by Davis, L. G.
“I bet it has something to do with money. But you know what? It’s none of our business.”
“True,” I say. “So, have you decided yet whether you plan on working at Latte O’Clock for good?” Lately, he’s been thinking out loud about his and Heidi’s future, weighing his options.
He laughs. “Looks like someone prefers asking questions to answering them.”
I nudge him in the ribs. “I did answer your questions.”
“Not really.” He places his hands on his thighs and rubs them up and down. “Actually, I recently spoke to one of the partners at the firm where I worked back in DC. They said they would take me back when I’m ready to return to law.”
“Do you think you’ll ever be ready?” I ask cautiously.
“I’m starting to think so.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I came here because I wanted to heal from everything that happened. For months I didn’t feel as though anything was changing, and then just like that, everything did. It’s like I was in a deep sleep and now I’m starting to wake up.”
“That’s really great, Clayton.” That’s the kind of shift I’m waiting to experience. I wonder how long it will take. I put a hand on his. “I’m happy for you.”
Our gazes lock. He places his other hand on top of mine.
When he speaks again, his voice is low. “I think it has everything to do with a certain somebody who came to town.”
A jolt of electricity shoots through me. Even in the cool mist of the fountain water, my body is heating up. I return my hand to my lap. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do,” he says. “You’re the first person I have opened up to since it happened. You’ve helped me so much, Grace.”
I force myself to look back at him. “You’ve helped me too. I hope we can remain friends after all this is over.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says. “Let’s promise to keep in touch.”
I smile at him, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my promise. Something inside me is telling me that we won’t be able to be friends for long, that something else will get in the way. Something we’re both not ready for.
For now, I like what we have just the way it is, and I don’t want complications to ruin it.
I don’t tell him that, but when all this is over, we will have to go our separate ways. I won’t see the Thorpes again, and I won’t see Clayton again. He will become someone I used to know. It’s easier that way.
Twenty-One
A ginger ball of fur is in the middle of my bed.
Marigold.
Since I arrived at the Thorpes’, the cat has been keeping her distance from the guesthouse, only showing up occasionally and never staying more than a few minutes before she flees. I take careful steps toward the bed so as not to scare her.
She eyes me with narrowed eyes as I lower myself onto the bed and allow her to sniff my hand.
You can trust me, Marigold. I’m harmless.
When she stays put, I place the same hand on top of her. Her fur is soft and warm against my palm. I’ve never really been a cat person, but I do prefer some cats to others. Marigold is one of the special ones.
“Who let you in?” I whisper, running my hand up and down her back. She purrs in response.
I’m not sure how she could have come in. As usual, I had left all the windows closed, and the door shut, and I don’t have a cat flap in the door. No one has come to the guesthouse without my permission for a while, at least that’s what I think. With Agnes at the hotel, I haven’t found any nasty surprises lying around.
“Marigold,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m pretty beat. I should get some rest.”
I’ve been out most of the day as usual. Instead of spending all my time at Latte O’Clock, I also stopped by the library and the botanical garden. To end the day, I had dinner with Clayton. Now my legs are sore, and my back is killing me. All I want is a shower before I climb into bed.
Instead of leaving, Marigold turns onto her back and continues to purr, louder this time. I chuckle as I rub her belly.
“All right then,” I say. “You can stay a little while.”
I wish I had someone to do the same for me. A foot massage would be nice just about now. As I inch nearer to the due date, the bloating and discomfort increases by the day. But that’s another disadvantage to being a surrogate. You don’t have the pleasure of a partner sharing the pregnancy journey with you, someone to massage away the aches.
It turns out petting Marigold has a positive effect on me, too. After fifteen minutes, some of the tension has melted out of my body and my eyes have started to droop.
The idea of a bath no longer appeals to me. I don’t mind getting in and soaking in the warm water, but I don’t have the strength needed to get out afterwards. I wish the Thorpes had a shower instead of a bath. It would be so much quicker.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I say to Marigold, “but the baby and I really need to sleep now.”
As though she understands me, she meows and hops off the bed, landing softly on the carpet. Yawning, I follow her to the front door. I open it wide and wait for her to strut out.
At first, it looks like she will, but then she turns around and heads toward the couch. She jumps onto it and sits there watching me, daring me to ask her to leave.
“I don’t mind you staying, but I think Marcia will be worried and wondering where you are.” From what I’ve heard, Marigold has been Marcia’s cat since before she married Travis.
I try my best to lure her out the door, but she stands her ground. When I move to pick her up, she shifts away from me.
“All right then. Let me see what I can do.” I send a text to Marcia, and she responds immediately.
It’s fine. She can spend the night with you. She’s great company, I promise.
Seconds later, my phone dings again with another text.
You’ll find a bag of kitty snacks in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.
I’m surprised I have cat food in the guesthouse. I’m pretty sure I’ve looked in the cupboards before and there was none.
“Come on, Marigold. Let’s get you something to eat.” Marigold doesn’t follow immediately. Instead, she relaxes and starts licking her paw.
