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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

“Just asking.” Digger put his cap back on with the bill facing forward, which meant he was focused on driving and didn’t want to be disturbed. He’d taken the cap off to run his fingers through his hair, as if it helped him settle down. But now the cap was back on, so he was back to being the driver, and I was the passenger holding the baby.

After a few miles, the truck was warm again, my heart rate had returned to normal, and the air had cleared. We got into the rhythm of the road, with occasional little gasps from Nell. I smiled over at Digger, hoping he’d heard them, too, but there was something else going on in his head.

“How much money is on that card?” he asked after a bit.

“I dunno,” I lied. My eyes were closed. I was half sleeping. “But I can check it at an ATM.”

“Okay,” he said, and I let myself fall asleep again.

It was two-thirty in the morning when we reached Duluth, and the road curved down a long hill toward the city and the big black Lake Superior. The sky was clear and midnight blue. Below us were shadows of ships, containers, and cranes, all resting for the night, and the familiar slope of land on the left. The hills were dotted with hundreds of tiny lights on small but rugged homes, where, inside, the local people were sleeping, and tomorrow they would wake up and start a new day, go to work and take care of their children. Why couldn’t we be one of those families? Weren’t we just like anybody else?

We crossed the bridge from Duluth to Superior, and on the other side, I rested my forehead against the glass. The seat belt cut gently into my neck, and I saw the sign that said “Welcome to Wisconsin.”

“I’m not supposed to leave Minnesota,” I whispered to the window.

Twelve

Ruth

1997

The first time I met Hal’s sons, we’d just come back from a movie date. We tumbled into the mudroom from the attached garage, laughing and kissing, and then spilled into the kitchen. Caleb was sitting on a stool at the far counter, and Jake was on the sofa beyond.

“Boys?” said Hal, clearly surprised to see them. “I thought you were going to Chicago with your mom.”

“Got canceled,” said Jake.

“Oh . . . great,” said Hal, faking it. “Well, this is Ruth,” and it was a terrible way to meet them.

“Hi, guys,” I said, trying to telepathically express that I came in peace, I’d answer any questions they had, and I was no threat to them or anyone they loved.

“Hi,” they grunted, barely audible, barely decipherable. Typical for thirteen- and fifteen-year-old boys. Caleb barely raised his eyes to briefly meet mine. Jake was watching a television show, looked like an episode of Baywatch, but was that show even still on?