked down. “Did I imply that? If I did, I apologize.” He flashed a smile at her.
The man had a dangerous amount of charm. Bria knew it would be useful at trial, but she’d put up a wall against it. Getting a schoolgirl crush on her defense attorney would lead nowhere good.
She stood up, eager for a break from the unforgiving office chair. A coffee maker sat on a plastic table in a corner of the room. The pot held a scant inch of inky brew. Bria stepped over, poured it into a mug. She made a face.
“Sorry,” said Meyers, “that’s from this morning. Should I make a fresh pot?”
“Wouldn’t hurt. I think this might have solidified.”
Meyers walked over to the corner and pulled out a bag of Peet’s.
“How come you haven’t joined the coffee pod cult?” asked Bria.
“I like making coffee,” said Meyers. “It’s one of the few domestic skills that I’ve mastered.” He measured the coffee into the basket and set the control to Brew, then leaned back against the counter. “So what do you think of Nova’s story?”
Bria shook her head. “Tragic. Heartbreaking. I know I’m the one on trial, but you and I both know what’s criminal about this whole thing—the fact that the law requires a child to bear a child.” She leaned against the sink. “You want to know why I became a doctor?”
“I do. And if you’re about to tell me that there was a time in your life when you had to terminate a pregnancy of your own, I absolutely understand. I’d never judge you.”
Bria blinked. Meyers was being a little too presumptive. And way too personal. She decided to ignore it. Maybe it was just his way of saying he was on her side. She took a beat and plunged ahead.
“I grew up in Alabama. Working class, seven kids. I was number six. Churchgoing family. My mama and daddy tithed. Ten percent of their gross income—not net!—went into the collection plate. Didn’t matter what we needed. The car broke down, shoes had holes, no difference. The church came first.”
Meyers nodded. “I knew a lot of families like that growing up.”
Bria went on. “My folks didn’t have medical insurance. If we got sick, we had to suck it up. Don’t make a fuss.”
She took a deep breath. These were painful memories.
“I liked boys, but I was careful. Because I’d seen what could happen.
My sister Bailey, three years older than me, she got pregnant in high school.
Fifteen years old. Carried to term. Begged to keep her baby.
Of course, that couldn’t happen. And, oh, my Lord!
You should have seen all those fine Christian friends of ours turn their backs on her. ”
“Is she okay now?” asked Meyers.
“She’s alive. She functions in the world. But what happened back then did something to her, messed her life up, and she never really got it back. That’s why I went to med school. I wanted to be on the side of young women. Especially poor women. No matter what their circumstances.”
“Coffee’s ready,” said Meyers. He pulled the carafe from the base and poured Bria a fresh cup. “Sugar? Cream?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Bria. “I want to judge it on its own merits.”
She took a small sip, then another. She smiled. “You’re right, Benjamin Meyers. You are domestic.”
Meyers poured a fresh cup for himself. “So what do you think of Nova’s story, the one she gave to the cops? About how she got pregnant?”
Bria toyed with the handle of her mug. “I feel for that girl, you know that. I keep her in my heart, even with everything that’s happening. But—that story doesn’t ring true.”
“How come?” asked Meyers. “In her statement to the police, she said she didn’t know who got her pregnant. Says she was drinking at a high school party and passed out. That doesn’t sound credible to you?”
“I think what she described is a common occurrence. But it’s not what happened to Nova.”
Meyers carried his coffee mug over to the desk. “Based on what?”
Bria followed him and sat down. “Based on what she said that night, in my office. During the procedure.”
“I’m listening,” said Meyers.
“During the physical exam, I asked Nova some basic health questions, explained the procedure to her, made sure she understood what was going to happen, got her consent. At that point, she wasn’t volunteering much information. Pretty much just one-word answers.”
Meyers didn’t interrupt. Just gave an encouraging nod.
“The procedure I performed that night was an aspiration abortion, because Nova was less than fourteen weeks. She was just under the line. It took me about fifteen minutes, maybe a little longer.”
“Wait,” said Meyers. “You said she was talking during the procedure. Wasn’t she sedated?”
“No. It’s standard to perform that procedure without sedation or anesthetic. She was awake. A little uncomfortable, but not in pain.”
Bria closed her eyes. It was all coming back, she could see it like a reel playing in her head. Nova in the stirrups, gripping the sides of the examination table with both hands. Tears running down her face.
“She kept saying, ‘This ain’t my fault! You done this! I hate you, I hate you!’”
“Hate who?” asked Meyers. “She never said a name?”
“No name. But she kept repeating that she should’ve fought back. I remember her saying: ‘I shoulda kicked the way the Dora Milaje do it. Just like in Black Panther. Like a warrior.’”
Meyers shook his head, like he didn’t get it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Bria pushed her chair away from the desk. Stood up, paced the small office. “She didn’t talk about it like a girl who had no memory of what occurred. To me, it sounded like she knew exactly who it was that assaulted her.”
“Bria, even if you’re right, and even if we had the name of the attacker, it wouldn’t make any difference for you. It doesn’t create a defense. There are no exceptions for abortion under Alabama law. Not even for age or rape or incest. You know that.”
“We need to talk to Cocheta Bass. She was the one Nova talked to first. Maybe she knows something I don’t.”
Meyers shook his head. “Cocheta Bass isn’t going to be any help to us.”
“Of course she will. Cocheta and I have been friends since I moved to Union Springs.”
Bria saw Meyers dip his chin toward his chest, like he didn’t want to meet her eyes. “Ben! What’s going on? What do you mean she won’t be any help?”
Meyers looked up. “Bria, she’s testifying against you. Cocheta is a witness for the State.”
In shock, Bria dropped back into her chair. She clutched the edges of the desk, felt the metal dig into her fingers. “No! She wouldn’t!”
“Reeves just notified me today. They offered her a deal for deferred prosecution on the mandated reporter charge in exchange for her testimony in the felony abortion case against you.”
Bria couldn’t speak. Cocheta had turned on her.
Just like everyone else in town.
She let go of the desk. Her hands dropped into her lap and lay there, inert.
Meyers scooted his chair closer to hers. “Bria? You all right?” He leaned in closer. “Look, I know it’s a shock. It’s okay to cry. People feel better after they cry, sometimes.”
Bria lifted her chin and sat up straight in her seat. “No, thanks. I’m all cried out. Didn’t make me feel any better.”