Four #2
Charlie slides into the only other chair in the office.
A crowded desk takes up most of the space, and a bookshelf overflowing with medical texts and journals sits in the corner.
Victoria’s white coat hangs on a hook next to the small window overlooking the parking lot, and her medical school diploma and board certification hang on the wall next to a few photos of female state representatives and a former presidential candidate who visited the clinic in recent years.
Leaning back in her chair, Victoria sighs. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come right out with it. The board wants to sell the clinic.”
Charlie stares at her, certain she misheard. “Um.” She frowns. “What?”
Victoria grimaces. “We’ve been losing money for years, especially with the recent government cuts to insurance.
” She pauses, exhaling. “And we recently received a significant offer from the organization Heartbeat Care to buy the clinic.” Chewing her bottom lip, the usually unflappable Victoria Angelo appears fragile for the first time in the three years Charlie’s known her.
“They want to turn it into a crisis pregnancy center.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Charlie blurts. “They can’t—why would they agree to that?”
Crisis pregnancy centers masquerade as abortion clinics, luring patients in with false hopes and misinformation. Closing the clinic and allowing a crisis center to take its place would be not only horrific but dangerous.
Charlie distinctly remembers the crisis center in her hometown, the disturbing photo on the billboard nearby depicting a sleeping baby with the words your baby’s heartbeat starts at five weeks superimposed over the image. All shame tactics and misinformation.
“We’ve been getting pressure from them for years,” Victoria admits.
“I’ve managed to delay the board for now, but we’ve seen a severe dip in funding in recent months, and we’re only barely staying afloat.
The board wants to wash their hands of us, and there’s not a lot I can do to dissuade them from moving forward. ”
Charlie stares out the window. The sky is clear and blue, not yet giving way to dusk.
Patients drive for hours to come here for care.
Charlie pictures Jessie, remembers what she said about being treated like a human here.
She pictures Shay, a twenty-something patient from West Virginia who comes for gender affirming care, their hair color different each month.
The patients who come for abortions, who come for birth control that allows them to function.
Patients who are seen and heard and made to feel safe here. Who are given a choice.
“You founded this place,” Charlie says. “Don’t you have the final say?”
Victoria shakes her head sadly. “I’m not an investor. The board members are the ones who agreed to fund the clinic when I created the plans for this place six years ago. Now they’re seeing their investment fail.”
“What do we do?” Charlie whispers.
Victoria leans back in her chair and blows out a breath, her bangs fluttering on her forehead.
“We need a shit ton of money.” She flashes a rueful smile.
“Pardon my French. Health care is about medicine, but it’s also a business, which is the part I’ve always hated.
But we live in America, where suggesting we should have universal health care is the equivalent of declaring that you worship Satan.
” Victoria shrugs. “Honestly, that might be less polarizing. But—” She holds up a hand when Charlie opens her mouth. “I know. I’m digressing.”
Despite the distressing news, Charlie can’t hide her smile. She’s worked closely enough with Victoria over the years to recognize an oncoming rant about health care in America.
“The point is,” Victoria continues, “it’s going to take a certifiable miracle for us to remain open.”
Silence settles between them, heavy with the enormity of this news.
“What’ll happen to the sex ed program?” Charlie finally asks.
Victoria studies her with no small amount of remorse. “Everything ends, Charlie. We can’t afford to keep just one department open.”
Six months after Charlie started as assistant program director, the lead program director resigned. Despite her lack of experience, she applied, and Victoria gave her a chance.
Charlie wants to make sure other young women in situations like hers don’t have to suffer.
Don’t have to feel ashamed for their desires.
Along with members of the advocacy and outreach committee—Carolyn and Diana, two graduate students at Archwood who studied public policy and social work—she’s created a pilot program to begin next fall at a local high school.
If it’s successful, they’ll expand it in other schools.
But if the clinic closes, not only will the patients lose their access to care, but all Charlie’s hard work and her dreams of a comprehensive sex ed curriculum will be lost.
“The board is a bunch of robots with business degrees,” Charlie argues. “They don’t see patients. They don’t know how important this place is.”
“I know,” Victoria whispers.
“They don’t see the tears patients shed. What do they know about medicine?”
Victoria smiles sadly. “A lot less than you.”
Tears prick Charlie’s eyes, but she refuses to cry.
“What about expanding media coverage?” Charlie suggests.
“Do you know if Carolyn has other contacts aside from local news?” Carolyn Samson’s specific title is marketing manager, and she’s responsible for writing press releases about clinic news and advertising upcoming workshops and events on social media.
Victoria frowns. “She’s overworked as it is, Charlie. And you know our marketing budget is abysmal.”
Charlie presses her lips together. “How long do we have before they decide whether to sell?”
“They want to make the final decision by May.”
“Why?”
Victoria shrugs. “Money.”
That gives them less than six months.
Her goal of expanding the Sexual Health Outreach Program with the Peer Health Advocacy Group hasn’t panned out the way she wants, and she can’t lose the clinic, too. She can’t allow this place that provides essential care to the community—to her—to fall.
Charlie has come a long way from the sheltered and self-conscious eighteen-year-old who was ordered to save herself for marriage.
And while she is still a virgin—something she plans to rectify—she knows that sex is something to enjoy and not feel ashamed about.
This clinic is integral to her knowing that.
“Can you give me time to come up with a plan?” she says before she can think. “To raise the money?”
Victoria’s brows rise. “Charlie—”
“I’m the program director, remember? You hired me to come up with innovative ideas to work with the community.” She sits up straighter. “Despite my lack of experience. And look what we’ve done! We have a whole new program in the works.”
“Charlie,” Victoria responds, “that’s for sex education, not funding an entire clinic—”
“Tell the board to wait.” She leans forward, pressing her palms against the edge of Victoria’s desk. “This clinic is so important. It’s changed my life more than you can imagine, and you know I’m not the only one. I won’t let everything you’ve built here go to waste, Victoria.”
Victoria studies her with a mixture of skepticism, pity, and sadness.
“Fine.” She sighs, but her mouth twitches with the ghost of a smile. “I’ll delay them as long as I can. But the second you feel you can’t handle the pressure, you tell me. I won’t have you destroy yourself or let your grades slip. It’s not worth it.”
Charlie begs to differ, but she doesn’t voice this.
Instead, she grins. “Deal.”
Retreating from Victoria’s office a few minutes later, she ignores the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.