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stifle the irony and anger she heard in her own voice. “It’s one of the things your parents get to decide about.”
    “But I didn’t
know
until the sonogram …”
    Her protest, plaintive and pitiful, stoked Sarah’s sense of frustration. “I saw you here two weeks ago. Why didn’t you come in then?”
    Mary Ann’s shoulders twitched. “I wanted to, but all those demonstrators scared me. One of them was our parish priest.”
    Mary Ann Tierney, Sarah realized, had become the plaything of Fate. Four months ago, there had been no Protection of Life Act; two weeks ago—given the stage of this pregnancy—another doctor might have questioned viability even for a normal fetus. Now Mary Ann was captive to crosscurrents she neither controlled nor understood, and Sarah shrank from adding to them. But Mary Ann
had
come here, however late, and was entitled to know what chance for her remained.
    “There’s one thing left,” Sarah told her. “It’s not clear that this law is valid.”
    The remark seemed slow to register. Sarah waited until Mary Ann gazed up again, looking so young that Sarah, though pained for her, felt it as a burden. “Under
Roe v. Wade
,” she began, “women have the constitutional right to an abortion. But after the fetus is ‘viable’—which your own doctor says it is—Congress can ban abortion unless it’s necessary to protect the mother’s life or health.
    “No one knows exactly what that means, and no court has decided yet whether the Protection of Life Act violates a minor’s right to decide, with a doctor’s advice, what a ‘substantial medical risk’ means to
her
.” Sarah paused, reluctant, then told her the rest. “If the courts find it unconstitutional, there’s no law in California to stop you from deciding for yourself.”
    Fingers tented, Mary Ann stared at the floor, as though trying to absorb this. “It’s only fair to tell you,” Sarah ventured, “just how hard that would be.”
    Mary Ann swallowed. “You mean my parents?”
    “You may have to face them—in and out of court. At this point, there’s no way to conceal an abortion.” Sarah’s voice was firm. “If you fit within the statute, you’d theoretically be entitled to get an abortion without involving your parents in court, though there’s no way afterward they wouldn’t know you’d had one. But if you try to get the statute thrown out, that protection may not apply.
    “And that’s just the beginning. Your lawyer would file the case under a pseudonym, to try and protect your privacy. But if word gets out, the media will be all over it. The same people you saw outside would be picketing the courthouse. The pro-choice activists might try to use you as their poster girl. Because you’d be attacking an act of Congress, the Justice Department will be obligated to oppose you. And because most people believe without much thought that parental consent is good and late-term abortion is inhumane,the political pressures surrounding a challenge to the law could be enormous.”
    Tears sprang to the girl’s eyes again. Sarah forced herself to continue. “Most of all, I worry about you. The weeks you’d spend fighting this law would feel too long, and too short. Too short because there’s not that much time until you have the baby. Too long because every day could tear your family apart.”
    Arms folded, Mary Ann began rocking back and forth, as though her pain were physical. Without much hope, Sarah ventured, “You only need one parent. Is there any way to change your mother’s mind?”
    Mary Ann shook her head. “You don’t understand. It would tear them apart, too.”
    Her voice trailed off. “Would your
doctor
help?” Sarah asked.
    “No.” The words were muffled. “He’s my parents’ friend— they
all
believe abortion is a sin.
You’re
the only one who can help me.”
    The simple anguish in those words broke through the last of Sarah’s defenses. My mother would have held you, she thought.