Judith Wall - The Surrogate

He had really screwed things up with her.

He’d all but decided it was time to expand the parameters of their relationship when Marcia took his hand and led him out onto a tiny crowded dance floor in a downtown Austin bar and plastered her body against his. At the end of the dance, she led him to the ladies’ room, where she pushed him down on the toilet seat and straddled him. As they walked back to the dance floor, she reached over and shook his hand, then said, “I’m Marcia.”

Joe had been screwing Marcia for almost a year when he stopped at the dry cleaner’s to tell Jamie that he was getting married even though he wasn’t yet officially engaged. But he knew it was coming. Marcia expected it, and Joe felt like she was entitled.

Jamie seemed so forlorn, standing there at the counter in that dreary, steamy dry-cleaning establishment with rows of plastic-covered clothing hanging behind her, her hair damp with perspiration, putting on a brave, smiling face as she wished him well. A few weeks later he learned from his grandmother that Jamie had dropped out of school and gone back to Mesquite to look after the ailing Gladys. Joe knew he should call her. Or drive up for a weekend. But he hadn’t. Marcia would have expected to come with him to meet his grandparents. And he didn’t think he could face Jamie with Marcia at his side. Of course, no words had ever been spoken between him and Jamie. And there had been almost no touching-only high fives and crashing into each other when they grabbed at rebounds. But there was a place in his heart that belonged exclusively to the long-legged little girl whom he’d watched grow up into a lovely young woman with the most beautiful smile imaginable and eyes that glowed when she looked at him. But he felt kind of stupid being hung up on a kid, especially one who considered him a big brother of sorts. And if his thoughts about her turned the least bit sexual, he felt like a pedophile. Then, after Jamie developed into a shapely young woman, sexual thoughts seemed incestuous. She was still in high school when he started law school. And Marcia was gorgeous and funny and outrageously inventive when it came to sex.

For the most part, he hadn’t allowed himself to have anything but the most ethereal sort of daydreams about Jamie.

But not always.

Joe awakened early and went for a run. There was a FedEx truck parked at the end of the block. The dark tint of the windows prevented him from seeing who was inside. Since when was FedEx tinting its truck windows, he wondered.

He headed for the track at the high school, where he did laps for almost an hour. When he returned, the FedEx truck had been replaced by a black panel truck with tinted windows.

He smelled the coffee as soon as he opened the door. His parents were in the kitchen, his mother at the stove, his father setting the table. When the phone rang, Joe had gotten there first.

And now, he stood facing his wonderful parents who loved him completely and would do anything for him and said, “I have to go.”

Tears began to roll down his mother’s face. “Please, no,” she said, her head moving back and forth. “When Jamie first called I wanted you to help her. But whatever trouble she’s gotten herself into is too big, Joe. Too dangerous.”

His father nodded his agreement. “Wait until they catch her. Then maybe you can help with the legal side of things.”

Joe considered. He could do that, of course. But something in his gut told him that Jamie’s problem was outside the normal boundaries of the law. She knew something that she was not supposed to know. At one time, he would have encouraged her to turn herself in no matter how frightened she was and let the law straighten things out, but the more he learned about the law, the more he realized that being innocent sometimes wasn’t enough. The rule of law was like religion. At its heart it might be pure, but all too often it was bent by those in power to serve their purposes.

Strong voices within him warned him that getting involved in Jamie’s problem could be his undoing and cause his parents great anguish. He should look the other way.

But what kind of person would he be if he did that?

Or was it just that he was in love with Jamie Long and had been most of his life? And she never even knew it.

“I have to try to help her,” he told his parents.

The look on their faces was one of absolute fear with just a touch of pride. He was across the kitchen in an instant and put his arms around the two of them. “You’re all we have,” his mother cried, clinging to him.

Joe showered and ate breakfast. The black panel truck followed him to the bank, where he cashed out a CD.

He waited until dark-a long day, with the three of them trying to act normal as they watched a golf tournament on television and puttered about the kitchen fixing first lunch and then dinner. After the late news, he went upstairs to his bedroom. He waited until midnight, put on his backpack, and crawled out of his bedroom window onto one of the thick, spreading branches of the ancient post oak that had been the reason his parents had built their home on this particular lot.

Keeping well in the shadows cast by the six-foot fence, Joe made his way to the back of the yard, scrambled over the fence, and dropped into another backyard. He went along the side of the house toward the street. Before he stepped out of the shadows, he watched a long time for any movement.

He took a circuitous route to the storage facility on Gessner Road. When he arrived he hid behind the small office building for twenty or so minutes. Finally convinced that he had not been followed, he entered the code on the punch pad to unlock the outer gate, then closed it behind him.

He got a bit of a thrill when he opened the overhead door to his storage unit and saw the vintage Harley parked there among the other possessions that he’d acquired during his Austin years.

Minutes later, he was on his way. Even though he was fairly certain that he was not being followed, he rode around the Memorial area for a time, then took a turn through downtown and headed south on Galveston Road. Only when he was absolutely certain that he was in the clear did he make a U-turn and head north, cutting over to Interstate 45. He then took I-610 to Highway 290, which took him into Brenham. He was there before dawn and checked into a generic motel where he slept for a few hours, then ate a huge breakfast at a pancake house and got directions to the Independence Cemetery from the waitress. He arrived well before noon, parked his bike in the back of the cemetery, and wandered around for a time. With its stately old trees and ancient tombstones, the cemetery was a poignantly beautiful place. Maybe someday he and Jamie could come back here and poke around.

He waited until after one o’clock, and since he hadn’t passed any semblance of an eating establishment on the ride out from Brenham, he made his way back to the town. He ate lunch in a vintage hotel and wandered around the quaint downtown for a time.

Around five, he headed back up Highway 50 to the cemetery. He waited until dark before heading back to town.

He downed a few beers at a tavern to take the edge off his disappointment, then fell asleep watching TV in his motel room.

The next morning he killed time poking around the rolling countryside, arriving at the cemetery well before noon. He wandered up and down the rows of headstones, glancing up every time a car approached, which wasn’t very often.

At two, he got on the Harley and headed back to town. At five-thirty he was back at the cemetery. Once again there were no people, no vehicles, no Jamie.

But it was not yet dusk.

To pass the time he began to make a more methodical inspection of the cemetery. He hadn’t taken two steps when he saw a pair of tattered athletic shoes jutting out from behind a tombstone.