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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

Our mother had lectured me and my brothers to put money in the bank, and above all, don’t get anyone pregnant. In high school, whenever I had a girl in my bedroom, Mother would march up the stairs and yell, “Use a rubber!” It was annoying as hell.

Mother believed girls were out to get me. Wanted to trap me with a baby. Mother said it’d ruin my life. Like it ruined hers, I guess. After Deena’s little boy died, I realized it also had to do with that genetic heart sickness. The same reason I’d had surgery as a baby. And the scar to remind me. I guess I was the lucky one.

I’d always used a condom. But Cally hated when Mother bothered us, yelling at the door. That’s why Cally didn’t like having sex at my house. Or if we did, she’d want to avoid seeing Mother afterward, so she’d escape out my window where the roof connected to our garage. She got pretty good at taking out the screen and sneaking out the window.

“So it’s Cally’s?” said Deena.

“Yeah.”

“And what the fuck are you doing with it?”

The back door opened and Mrs. Z was holding the baby. “Help me, please,” she said, waddling around in the kitchen, searching aimlessly. “I need a diaper!”

“Coming, Eunice.” Deena threw me a look, and we went back inside.

Thirty-Six

Cally

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2002

Evening

I opened my duffel bag and emptied my backpack onto the floor so I could see the stuff I had to work with. Wool was better than cotton. Layers. Water bottle, wallet. I loaded up my backpack. Pads, underwear. Where were the papers from the hospital? Socks. I checked under the bed. I pulled out Digger’s flannel shirt: it would be my face mask.

Putting on my hat and boots, I hoisted up my backpack and took one last look around the cabin. Was there anything else? I grabbed a pacifier from the table and stashed it in my pocket.

I was out the front door and down the hill in one motion. In the dark of winter, the snow reflected the moonlight, and my eyes adjusted as I walked. At the bottom of the hill, I turned onto the main road and trudged toward the same gas station where Digger and I had been earlier in the day. Our old footsteps were there, but the snow was crunchier, more frozen. I squinted in the cold air and pulled up the flannel shirt, which I’d tied around my neck, to cover my nose and mouth. I checked for cars. I was trying to think straight.

At the gas station, bells rang when I entered. I hadn’t remembered that from earlier. I stomped my boots and shook off the wet; pulled off my hat and swept back my sweaty hair.