The Surrogate’s Gift

by Davis, L. G.

  Our eyes lock for a long time. I’m the first to look away.

  “Look, I should head back to the hotel to pack. I’m expected to check out by twelve.”

  “Yeah, I’ll drive you back.”

  “Are you sure? I can take a cab.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I brought you here and I will take you back.” He folds the black-and-white checkered dish towel in his hands and hangs it over the oven rail.

  Inside his SUV, we don’t speak much, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

  When he pulls up at the hotel entrance, he turns to me. “Don’t let them get to you. And if you need a friend, you know where to find me. You have my number.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me, Clayton?”

  He shrugs and his mouth quirks up at the corners. “I don’t know. I guess I like you a little.”

  I want to tell him I like him too, but I can’t. I wouldn’t want to give him the wrong impression. My life is way too complicated for anything more than friendship. I’m sure his is too.

  “Thank you again for breakfast and everything else. I’ll see you around.”

  He chuckles. “You certainly will.”

  Back in my hotel room, I switch on my phone. I had it switched off because I didn’t want my time with Clayton and his family to be disturbed by Marcia’s endless calls.

  She called five times and left as many messages.

  I listen to the last one.

  “Hi, Grace. I’m calling to let you know that you no longer have to worry about my mother. I’ll explain more when we speak.”

  Not worrying about her mother is something I’d love, but how would that be possible? Instead of trying to answer the questions in my head, I start packing.

  When I go downstairs to check out and leave, I’m surprised to find Marcia and Agnes in the lobby.

  When she sees me, Marcia runs over to give me a hug. “I’m so happy to see you both.” She means me and the baby.

  “You didn’t have to come and get me,” I say. “I have the car, remember?”

  “Oh, yes, I know.” Marcia glances in her mother’s direction, then back at me. “I was calling to let you know that my mother is moving in here until the baby is born.” She leans closer to me and whispers, “I don’t want her upsetting you anymore.”

  “She’s going to stay in this hotel?” I peer over her shoulder at Agnes, who’s talking to two of the hotel employees. “You don’t have to do that, Marcia. It’s still a while until the baby comes.”

  “If you’re worried about us spending money, don’t be. This hotel belongs to us. My aunt is the hotel manager. My mother’s maiden name is Sawyer.”

  “I had no idea.” Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Clayton did tell me that they own a lot of businesses in town.

  “It’s not a big deal. What’s important is that my mother will be out of your hair. You don’t have to feel bad. It was her idea to move out. She will only be coming to the house once a week for dinner.”

  I’m about to respond when Agnes approaches us. Instead of stopping, she pushes right past in the direction of the elevators, followed by a porter carrying two large designer suitcases.

  Marcia squeezes my arm. “I’ll help her settle in. See you at the house?”

  “Yeah. See you later.”

  On my way back to the house, I feel more prepared for what will come next. Not having Agnes around lifts some of the weight I’ve been carrying. But will she really stay away?

  When I get to the house, Travis comes out to greet me with an awkward hug. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Thanks.” I pull away.

  “How’s my baby?” I can’t help grinding my teeth when he lays his hands on my belly.

  “Fine. The baby is fine.”

  “That’s great.” He steps away and stares at me. “Grace, I want to apologize for the other day. The way I reacted to you going away.”

  “That’s all right. It was understandable.”

  He pushes his hands into his pockets. “I hope that taking time away did you good. I heard you made some new friends in town.”

  “I… Yes, I did.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel awkward about it. It’s not as if you’re dating someone.” He laughs like it’s a funny joke.

  “Not right now, no.” What is he getting at?

  He lets out an audible sigh. “Thank God. We wouldn’t want any complications now, would we?” He pauses. “I need to edit some photos, but first, let me help you take your bags to the guesthouse.”

  After he puts my luggage inside and leaves me, I’m still thinking about what he said. I’m getting the uneasy feeling that he had been following me around. How else would he know that I didn’t spend the time alone? And why would he hint at me having a boyfriend? Maybe someone mentioned it to him.

  It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to worry about any complications.

  My mind goes back to Agnes, memories brought on by the leftover smell of cigarette smoke. It’s not too powerful, but enough to let me know she was in the guesthouse.

  I make my way to the bedroom and stop in the doorway. A massive gift basket covered with cellophane is sitting in the middle of the bed. It looks like one of those self-care baskets with soaps and bath salts.

  Marcia must have left it. A welcome gift. A message telling me to continue taking care of myself. Even though I still hate the idea of her coming into the guesthouse without permission, she only means well.

  I sit on the bed and pull the gift basket toward me. Then I pull the ribbon at the top to release the opening. It’s filled with several bottles of shampoo, scented shower gels, bath bombs, candles and perfumes. I lay everything next to each other on the sheets until there’s only one thing left in the basket. A miniature doll without a head, arms, or legs.

  Acid eats at my stomach lining.

  Marcia didn’t leave the basket.

  It’s a message from Agnes, telling me that even though she’s not here in person, she will continue to haunt me.

  Fifteen

  I switch off the lights in the house and check that the windows and doors are locked. If I don’t, I won’t be able to fall asleep.

