Under Threat

by Robin Stevenson

  Leah pulls lettuce and assorted vegetables out of the fridge, and I start washing and chopping while I wonder how on earth I am going to bring up the subject of my parents. I can’t just blurt it out—oh, by the way, my parents are abortion providers—but there’s no obvious way to lead into the subject. I look sideways at Leah, who is dicing avocado, and mouth, Now what?

  She just gives me a deer-in-the-headlights stare and shrugs helplessly.

  Diane is standing at the stove, stirring the soup, which smells really spicy and good. She glances over at us. “You look a little pale, Franny. Are you okay?”

  “Just super tired,” I say. “Um, last night? I was at the hospital and—”

  “Of course,” she says. “Your father. How is his ankle?”

  “He has to stay off it for a while,” I say. “But, uh, there was a…my parents… um…”

  She waits, holding my gaze. The look on her face—steady, patient—is the exact same look I often see on Leah’s face. Right down to the blue-green eyes and the head tilt. It’s a little freaky how alike they are. I take a deep breath.

  “One of the things they do at the hospital is abortions,” I say. “And this week we’ve been getting some threats.”

  Diane looks shocked, but I can’t tell whether she’s shocked by what my parents do or by the fact that someone is threatening them. “He called our house,” I say. “Last night.”

  “Oh no,” she says. “You poor dear. You were home alone, weren’t you? You should have stayed here…”

  “So I went to the hospital.” I plow on, just wanting to get this all over with now that I’ve started. “And he’d called there too and said he’d left a package in a restroom.”

  Her eyes widen. “A package? Like… not a bomb?”

  “A warning,” I say. “To show us he’s serious. Next time it’ll be a real bomb, he said.”

  “Oh, Franny.” Diane turns off the stove element. “You poor thing. How scary.”

  “It’ll be in the news,” I say. “Because they’re trying to find who did it.”

  Leah tips a heap of sliced avocado and red pepper into the salad bowl and carries it over to the table. “Franny thought you might hear about it,” she says. “And she wanted to tell you herself.”

  I swallow. “I know I just said my parents were doctors. I don’t usually get into what they do because—well, because people have different feelings about it, and it’s no one’s business anyway. But I didn’t want you to feel like I was hiding things from you.”

  Diane takes four bowls from the cupboard and puts them on the table. “I appreciate your telling me,” she says.

  “Telling you what?” Jake says from the doorway.

  “Nothing,” Leah says.

  Diane ladles soup into the bowls. “Sit down, all of you. Let’s eat.”

  We sit, and Diane says a quick grace. From across the table, Jake’s gaze locks onto mine, his jaw tight and eyes narrowed, and I wonder how much of our conversation he heard.

  Maybe Diane’s reaction wasn’t the one I should’ve been worried about.

  Chapter Nine

  “So what were you all talking about?” Jake asks, heaping salad onto his plate.

  I guess he’s going to hear anyway. “My parents have been getting harassed,” I say. “Phone calls at home, making threats. And last night someone called the hospital—”

  “Why would someone do that?” Jake asks.

  “Anti-abortion terrorists,” I say. I refuse to call them pro-life because they’re not. If anyone is for life, it’s my parents and the nurses at the clinic, saving women’s lives every day. The person who’s threatening to kill us? Yeah, he’s not so much about life at all.

  Jake raises his eyebrows. “Calling them terrorists is a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

  “Um, threatening to kill people and leaving bombs in hospital restrooms is extreme.” I put down my fork. “Anyway, what’s the definition of a terrorist? Someone targeting innocent civilians and using terror to accomplish a political goal? Check.”

  “Your parents aren’t exactly innocent though,” he says. “Not if they’re doing abortions.”

  “Jake,” Diane says, a note of warning in her voice. “Let’s change the subject.”

  Jake turns to her. “You can’t be okay with this, Mom. You can’t support this.”

