Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Part Two
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Part Three
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- About the Publisher
“No, that’s the amount,” I said. “I’m not gonna try to get more.”
“I know, but you could. I’m just saying . . .”
“Can we talk about this later? I want to try and sleep while she’s sleeping.”
“Well, good luck with that, but now I can’t sleep,” he said, getting up off the bed and looking for his coat. “So I might as well take the trash over to the dump.”
“The dump?” I said. “What time does it open on Sundays?”
“I know a way to get in.”
“All right, but come right back.”
“What? Are you afraid the wolves are gonna get you?”
“Ha-ha. Maybe I am,” I said. “Can you believe I just like having you here?”
Digger scoffed and looked at me, tried to read my face. “All right. Well, I’m going to take the trash, and I’ll be back.” Digger picked up the big car seat box, hauled it outside, and threw it in the back of the truck. He hopped up into the driver’s seat and lit up. The cigarette glowed as he took a couple drags. Maybe he was thinking about what I’d said, about how I liked having him around. A few seconds later, he came back.
I opened the door, and he was just standing there with one hand on his waist and the other one propping him up against the doorframe. The cigarette was dangling from his mouth.
“What?” I asked.
He took the cigarette out and flicked off the ashes.
“Truck won’t start,” he said.
Twenty-Eight
Hal
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2002
Morning
Carol, Jim, and I had just finished a nice cup of hospital coffee when Ruth stormed into the cafeteria, determination in her face. Before we could greet her, she shrugged impatiently and barked, “What are you guys doing?”
“Ruth, sit down,” I said. “We’re discussing our options.”
“We have no options,” she said, not sitting. “We need to go to Cally’s apartment. Now.”
I apologized to Jim and Carol, who stood up and put on their coats, ready to leave. Clearly, they’d noticed our marital tension and took it as their cue. As they left, I thanked them for all their support and wise counsel.
On the way to Cally’s apartment, the mood in the car was tense, as Ruth and I were both lost in our thoughts. Finally, Ruth spoke.
“We need advice,” she said. “We should hire a lawyer.”
“I am a lawyer, Ruth.”
“But you do real estate. I’m talking about a surrogacy lawyer. You’re always telling me that lawyers specialize and can’t be experts in all areas.”