Ivan would talk to her. He was a tough patrol cop, divorced because of the job. Cora dated him. Then she got pregnant. It took a long time before she could bring herself to tell Ivan. His reaction was seared into her memory. He drove her to a clinic somewhere around Wilshire Boulevard, slapped five hundred dollars in her hand and told her to “take care of it.” She got out and he drove away. The clinic was a decaying building that smelled like a veterinarian’s office where they put down dogs and cats. Cora was so afraid. “You’re too far along,” the nurse said. Cora took it as a sign. Overwhelmed, she went to a church and prayed until she’d reached the decision to keep her baby. This was her one chance to save herself. She took a city bus to a community support agency. They counseled her, helped her get clean for her baby. It was hard, very hard, but she had Tilly alone. And she raised her alone. Cora never saw Ivan Peck again. Later, she’d bumped into one of the girls from the bar who told her that Ivan was a cheating asshole who was married when he was dating Cora.