  She sighs. “Jake. Please. Just drop it. My personal views are beside the point. Franny is our guest and—”

  “Because she’s lied to us,” he snaps. “We’ve been taking money from them, Mom. Her horse’s board has been paid for by them, with money they made killing babies. You don’t have a problem with that?”

  “Shut up, Jake,” Leah says. “Just shut up. You don’t know anything about it. You’re just saying that because it’s how Dad used to think.”

  I stand up, my heart beating so hard I think it might explode. Diane grabs my arm.

  “Sit down, Franny. And Jake, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “But you—” he starts.

  Diane cuts him off. “I may not agree with abortion, but I certainly don’t think Franny’s parents or anyone else should be in danger because of what they do.”

  “But Mom, they—”

  “Enough, Jake. That is enough.” Diane raises her voice. “Go to your room. Now.”

  Jake doesn’t move. He just laughs. “I’m twenty-three, Mom. You can’t give me time-outs.”

  “I’m leaving anyway,” I say. The room, their three faces—it’s all a blur through the tears in my eyes. Tears of anger. If I don’t leave, I’ll hit him. I’ve never in my life wanted to hit someone like I do right now.

  Diane stands up to. She looks like she is about to cry. “Please excuse my son’s rudeness,” she says. “I am so, so sorry.”

  Leah gets to her feet. “Oh, Franny… I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” I say. “You’re not.”

  I can’t get out of there fast enough. I run down the driveway, fumble with my keys, get into my car and floor it. I can barely see through my tears, and I know I shouldn’t be driving right now, but I don’t care.

  I just want to be back in my own house.

  A couple of hours after I get home, Mom calls up, “Franny? Leah’s here.”

  I open my bedroom door and yell down the stairs, “Come on up.”

  I can hear the low murmur of Mom and Leah talking and then Leah’s footsteps on the stairs. I flop back down on my bed and wait.

  Leah slips into my room and closes the door behind her. “You haven’t told them? Your parents?”

  “What, that your brother thinks they’re murderers? No, I didn’t think they really needed to hear that right now.” None of this is her fault, but I feel angry with her anyway. I wish she hadn’t come over.

  “I don’t blame you for being upset,” she says carefully.

  “Oh, that’s generous of you.”

  She flinches. “Franny. I can’t help what my brother thinks, okay? I don’t agree with him. You know that. And I don’t know if he even agrees with the stuff he’s saying himself. He’s just mad because he doesn’t like me being with you, so he’s spouting the kind of stuff Dad used to say.”

  I sit up. “The kind of stuff he’s saying is the kind of stuff that gets people like my parents killed.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s just words. He’d never—”

  “Just words? JUST WORDS?”

  “Shhh,” she says. “Your parents will hear.”

  “You don’t get it,” I tell her.

  “I get it,” she says. “My brother is a jerk. I don’t blame you for being mad. But don’t take it out on me.” Her eyes shine with tears.

  “There’s no such thing as just words,” I say. “Seriously. Saying that my parents murder babies? That kind of language is what makes people do crazy stuff.”

  “Only if they’re already crazy.”

  I snort. “There’s no shortage of crazy out there.”

  “I know,” Leah
says. She reaches out to me, runs her fingers over my eyebrows and cups my face in her hands. “It’s scary. But my mom was okay, right? She didn’t freak out.”

  “No. Jake kind of took care of the freaking-out side of things.”

  “I know. I’m really sorry.” She bites her bottom lip. “He’ll get over it.”

  “I’m not so sure I will,” I say.

  “You don’t have to.” Leah kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips. “As long as you still love me, even though my brother’s a pain in the you-know-what.” She hesitates, pulls back and studies my face. “You do, don’t you?”

  I laugh. “I do. Even though you can’t even say butt.”

  But after she leaves, Jake’s words still echo in my mind. Killing babies. Murdering babies.

  I can’t stop thinking about it. Something feels…off, somehow. I replay the conversation at the Gibsons’ dinner table and realize what it is. Jake didn’t seem in the least surprised about my parents being abortion providers.

  Maybe he’d overheard me telling Diane.

