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Back The Surrogate Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Part Two
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Forty-Five
  51. Forty-Six
  52. Forty-Seven
  53. Forty-Eight
  54. Forty-Nine
  55. Fifty
  56. Fifty-One
  57. Part Three
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. About the Author
  65. About the Publisher

Sometimes I needed Ruth to give me more space.

Thirty-Two

Hal

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2002

Evening

Ruth was giving me a lot of grief about the credit card I’d set up for Cally. Ruth said we should find out where Cally had been using it, and this was a fair point. A good idea. So, after we ate my famous goulash, I called the credit card company.

Ruth sat across the kitchen table from me, clearly intending to participate in this venture; I put the phone on speaker so she could hear.

“Nice Muzak,” I said when I was placed on hold. Ruth had no reaction.

“Okay, we’ve tracked your credit card to a couple of gas stations, a restaurant, and a Target,” said the credit card representative when she finally clicked back on the line.

It was safe to assume that the Visa woman had no idea Ruth was listening in, but Ruth was waving her hands at me and mouthing things she wanted me to ask. It was terribly annoying.

“Ask where,” Ruth whispered, poking my hand.

“Where, exactly?” I asked, slapping Ruth’s hand away. I hated being poked.

“Well, it looks like Hinckley and Duluth in Minnesota, and then also in Superior, Wisconsin,” said the Visa woman. “Does that make sense?”

“No,” I said.

“Do you think the card was stolen?” asked Ruth, not whispering. I frowned and shushed her. She didn’t like being shushed.

“Oh,” said the credit card representative, clearly having heard Ruth’s question. “I thought you said it had been stolen.”

“Yes, we believe it was,” I said, holding up my hand, signaling Ruth to stop. Clearly, she didn’t think I could handle this call.

“Can you give us the addresses of these places where it was used?” asked Ruth in a voice that was louder than it needed to be.

There was a pause from the credit card representative. She must have determined that Ruth’s voice was not mine. Perhaps she was checking her training manual for instructions on how to handle that. “Who is speaking, please?” the woman said finally.

“I’m Ruth Olson.”

“Mr. Olson, since you are the named credit card holder, I am only authorized to release information to you. Do you authorize me to speak to Ruth Olson? Is that your wife?”

“Yes, yes, she is, and yes, I authorize it,” I said.

“Thank you,” said the voice.

“Thank you,” said Ruth with as much fake sincerity as she could muster. She pulled out a pad and pen and found a clear space on the kitchen table next to the handheld receiver, which lay between us like a grenade.

“Can you repeat your question, Mrs. Olson?” said the woman after some clicking on a keyboard and a pause.

“The addresses of the places where the card was used,” said Ruth.

“And the dates and times,” I added.