  I feel heavier today, depleted of energy, ready for the baby to arrive. The weight of exhaustion pushes me down onto the bed and deeper into the mattress. I rub my temples, but the pounding in my head continues to taunt me. I refuse to take meds, but maybe sleep will help. That is, of course, if I’m able to relax enough to drift off.

  I stare into the semidarkness. The moonlight makes the curtains glow. The soft light helps my eyes adjust to the dark, but I don’t want them to.

  I’m about to close my eyes, to force them to obey me, when a ball of pain explodes in my abdomen. The pain resembles the menstrual cramps I suffered from as a teenager, only worse. So much worse. The painful sensation moves like a wave from the top of my uterus to the bottom.

  My hands hold on to my stomach, and I do my best to breathe through my mouth.

  When the cramp goes away, only to return moments later, fear grips me.

  My heart is thudding, sweat sliding its way down my forehead to my pillow. I turn to lie on my other side, praying out loud that the pain means nothing.

  The stress of the past few weeks must have taken its toll, and my body has given up on me. Once I get some rest, I’ll be fine.

  But the pain doesn’t let go. Every time I think it’s gone, it rears its ugly head again. I want to move, but it feels like I’m chained to the bed.

  I’ve read many books on labor contractions. This feels like one.

  Something warm spreads underneath me and my mind instantly knows what it is.

  More tears flood my eyes. It can’t be. It’s too early. My body has to be playing tricks on me.

  Gritting my teeth, I stretch out my hand toward the nightstand and fumble around for my phone. The tips of my fingers come into contact with it, but they push it farther away from me until it thuds to the floor
.

  I grunt and try to get out of bed, to pick up the phone, to call for help.

  When I stand up, my head starts spinning and my body sways from side to side. I bend my knees slightly, but before I can reach the phone with my hand, another cramp cuts through me like a knife.

  A scream pushes its way up my throat and pours from my lips.

  Dropping to my knees, I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for this wave to pass.

  When it does, I find the phone and call 911, hands trembling. But when an operator picks up, I don’t have the strength to speak. The words coming from my lips are a jumbled mess.

  More pain strikes. Another scream escapes.

  The phone slips from my hand and hits the floor for a second time. I can hear the muffled voice of the person on the other side, but I cannot respond.

  “Help,” I whimper, one arm around my belly, the other gripping the frame of the bed.

  As I sink deeper into the dark waters of agony, the voice from the phone becomes faint until I no longer hear it through the rush in my ears.

  When I get another reprieve, I drag myself back onto the bed and lie in a fetal position, gasping for air.

  I don’t even react when I hear a sound in the house, growing louder by the second. Footsteps are making their way to my room, and someone is calling my name. I’m unable to answer them. It hurts too much to do anything.

  But it’s okay. I recognize the voice. It’s Marcia.

  The door creaks open.

  “Oh, my God.” Marcia rushes to the bed. “It’s too early. The baby can’t come now.”

  I’ve reached the point where I don’t care if the baby comes early. I just want to be free from the pain.

  “Help,” I whisper again. She cannot help me on her own. She’s not a doctor. She needs to call the ambulance.

  My eyes drift shut again, and oblivion starts to pull me under. All I can see behind my eyelids are little dots now.

  “I need to take you to the hospital.” Marcia’s voice is squeaky with panic. “Breathe,” she begs. “Just breathe.”

  Her footsteps move around the room, and she starts talking, maybe to someone on the phone. She’s panting as though she shares the pain I’m in.

  “Hang in there,” she soothes, finally coming back to my bedside. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

  Instead of answering, I start to cry.

  Marcia does everything to comfort me. She wipes away the tears, rubs my back, tries to make me comfortable on the bed.

  She fails. If anything, I’m feeling worse. I need her to be here, and I need her to leave me alone. Sometimes her touch is comforting. Sometimes it hurts.

  Her hands leave my body, and I listen to her walk away from the bed. There’s a rush of water in the bathroom, then a cool cloth touches my forehead.

  It doesn’t help. The only thing that will help is if the baby leaves my body. If it doesn’t, I might die.

  Marcia goes away again. When she returns, her voice is accompanied by many others. The paramedics are here. They will help.

  More pain strikes. I don’t care if the baby is born inside the guesthouse. It’s pushing itself out, tearing through my body. Then there’s nothing, no more pain, just a ringing in my ears.

  The baby must be out, but I can’t hear it crying.

  A few seconds go by, or maybe it’s minutes. I cannot tell. I’m still too weak to open my eyes, but my ears are alert to the conversation, the desperation in Marcia’s voice.

  “My baby,” she cries. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “We’re so sorry, Mrs. Thorpe,” someone says, a woman. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  My throat closes up. More tears push their way through my eyelids.

  I keep my eyes closed. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to confirm what happened.

  The baby didn’t make it. I failed Marcia. I failed Travis. I failed myself. I made a promise I couldn’t keep.

  Sobs rock my body like earthquake tremors.

  “It’s okay,” someone whispers, a man this time. A hand is placed on my forehead, and my damp hair is pushed from my face. “It’s okay, Grace. You’re having a bad dream, that’s all.”

