The first person Clyde* helped get an abortion was a stranger. The text came in, urgent and last-minute. One passenger. 150 pounds. Spanish speaker. Clyde was worried. Not about helping, but about the weather. It was July and hot, meaning pockets of volatile air and pop-up thunderstorms could jeopardize everything, or at the least, make for a rough ride. There were over 300 miles to travel, one way, in a small four-seat plane. Not necessarily dangerous, but risky. To wait would mean a missed appointment at the clinic, though. That's the rub when you have limited options.
Okay, he texted. I'll go.