  Or maybe he already knew.

  Maybe that’s the real reason he’s been so cold to me. Maybe it isn’t just about me being involved with his sister.

  And then I remember that low, muffled voice on the phone. Those same words. Baby killers.

  What if it isn’t just a coincidence?

  Chapter Ten

  The next day is Saturday, and despite my nervousness about seeing Jake, I spend the morning at the barn as usual. I groom Buddy, muck out his stall and clean my saddle. Jake is teaching in the arena, so it’s easy to stay out of his way. I’m helping one of his students—a tiny girl with long black braids—find the right bridle for the pony she’ll be riding, when Leah walks in.

  “Hey,” she says. “Here you go.” She hands me a mug of coffee.

  I send Black Pigtails on her way and take the coffee, wrapping my cold hands around it and enjoying the warmth. “Thanks. What are you up to?” I ask.

  “Homework.” She makes a face. “Boring. Are you going to ride?”

  “Yeah.” I notice that she’s dressed for riding, in an old pair of beige breeches and riding boots. “Want to join me?”

  “Sure. I need a break, and Snow needs exercise.”

  I pull my gray leather chaps out of my tack box and zip them over my jeans. “Let’s do it.”

  But I can’t stop thinking about Jake. Can’t stop thinking what if, what if, what if. We’ve only gone half a mile or so when I make up my mind. I pull Buddy to a halt and jump off quickly, running my hand over his fetlock. “It’s not warm or swollen or anything,” I say. “But he’s definitely sore. I’m going to walk him back.”

  Leah gives me a sympathetic look. “That sucks. I’ll see you back there, then?”

  “Yeah.” I wave to Leah and lead Buddy back toward the barn. “Buddy, Buddy, Buddy,” I say, stroking his shoulder. “Sorry about your trail ride, pal. I bet you’re wondering what the hell is wrong with me, huh?”

  Back in Buddy’s stall, I take off his saddle and bridle and give him a quick brush-down. I can hear Jake’s voice from the arena, calling out instructions to his eleven-o’clock class. “Ashley, more legs! Don’t let him be lazy. Keep those gentle hands just like that, Jude. Nice transition there, Matt! Kaylie, your leg position’s looking good, but let’s see a little more weight in your heels…”

  He’s a good teacher. Patient with the kids, gentle with the horses.

  It’s hard to fit the way he treats me—and the things he said about my parents—together with this other, kinder side of him.

  When I listen to him with his students, I think there’s no way he could be the anonymous caller. I’m being paranoid. I wish I could talk to Leah—share my suspicions with her—but it’s a bad idea. She’s blindly loyal when it comes to family. We’d end up fighting.

  I can’t believe I just lied to her. That I pretended Buddy was limping. I feel slightly sick thinking about it.

  But what if it is Jake? What if I ignore my suspicions and something happens to my parents? How do I live with that?

  I look up the driveway at the Gibsons’ house. Diane’s car isn’t there, so she must be out.

  Leah’s riding Snow.

  Jake’s teaching…

  My breath catches in my throat at the thought of what I’m about to do.

  The front door is unlocked. I let myself in. “Diane?” I call out, just in case.

  No one answers. I tug my boots off and pad down the hall, my heart racing. Leah’s bedroom and her mom’s are both upstairs, but Jake’s is on the main floor. His door is closed, and as I push it open, it creaks loudly and I practically jump out of my skin.

  Chill, I tell myself. Jake’s lesson goes for another twenty minutes, Leah’s off in the woods somewhere, and if Diane comes home, I’ll hear her car and make up some excuse for being here.

  I slip into Jake’s room. Narrow bed against one wall, desk with computer on it, a tidy bookshelf, guitar leaning against the wall, music stand…I scan the books on the shelves—a few old math texts, some books on HTML programming, a stack of music magazines. Biographies of musicians. Some thrillers and mystery novels—Stephen King, John Grisham, that kind of thing. No Dummies Guide to Bombs or anything of that sort. No Bible with conveniently marked passages. No books about the evils of abortion.

