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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

When the check arrived, I watched him sign his name. I had a theory about the correlation between signature style and personality or character. Hal’s signature was large and clear and slanted to the right. He pressed down hard on the pen as he wrote. I liked it. “So is your real name Hal, or is that a nickname?” I asked.

“The real name is Harold,” he said, putting away his credit card and returning his wallet to his pocket. “Harold August. But I’ve gone by Hal since college.”

“Interesting. There’s a story there.”

“Is everything a story to you?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, mine is rather dull,” he said. “I didn’t like the name Harold. And at college, no one knew me. It was a fresh start. So I gave myself a new identity. And ‘Hal’ was younger, more . . . fun.”

I smiled. I liked Hal, and I liked fun.

The waiters had cleared our plates and gently scraped the crumbs from the tablecloth with a small aluminum blade. The table was a white landscape of possibility, and we let our hands and forearms rest dangerously close together on the soft surface.

“You know,” Hal said, walking his fingers over to mine and brushing the tips, “I’ve done most of the talking tonight. You haven’t answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“About you,” he said, his face glowing warm over the candlelight. “I’d like to get to know you.”

“Oh, really?” I grinned, and I opened my hands, palms up.

“Really,” he said. “You have beautiful teeth, you know that?”

“Thank you.”

“And beautiful hands.”

“Thank you.” I looked down.

Hal placed his large hands over mine. His skin felt warm and silky and tingly. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, stroking my wrist and hand. “Would you give me another date?”

I lifted my hand, and our fingers interlocked. The hair on the back of my neck perked up as my fingers slid against his and he caressed the skin between my fingers. I drank in his touch and felt a hum under his skin, or was it mine? I pressed my hand up against his as if to mirror it, but his was much bigger and I blushed. “Yes, I would give you that,” I said, looking up. I didn’t want to be unreasonable.

He stood and reached out; he helped me out of my chair. We walked to the parking lot without talking, and when we got into his car, the buzzing between us was palpable. We didn’t need words. The car doors closed, and in the quiet black leather, we turned to face each other and kissed.

Eleven

Cally

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2002

Night

I grabbed the beef jerky and Coke for Digger right away, so I wouldn’t forget, then made my way through the aisles of the mini-mart, trying to think of the basics we might need. Toilet paper, instant coffee, water, chips, cereal, and milk.