Judith Wall - The Surrogate

She stayed in town long enough to scrub the house from top to bottom and settle her grandmother’s affairs. Then she carried the last of her things and Granny’s houseplants out to the car and, taking one last look at the little white house that had been her home for more than a dozen years, drove away with tears streaming down her face.

She stopped at the cemetery on her way out of town.

As she stood there staring down at the patch of raw earth, a favorite memory of her grandmother came into her mind. They were doing the spring cleaning and had propped open the back screen door so that they could carry the mattresses and rugs out to the backyard for an airing. A young sparrow flew through the open door and went completely crazy when it couldn’t find a way out. Fluffy little feathers fluttered about like snow as it beat its wings first against the window over the sink and then the window by the table. Back and forth it went. Granny stood perfectly still in the middle of the kitchen talking in a low, soothing voice, telling the frantic little creature that it was a very beautiful bird and that she had always wished that she could be a bird for a day so she could fly high in the sky and better see what God hath wrought. Finally the exhausted creature lighted on top of the refrigerator, and Granny reached out to it. The bird perched on her finger and, still talking softly, she carried it to the door and watched it fly away.

What Jamie would miss the most was her grandmother’s calmness. It had soothed like a balm.

“I love you, Granny, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she said.

She was alone in the world, deeply in debt, and two and a half years away from a college degree.

But she did have a plan.

BENTLEY ABERNATHY WAS awake when the phone rang.

He had been staring into the darkness hoping for some indication from his wife’s side of the bed that she might also be awake and possibly receptive to a little middle-of-the-night sex after which he was always able to fall asleep immediately. Brenda had made it clear to him years ago that she did not want to be awakened in the middle of the night for sex and that he should go jack off in the bathroom or take a sleeping pill when he was suffering from a bout of sleeplessness. But occasionally she, too, would be wakeful and roll willingly into his arms without expectation of foreplay, her own fantasies apparently having been at work, and they would come together for an immediate, intense coupling followed by a bit of affectionate snuggling as they both fell soundly asleep.

Even though Bentley was an attorney and not unaccustomed to late-night phone calls from desperate clients, the demanding ring of a telephone in the still of the night was always startling. Always made his heart lurch. And in the span of a millisecond, that first harsh ring precipitated an avalanche of possibilities that had nothing to do with clients. As disappointed as he was in his four spoiled and seemingly worthless children, he realized how much he still loved them when the middle-of-the-night phone calls came and his greatest fear was that something terrible might happen to one of them-something an attorney father could not make go away. The possibilities were many. Automobile accidents topped the list, followed closely by overdoses. Or the fear would resurface that his daughter’s jerk of a husband was capable of abuse. Or one of his sons might have been severely injured in a barroom brawl. Or had driven into Mexico and been murdered by banditos. Or been mugged. Carjacked. Kidnapped. One of his children could be bleeding to death on a hospital gurney or cold and dead on a slab at the county morgue.

Without his glasses, Bentley did not even try to read the number on the caller ID. He grabbed the phone before it rang a second time. An instant later Brenda turned on her bedside lamp.

“What’s taking you so goddamned long?” a rasping male voice immediately demanded.

Bentley fell back on the bed and took in a deep, calming, grateful breath. His spoiled, worthless children lived on.

“You said to take all the time I needed to find the perfect young woman,” Bentley said into the receiver, reminding himself of the almost impossible list of criteria he had been given.

“It’s been four damned months, and I pay you a great deal of money to look after our affairs down there. I told you that this particular affair was to have top priority.”

“It is my top priority,” Bentley assured his caller, carefully keeping any sign of irritation from his voice.

“My sister says you haven’t found a single girl for her to interview.”

“That’s because we didn’t want to waste her time with unsuitable applicants. Amanda was very specific about the sort of young woman that she and her husband were looking for. But I can assure you that we have narrowed down the search. In fact, I have a promising candidate coming into the office in the morning.”

“E-mail me something on her.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Before Bentley could respond, the caller hung up, and he allowed himself a single “Shit!”

“God almighty, I presume,” Brenda said.

“Yeah. I’ve got to take care of something downstairs.”

Brenda was sitting up. One strap of her nightgown had slipped from her shoulder, revealing a portion of her right breast. For an old broad, his wife was still a looker. Still had a great body. Great tits.

Bentley took a chance and reached over to pull her nightgown even lower and rub a fingertip around the exposed nipple. He was rewarded with just the tiniest suggestion of a smile.

“How long will ‘something’ take?” she asked.

“Five minutes,” he said.

“Well, I might still be awake,” she said.

Bentley leaped from the bed. He beat on his chest and let out a Tarzan yell as he went racing across the room. Brenda’s laughter followed him.

In his downstairs office, Bentley looked in his Rolodex for his secretary’s home phone number and dialed it.

“Hi, boss,” she said sleepily. Obviously Lenora didn’t need glasses to read her caller ID.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I had a late-night call from Gus Hartmann. He thinks we’re neglecting his sister’s search. Didn’t you say the young woman you have scheduled in the morning looked like the best of the lot?”

“Yeah. At least on paper and over the phone she seems promising.”

“I need you to e-mail her file to Gus Hartmann ASAP. He’s at home.”

“I’m heading for my computer now.”

“Do I pay you enough?” he asked.

“For the time being.”

Bentley thanked her then hurried back upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, he could see the flicker of candlelight from the open bedroom door. His heart surged.

Brenda was naked. “I want you to kiss me for a long time,” she said. Her voice was low and sultry.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, taking her in his arms. God yes, he would kiss her. Every inch of her. He was doing just that when the phone rang. “Don’t answer it,” Brenda said. “He’ll just upset you.”

Bentley shook his head and reluctantly reached for the receiver.

“There’s no picture. I need to know what this girl looks like.”

“We’ll take one tomorrow,” Bentley said and hung up the receiver. He wanted to disconnect the phone before returning to his wife’s lovely, warm, delicious body but didn’t dare.

Gus Hartmann printed out the e-mail and read the report again before putting it in his desk drawer. Then he pushed back his chair and headed for the open French doors. A fountain gurgled pleasantly in the meditation garden, and the soft hooting of an owl could be heard from the grove of pine trees just beyond the brick wall.