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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

Thirty-Seven

Ruth

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8, 2002

Afternoon

Cally had been missing for thirty-six hours, and our daughter was three days old when my brother, Raymond, arrived in Minneapolis from San Francisco. He wouldn’t let me pick him up at the airport; he rented a car, and I was ready to go. I’d packed my overnight bag and gathered the credit card information. I cued up our copy of the hospital video, made coffee, and waited.

I sat in my favorite blue chair, a wingback, the one that has a view to the front walk. Squirrels hopped over snow and disappeared up into the trees. Cars whizzed by, too fast through narrow neighborhood roads. The man across the street shoveled his driveway and sprinkled salt over the whole thing. He didn’t miss an inch. In the light wind, a pink balloon bobbed weakly as if discouraged. It had been tied to a skinny tree in our modest front yard, next to a small sign that said, “It’s a Girl.” I wondered if our neighbors had been watching me, like I sometimes watched them, and whether they wondered where our baby was. Or why I didn’t look pregnant. An icicle fell from the gutter and vanished in the snow below. And finally, a silver Honda Accord appeared, slowing down as it approached our address, then pulled over to park at the curb. Raymond.

I stood up, close to the window. Raymond had never been to our new place. He saw me and waved. I pressed my hand to the glass and mouthed, “Hi.” And as he trudged along the sidewalk, hunching forward against the cold, a rush of heat flushed my neck. Big brother who loves me. The expert come to help.

“Raymond!” I scurried to the front door and opened it before he had a chance to ring the bell. He smiled and stepped inside, carefully wiping his feet on the mat and allowing me to hug him. I took his coat and he bent over to remove the rubbers from his shoes. “Thank you for coming.”

“Anything for my baby sister.” Raymond was seven years older, and Mother had always said that when I was little, Raymond treated me like a doll. “How are you, Ru?”

“So happy to see you.” I squeezed his arms and examined his lined face. “How was the flight?”

“What goes up must come down,” he said, shrugging. Raymond was never one for small talk.

“Come in, I have banana bread,” I said. “People keep bringing us food.”

“Don’t fight it,” he said, surveying the place. “Nice joint you got here. Living room’s big.”

“Yeah, Hal calls it a double-wide because it’s two condos remodeled into one.” I peeled the cellophane off the banana bread and reached for a knife.

“Is he here?”

“No, he had to meet a client at the office.” I sliced the banana bread.

“On a Sunday?”