  I don’t know what I expected to find.

  I’m turning to leave when I notice a roll of wrapping paper in the corner behind the door. Birthday theme—cake and candles.

  Of course, he could just be going to a party.

  On the other hand? Two nights ago, someone delivered a gift-wrapped bomb threat to the hospital.

  I tear off a corner of the paper and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. Then I leave Jake’s room, close the door behind me and sprint back down the driveway to the barn.

  Jake is still teaching. I check my watch—five minutes until the lesson ends. I slide open Buddy’s stall door and lean my head against him. He ignores me, contentedly munching on his hay. “What should I do, Buddy?” I whisper. “Should I talk to Leah? Or is that a really bad idea?”

  He lifts his head and looks at me, blowing out a long breath through fluttering nostrils.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You’re probably right.”

  I can’t just ignore my suspicions. But suspicions are all I have. And wrapping paper, which is hardly evidence of a crime. Just because Jake’s anti-choice—and an obnoxious, ignorant jerk—it doesn’t mean he’s done anything illegal.

  I know what Leah would say. I can hear her voice in my head already: No way. Jake wouldn’t do anything like that.

  I decide to leave it to fate. I’ll take Buddy out to the paddock so he can spend the afternoon outside, and then I’ll head home. If Leah gets back with Snow before I leave, I’ll talk to her. If not…I’ll let it go.

  I clip a lead rope onto Buddy’s halter. “Come on, Bud. Let’s get out of here before Jake shows up, hey?”

  I lead him outside, turn him loose in the fenced-off end of the field and return to the barn just as Jake’s students are filing out of the arena. Horseshoes clatter against concrete floor, girls’ voices chatter, and Jake laughs. I hang my lead rope over Buddy’s stall door, not taking the time to put it away properly, and hightail it to my car.

  Guess I’m not talking to Leah.

  Chapter Eleven

  I spend the afternoon napping, doing homework and listening to podcasts. Dad orders takeout for dinner, and my parents and I sit around the living room together, eating Thai food and watching Netflix. Everything feels wonderfully normal. Detective Bowerbank calls to confirm that the white powder in the mailbox was not anthrax, and we celebrate by defrosting a chocolate cheesecake in the microwave and eating an impressive amount of it.

  Dad finishes his second slice and pushes his plate away with a sigh. “Pad Thai, beer and cheesecake. Life is good.”

  Mom licks her fork. “Back on the wagon in the morning.”

&nbs
p; “I’ll make dinner tomorrow,” I say. “I’ve found this great website called Homemade and Heart Healthy—”

  Dad groans and folds his hands across his belly. “Don’t talk about food. I’ll never be hungry again.”

  “Not until at least midnight,” Mom says.

  My cell rings. I hesitate.

  “Go ahead,” Dad says. “Talk to your girlfriend. You’ve put in your time with the old fogy.”

  “Dad! You’re not—”

  He laughs. “I meant your mother.”

  She pokes him with her fork. “Remind me again why I put up with you?”

  I roll my eyes and answer my phone, walking toward my room. “Leah?”

  “Yeah. Hi.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Because I snuck into your house and searched your brother’s room. “No reason,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “How was your ride?”

  “Good. How come you didn’t wait for me to get back?”

  “Take a wild guess,” I say.

  “Jake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he say something to you? I asked him, but he said he didn’t even see you.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m kind of avoiding him.”

  “Well, you can’t keep that up forever,” Leah says.

  I stick my hand into my jeans pocket and pull out the piece of wrapping paper. “Yeah, I know.” I clear my throat. “So what are you guys up to tonight? Got a party to go to?”

  “A party?” There’s a pause. “No. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Saturday night. I just thought you might have plans. Or Jake might.”

  “No plans,” she says. “Franny, are you okay?”

  I can hear the frown in her voice. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Good. Want me to come over?”

  Of course I want her to come over—but there’s something else I have to do. “I think I’m just going to crash early tonight,” I say. “I’m kind of tired.”