BooksBarbecue
Back The Surrogate
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

“Let’s step out into the hall,” said Hal, launching himself toward the door.

The director of patient relations excused herself, telling me she would contact us when she had more information, and meanwhile, she’d send in the cleaning crew. We could hear her high heels clicking as fast as her short legs could go, away from us and down the hallway.

“What’s going on?” said Carol.

“Why don’t we find a place to sit and talk?” said Hal.

“Let’s go to the cafeteria,” said Jim.

“Perfect,” said Hal. “I could use a cup of coffee.” He turned to me with his hand outstretched.

“You go ahead,” I said. “I have some calls to make.”

“Oh,” said Hal. “Would you mind calling Caleb and telling him not to come?”

“Okay,” I said, and Hal squeezed my shoulder before heading out the door to join Carol and Jim. As soon as he left, I went back to the window. Snowbanks below, a small parking lot, a few cars completely covered in snow. It wasn’t as far down as I had feared. That gave me some comfort.

I went to the bed and sat, then swung my purse into my lap, digging for my address book and a pen. Since I’d already contaminated the room, I might as well take advantage. I picked up the bedside phone, the one that Cally had used to take the call yesterday afternoon as I was leaving. I dialed *69 and listened, pen in hand. An automated voice said, “The last number dialed from this extension was . . .” and “Stay on the line to hear this message again . . .” I hung up and looked at the number I’d scribbled on the front page of my address book. A St. Paul area code? Did I know that number? I flipped through the rest of my address book, thinking it might jump out at me. It didn’t.

Meanwhile, I had several calls of my own to make. I used the phone freely and no one disturbed me. When I was done with my last call, I hung up, and the phone rang, startling me. Could this be the same person who’d called yesterday looking for Cally? I let it ring a second time, unsure what to do. On the third ring, I answered. “Hello?” I said quietly and checked the doorway to see if anyone was watching me.

“Yes, hello,” said the man on the other end of the line. “This is Food Service calling. We are ready for your breakfast order, please?”

“No, there’s no breakfast, thank you.” I hung up.

A woman pushed a cart into the room, with a large bin for dirty laundry, clear plastic garbage pail liners, and a pile of clean sheets wrapped in cellophane. When she saw me, she stopped. “Oh, excuse me,” she said. “I’ll come back.”