“I’ll be right back,” I say on my way to the kitchen.
As soon as my bare foot lands on the tiled floor, it slides. The next thing I know, I’m falling. A scream explodes from me as I land hard on my bottom, and pain shoots from the area of impact to my lower back.
I place a protective hand around my belly. “No,” I whimper, my voice filled with panic. The sound I make brings Marigold to my side, but I’m in too much pain to pay her any attention.
I need to get up and do something. I can’t sit here and hope the baby is fine. Gritting my teeth, I crawl across the slippery floor to my phone, which has landed in the middle of the kitchen. It takes me a minute to get there because the floor is coated with the slippery mess.
I pick up the phone and call Marcia. Within minutes, she and Travis enter the guesthouse without me opening for them. They must have used another spare key. I’m too exhausted to care. As soon as they come near the kitchen, Marigold runs away.
“Are you okay?” Travis asks, putting his hands under my armpits to help me to my feet. It’s a struggle, as we both keep slipping and sliding. Eventually, we make it out of the kitchen and into the living room.
“What happened?” Marcia asks.
“I don’t know how that liquid ended up on the floor,” I say.
“We need to have you checked out,” Marcia and Travis say at the same time.
Marcia’s eyes are wide with fear and her face has gone pale.
Since I hit the floor hard, I walk with a slight limp as Travis escorts me to his car.
Half an hour later, we’re inside Dr. Miller’s practice after business hours. When the Thorpes called on the way, he stopped whatever he was doing at his home and came to open up.
The rich can have whatever they want, and whenever they want it.
“You’d be surprised,” he says, “but babies are well protected inside a woman’s womb.”
A woman’s womb, not a mother’s womb. He doesn’t want to hurt Marcia’s feelings.
He smiles at her before continuing, “They can survive a lot of bumps during pregnancy.” He turns his gaze to me next. “Grace, I suggest you take it easy for the next few days and get as much rest as possible. Come back in if you experience any intense pain or bleeding.”
“Thank God,” Travis says, running his hand through his hair before clasping both hands behind his head.
When we get back into the car, Marcia still looks rattled by the incident, and her cheeks are streaked with tears. If only she knew how much torture I’m also going through. We both came close to losing something important to us.
“I still don’t get it. Exactly what happened?” Travis’s hands are tight on the wheel, but he doesn’t start the car.
“I don’t know.” I rub my forehead. “Like I said, I went into the kitchen to get the cat food and I slipped.”
“You didn’t see the liquid on the floor?”
“No.” I now know that the liquid was vegetable oil. I smelled it and felt it between my fingertips.
Travis shakes his head, confused. “Why would it be all over the floor? Did you accidentally spill it?”
“I didn’t. The only time I was in the kitchen was in the morning before I left. And I didn’t cook anything. I only drank a glass of water.” Anger is beating like a pulse at the base of my throat. “Someone must have poured it onto the floor.”
Travis turns to Marcia, his face puce. “Did your mother go to the guesthouse any time before or after dinner?”
I totally forgot that Agnes came to join them for dinner today. What are the chances that on the day she shows up, something like this happens?
Marcia presses a tissue to her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t think—” She covers her cheeks with both hands. “Maybe.”
“She has to be behind this,” Travis’s voice booms, shaking all of us. “She hates the baby. She obviously planned the accident.”
“I really don’t—” Marcia starts and then stops talking. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t bother,” Travis snaps. “I’ll do it myself this time. You are too soft on her. She’s gone too far, Marcia. I don’t think you should be inviting her to dinner anymore, not until the baby is born.”
I’ve never seen Travis angrier. His face and neck are red, and veins are popping through his skin.
“You can’t do that, Travis. We can’t kick her out completely. It is her home.”
“No, it’s our home.” He smacks the steering wheel. “Your father left it to you. She has enough money to buy another house, or ten if she wants. Why would she want to stay with us when she doesn’t like being around me?”
Worry gnaws at me. After the baby arrives, things might escalate. When Agnes visits, I’ll be gone, but the baby will be there. A baby she hates. Trying to scare me is one thing, but physically trying to hurt me is going too far. This woman is dangerous.
“She’s my mother, Travis.” Marcia’s voice is trembling now. “And we can’t prove she did this.”
I’m about to respond when Travis does it for me. “I have all the proof I need. It’s not only about tonight. I believe Grace, that she didn’t spill whatever was on the floor.”
Marcia looks back at me and gives me a tight smile. I can’t even start to imagine how tough the situation is for her, to be torn between her husband and mother, two people she loves and two enemies hell-bent on hurting each other.
“You’re right. Grace and the baby should be our priority right now. I’ll take care of them.”
“So will I,” Travis says. “I’ll never let your mother come near Grace again. She will not do anything to harm my baby. This could have ended badly.”
My baby. The words spin around in my head and make me feel faint. Why does he keep saying that? He must know it will hurt Marcia’s feelings.
