A week later Cole and Michele met for breakfast at Blue’s Egg cafe. The popular diner in the ‘Tosa suburb that picked up west where Milwaukee left off was packed as usual. He was seated when she walked in the door and stood as she approached his table. He longed to pull her to him, but tentatively reached out his hand instead. She hesitated before shaking it and sat down.
He sat down, too. “A handshake seems kind of lame after everything we’ve been through together.” He tried to smile it off, but felt nervous and unsure. They hadn’t spoken since before he’d been shot, and he wondered if this breakfast would determine if they might have a future together.
She nodded to his left arm, which was in a sling. “I’m sorry you got shot. I can’t imagine that. I tried to see you at the hospital, but you were tied up with the director and others. By the time they said I could see you, my editors had sent me back to New York.”
“I heard,” he smiled. “The big time. CNN. NBC. CBS. ABC. And The View. You’ve been busy.”
She smiled back at him and he melted. “But I didn’t have the president fly me to the White House to tell the world I’m the biggest hero in the history of mankind. That was you.”
“You can’t say you weren’t invited.”
“I know. Thank you for that. My editors didn’t think the optics would be good.”
“That whole thing was a little over the top and put me in an awkward spot. I pushed back at first. But I gotta admit it was pretty cool to hang with the president for a while. I’m sure it’ll all blow over in a couple days.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“How about you?” he said. “I saw a report that said you’re writing a book and signed with a top literary agency. That was fast.”
Michele looked directly at Cole. “Was it your wife’s report you saw?”
He reddened. “That would be my ex-wife and I don’t remember.”
A minute went by and neither spoke. It seemed longer. Snippets of conversations carried to them from nearby tables, mixed with bursts of laughter and the clink of porcelain cups meeting saucers. Cole sipped from his water glass. “I heard you won’t be running the killer’s last email.”
“Gene Olson asked me not to. He’s giving me access to other information that will be exclusive to me or that he’ll hold for twelve months. That seems like a reasonable trade. But to be honest, I wouldn’t have run it in the paper or used it in the book. I don’t want to help recruit the man or men who might pick up this guy’s torch now that you knocked it from him.”
“We knocked it from him,” Cole corrected. “Your book have a name yet?”
“The working title is The Killer Sermon, but it could change. I’m not married to it.”
Cole considered before nodding. “I like it. It has a nice ring.”
A waitress came to take their order. Michele asked for French toast with a side of fresh fruit, while Cole chose eggs over easy, sourdough toast, hash browns, and bacon. They both ordered coffee. Before the waitress could turn to leave Michele said, “We’ll take an order of Monkey Bread, too.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Cole said, his smile coming naturally. “I had you pegged for the house special granola.”
Michele was distracted and didn’t respond. Cole could tell she had something important to say and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. If a rejection was on his way, he’d rather divert it with a lame attempt at humor. But he waited for her to say what was on her mind.
“This is a big story,” she started. “One of the biggest that will ever be written in Milwaukee or Wisconsin. Did you ever wonder how I got to be the one to cover it?” Her eyes challenged him.
“I figured it was because you’re a tenacious and talented writer,” he said with an uneasy grin.
Her return expression was more of a grimace; he saw nervousness beneath it that he’d never seen on her before.
“Is everything all right? Usually my charm is the best weapon in my arsenal. It disarms people. Well, it doesn’t literally disarm them, of course. Anyway, I seem to have put you on edge with it. I’m sorry if I said something inappropriate.”
“I love the flattery, actually,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. She was warmer and more genuine now, but still couldn’t mask her fear or hesitancy. A deep sadness pooled in her eyes as well.
“I am talented, and tenacious with a capital T. But that’s not why I got this story. I got the story because I was the first reporter on the scene.” She looked down. “I was the first reporter on the scene,” she repeated, hesitating, “because I was at the clinic when the killing occurred.”
“Were you there covering a different story?” he asked, leaning forward.
She seemed to decide something then. She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head side to side. “No,” she said firmly and clearly. “I was there because I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Smith. He was going to examine me to make sure I was completely recovered…from the abortion I’d had the week before.”
He’d been leaning across the table, listening intently. Now he looked at her, comprehension flushing through his face. He was stunned and involuntarily leaned back a little. She pulled her hands away from him, folding them awkwardly in her lap.
“That makes me a monster to you, doesn’t it?” she said flatly. “You think I’m a heartless, selfish bitch who chose herself and her career over the life of her unborn child.”
“No,” he said, leaning toward her again. “I…I don’t really know what to think. Maybe if I’m such a great investigator I would have seen this coming, anticipated it. But you blindsided me.”
Her voice quavered in intensity as it rose in volume. “You were blindsided? I confess something very private and that’s your reaction?
“Blindsided is what happens when you go out after work with a group of co-workers and let your guard down a little. When you have a couple drinks and are flattered that the cute guy from sports flirts with you. When you let him into your apartment thinking you might consent to a goodnight kiss and then he drugs you. He overpowers you. He forces himself on you! Blindsided is when someone causes you a level of pain and humiliation you never dreamed existed, even in your worst nightmares
“Blindsided is when the little strip of paper turns blue and you lose the battle to hold back the tears…when you learn for sure you’re carrying a child you know in your heart you’re in no position to raise .” She sat up stiffly in her chair, her body trembling.
Cole reached his hands back across the table, but Michele kept hers in her lap, strangling her napkin. “I don’t know what to say, what I can say, to make this better,” he said. “I can tell you’re in a lot of pain and I feel helpless.”
She shook her head again. “For you and people like you, abortion is an intellectual argument, another political topic you discuss off to the side at a cookout. For me, and a lot of women like me, it’s not intellectual; it’s intensely personal.” She got up as the waitress was bringing their food, turned around, and left.
Cole’s heart ached more than his shoulder as he dug his credit card out and handed it to the dumbfounded waitress. He wondered if he’d ever see Michele again.