  I open my damp eyes, expecting to see Marcia and the paramedics. None of them are in the room. A dream. It was just a dream.

  The only person here with me is Travis, sitting in the armchair next to my bed, the one Agnes had sat in when she surprised me for the first time.

  “What…” My voice drifts off as I search my abdomen for the baby, making sure it’s still inside, safe and sound.

  Nothing seems to have changed. It really was a dream.

  “You had a nightmare, I think.” He continues to stroke my forehead.

  I move my head away a few inches. This is wrong. Travis is not supposed to be here, invading my personal space. Not after the discussion I had with Marcia.

  But another thing occurs to me. It might not be such a bad thing for them to have unrestricted access. What if it hadn’t been a dream? Then I would want them to come in, wouldn’t I?

  As much as I want to be angry with Travis, I can’t be. It does feel weird that the father of the baby I’m carrying is here in my bedroom, but my anger is dissipating by the second.

  “I heard you screaming,” he says. “I came to make sure everything was ok.”

  He heard me screaming? He must have been really close. I’m pretty sure he would not have heard a sound if he were in the main house. Or was I that loud?

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he adds. “I went out for a walk. Then I heard you.”

  I blink a few times. “What time is it?”

  “A little after midnight.”

  “Thank you for checking up on me,” I say. “I’m fine now.”

  I hope he will take the hint and leave the guesthouse.

  “Are you sure?” His face is creased with worry.

  “Yes, I’m fine. You can go home and sleep.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t mind staying. I can sleep on the couch in the living room, in case you have another nightmare.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that.” If Marcia had been the one offering to stay with me, maybe I would have said yes, but not her husband.

  “All right then. We’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything, call us.” He still keeps his hand on my forehead, his palm moving against my skin.

  I’m about to move away from him when a sound catches my attention. It’s coming from the living room.

  Alarm bells go off in my head. “Someone is in the house,” I whisper.

  His hand still on me, Travis turns to stare at the door just as it’s pushed open, and Marcia enters the doorway.

  Travis snatches his hand away. In a few words, he explains to his wife what happened.

  Marcia’s eyes grow wide with worry. She rushes to my bedside like she had in my dream.

  I spend the next several minutes trying to assure her that the baby and I are fine and there’s no reason to worry. She insists that in the morning, I have to see Dr. Miller. I don’t object. It would put my mind at ease. The stress of the dream could have affected the baby.

  Sixteen

  Past

  Peter called when I was packing for my trip to Seattle. I had a two-day meeting with Jaden, Inc., a cosmetics firm, and a leading magazine advertiser.

  I spent the previous night polishing up my presentation slides and my eyes were heavy with sleep. The magazine industry was cutthroat and high-paying advertisers were tough to get. If we didn’t bring our A-game, Jaden, Inc., would simply throw their money at our competitors.

  “Is everything okay, Peter?” I asked, dropping a tube of toothpaste into my cosmetics bag.

  At first, I only heard someone breathing on the other end, but then it was followed by laughter, the good kind. “She’s in labor, Grace. Rachel is in labor. The baby is coming.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s wonderful, Peter.” A roller coaster of emotions overtook me, a plunge into f
ear followed by quickly mounting excitement.

  Fear had plagued me throughout Rachel’s pregnancy. Every day I waited for the call that would tell me the baby did not make it, that something went wrong.

  Nine months had flown by, and my fears had not materialized. At her most recent prenatal checkup, Rachel’s OB/GYN assured her the baby looked healthy and there was no cause for concern.

  Now the day had come, the day I would get to meet my niece. Peter and Rachel’s dream of becoming parents was on the verge of coming true.

  I intended to be a hands-on aunt, stepping in anytime they needed me. Maybe it was due to my guilt for having refused to carry a baby for Rachel and Peter, but did that matter now?

  What mattered was that I was already in love with my niece, and I would treat her like my own child.

  “I’m so happy for you. For both of you.” I joined in his laughter.

  Once he confirmed where the hospital was, I said, “I’m on my way. Tell Rachel I’ll see her soon.”

  As soon as I hung up, I called Roman Wyatt, my boss and the owner of Living It magazine.

  “What do you mean you’re not attending the meeting?” His voice crackled like thunder. “You know this meeting is make or break, right?”

  “I do, Roman, but there’s been a family emergency. I’m sorry. I’ll send my updated slides to the team. Addison should be able to present.”

  Addison Smith was the assistant editor, and we’d worked on the presentation together. It shouldn’t be hard for her to slip into my shoes. With her astounding presentation skills, she’d blow them out of the water.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he huffed. “Grace, the advertisers expect you to lead the meeting. Your flight leaves in two hours and I expect you to be on it.”

  “I’m sorry, Roman. I won’t be on that flight. My sister is in labor, and I need to be with her.”

  “That’s the big emergency? You want to skip the meeting because your sister is in labor? I don’t believe this.” I could hear him scratching his beard. “You can’t skip an important meeting because your sister is giving birth. If it were you, that would be another story.”