Marcia says nothing as she stares at her hands.
Travis starts the car and I stare out the window at the blur of lights.
When we get to the house, he insists on walking me to the guesthouse, even though I assure him I don’t feel much pain anymore. He takes me all the way to the bedroom, but I stop him from entering before he gets the idea to tuck me in.
“I’m really fine,” I say. “You can go home.”
To my surprise, he gives me a quick peck on the cheek and marches off.
I remain standing where he left me, an uneasy feeling touching my skin like cold fingers.
When the engine of the car growls to life, I move to the window and see his car pulling out of the driveway. He must be leaving to talk to Agnes right now.
It’s probably best for him to deal with it tonight. He needs a way to get rid of his anger, otherwise it will be a really difficult night for Marcia.
I’m about to get into bed when Marcia comes to the guesthouse to ask again if I’m okay.
Dressed in her silk nightgown, she sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Grace. If it’s really my mother who did this, I apologize. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” I say. I want to continue, to remind her what’s at stake, but she already knows that. I don’t want to upset her even more.
She gets up and starts fussing over me, straightening my pillows and tucking the sheets under my body.
“Marcia, I don’t want to accuse your mother of wanting to harm me and the baby, but she did say a lot of things that make me believe she did this.”
“I know,” she says without looking me in the eye. When she’s done tucking me in, she sits down next to me on the bed. “It’s hard,” she says, biting her lip. “Trying to put out fires between Travis and my mother is exhausting. When I introduced them, I thought they got along fine. I don’t know where all the hate suddenly came from. She keeps saying he’s after my money.” She rests her hand on my belly. “I thought this baby would bring us all together. Now I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. Too much damage has been done.”
Did she just imply that she was using the baby?
When I don’t answer, she gets up and leaves the guesthouse. I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Twenty-Two
The walls are painted pale pink, and the floor is covered by a snow-white shaggy carpet, but the crib has not been put together, and most of the nursery items have been stored in the guesthouse.
Marcia’s ready to prepare the nursery, and she asked me to help. My job is to hang three identical photos of a cow flying over the moon on the wall.
We’re less than a month away from my due date and I can’t believe how I’ve made it through the past stressful months. I can guess why Marcia waited until now to finish the nursery. She wanted to be sure nothing would go wrong with the pregnancy, that she wouldn’t be disappointed yet again.
An uneasy feeling comes over me as I watch her sitting on the floor, stuffing a pillow into a pink cushion. She has zoned out, focused on the task at hand. I say something to her, but she doesn’t react. Maybe she doesn’t even hear me.
Something is not right with her lately. She’s been crying a lot. Maybe she thinks I don’t notice, but no matter how much makeup she uses, the signs of crying can never be completely covered. It all started the night I slipped and fell, but I get the feeling there’s more to it.
She and Travis have been fighting quite a lot, too. When it gets to be too much, Marcia locks herself in her studio, sometimes for hours. Once I walked by while she was inside and heard her crying, followed by the sound of things being thrown at the wall.
What worries me is that one minute she seems to be there and the next she’s gone, sinking into a different world. I hold on to the hope that things will change once the baby comes.
“Wow,” Travis says, joining us in the room. “You
guys did a great job.”
He’s been out most of the day. He’s hardly at home much these days, and when he is, he finds it hard to keep his hands to himself, constantly touching my stomach and talking to the baby.
Normally he leaves right after breakfast, but today we’re doing a photo shoot. They want photos of my belly to keep as a memory. I agreed on one condition: my face will not be shown in the photos. Travis objected at first, but I refused to have it any other way.
“Are you both ready to get started?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say through my tight throat. It’s a strange feeling knowing that when I leave, photos of me will remain.
Travis calls Marcia’s name, and she snaps out of her trance, smiling up at him. I’m almost fooled into thinking everything is fine between them.
Travis gets his camera equipment, and we all walk to the guesthouse together. Marcia suggested we do the photo shoot in the nursery, but I’d rather do it in my own space.
I’m already dressed for the photo shoot, in a flowing white and silver print dress Marcia bought me yesterday. It feels more like a wedding dress to me, but I don’t object. I don’t want to mess with her vision.
After Travis sets up everything, creating a mini studio, he asks me to lie on the couch. While the camera clicks away, Marcia stands by the TV, watching us with a tight smile on her face.
I’m sure she wishes she could be in my place, pregnant and having photos taken of her by her husband. To be the one to bring their child into the world. She’s doing her best to hide her pain, but I sense it.
Halfway during the session, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
The photo shoot was Travis’s idea. Once this is all over, they will have the photos, but I doubt Marcia will be looking at them much. They would be a constant reminder of what she was not able to do herself. Hopefully, I’m wrong, and the joy of motherhood will heal her wounds.
“How are you feeling?” Travis asks as he stops to adjust some settings on the camera.
“I’m fine.” I don’t know what else to say. Being alone with him in the room while his wife is obviously crying in the bathroom is making me uncomfortable.