The Surrogate’s Gift

by Davis, L. G.

  Travis, on the other hand, has been pretending to be affected by the loss of their housekeeper, but it’s obviously an act. Whether he had something to do with it or not, he must be relieved that Beatrice died with their secret. Unless, of course, she told it to someone before her death.

  Their obsession with the baby has waned a little, and that gives me the time I need to come to a concrete decision about what to do when it is born. My decision would be clear if the cops show up to question Travis about Beatrice’s death, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. The thought of giving them the baby without knowing the truth terrifies me.

  Keeping the baby terrifies me even more.

  While Marcia stares into space, Travis asks the doctor more questions about how they can help me prepare for the birth.

  I don’t hear what the doctor says. I’m too focused on the red wound peeking out from underneath the cuff of Travis’s long-sleeve shirt, stamped on his wrist.

  He glances at me and covers it up again.

  Maybe there is evidence. I saw the wound the day after Beatrice died when Travis came to the guesthouse to ask about the baby and stretched to remove a dead potted plant from a top shelf. Since then, he’s been wearing shirts with long sleeves, even in the baking heat. It could be that Travis pushed Beatrice, and when she tried to stop herself from falling and attempted to get hold of his hand, she scratched him.

  I study the side of Marcia’s face. Her jaw is moving back and forth like she’s chewing gum. Did she notice the wound? Does she suspect something and is saying nothing to protect her husband?

  The mark on his arm is not enough evidence for murder. Travis could easily tell the cops that Marigold scratched him, even though I’ve never seen the cat get close to him.

  Marcia doesn’t speak until we’re outside, and only after I tell them I’ll be joining them at home later.

  “I’ll take a cab back,” I say.

  “Why? What will you be doing in the square all on your own?”

  “I won’t be alone. I’m meeting a friend for lunch.” I’m done being treated like their child, especially now that things have changed.

  “But you’re a week away from your due date. The doctor said some babies come early.”

  “I know, Marcia.” I take a breath to quench my anger. “I heard what the doctor said. He also said some babies come late.”

  “Marcia is right, Grace,” Travis says. “You’re carrying our child and we’d appreciate it if you take it easy.”

  Too frustrated to answer right away, I count to ten. Then I try again in a calmer, but firm tone. “I’d never do anything to put the baby at risk. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Is it Clayton Price you’re meeting?” Marcia asks. “I heard you’ve been seeing quite a lot of him lately.”

  “I have. And yes, he’s the one I’m meeting.” I frankly don’t understand why it’s their business. “Is that a problem?”

  “Kind of. We would prefer it if you don’t have a boyfriend while pregnant with our child,” she says.

  “Clayton and I are friends,” I say coolly. “I should go. I’ll see you later.” I walk away before I say something I might regret.

  Her gaze is following me, but I don’t stop walking. I wish I had the power right now to walk out of town and out of their lives.

  The distance between Dr. Miller’s practice and the café is no more than ten minutes, but for a heavily pregnant woman on a scorching day, it feels like I’ve been walking for miles.

  When I reach Latte O’Clock, my armpits are damp and my blouse is sticking to my back.

  A teenage girl in a pink cowboy hat and matching sandals opens the door for me.

  My eyes search for Clayton. Normally, he spots me first and waves me over.

  “He’s not in until evening,” Lillian says in passing. “Give me a moment. I’ll be right with you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, a little disappointed.

  If I had told Clayton I was coming, he’d have reminded me that on Tuesdays, he works the evening shift. But stopping by was a spur-of-the-moment decision. As it is, the grueling walk was all for nothing. All tables are occupied, including mine.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lillian says when she comes back to me. She toys with her silver eyebrow ring. “It’s crazy busy today. Do you want to wait for a table? I’m sure one will be free soon. It’s always nice to have you around.”

  I look around the packed café again and spot Cora at her table with her two cups of coffee. I could ask if I should join her, but she wouldn’t want that. The empty seat is reserved for her daughter. I won’t intrude again.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say to Lillian. “I’ll come another time.”

  “Are you sure?” She points to a random table in the back. I can’t even tell which. “Sandy Brown should be leaving in about five minutes. She has a dentist appointment.”

  “It’s really fine, Lillian. I’ll see you soon.”

  “All right then. You’re welcome any time. Friends of Clayton are friends of mine.”

  On my way out, my phone pings with a text from Marcia.

  We’re not going home after all. I’m going to meet my mother at the store. Travis is on his way to meet friends. Please feed Marigold. Thanks.

  Perfect. Having them out of the house is always a relief, but I don’t head there immediately. First, I get myself a vanilla frozen yogurt and walk around, enjoying the cozy little town before I leave it for good.

  By the time the cab drops me off at the Thorpes, I’m surprised to see Travis emerging from the main house. I make my way to the house slowly, watching him walking like a man on a mission.

  Without knowing why, I stand behind my car, an almost impossible task thanks to my protruding belly. But his back is turned, anyway. He’s walking in the direction of the shed now, a large, white envelope underneath his arm.

  Why is he home when he told Marcia he was going out with friends?

  I should go to the guesthouse before he sees me, but my feet are glued to the ground. I force them to move and hurry to the back of the house, hiding behind one of the larger bushes.

  At first, I think he’s about to walk past the shed, but he stops suddenly and looks around as if checking whether someone is watching him. I disappear out of view.

  Can he feel my gaze?

  This is not the best place for me to hide. The guesthouse might be the best option. By the time I get there and look out the window, Travis is gone. I’m not sure whether his inside the shed with the door closed, or if he went back to the house.

  I continue to stare at the shed. Three minutes later, he emerges. He’s still looking shifty, his head moving from side to side as his gaze sweeps the grounds.

  Finally, he returns to the main house. He only stays inside for about five minutes before coming out again, carrying his golf clubs.

  He gets into his car and drives off.

  He’s hiding something. I need to know what it is.

  Thirty

  The spare key to the main house is kept under the front door mat. Marcia gave me permission to use it whenever I like. I’m positive that the key to the shed hangs on a hook behind the door, along with the one to Marcia’s studio.

  I lift the mat, but there’s nothing under it. I guess I need to wait for them to come home. I’m determined to find out what Travis is hiding in that shed.

  Marcia returns home a few minutes after 7:00 p.m. Her first stop is the guesthouse. I open the door before she knocks.

  “Goodness,” she says, putting a hand on her chest. “You frightened me.”

  “I’m sorry. I heard your car. I wanted to come and talk to you.”

  “Oh,” she says. “About what?”

  “I was wondering if I can join you for dinner tonight.”

  “Instead of the usual breakfast on Sunday? Well, that’s a pleasant surprise.” She studies my face with narrowed eyes. “I thought you prefer to eat alone.”
<
br />   “I do… most of the time.” I pause. “But there are only a few days left until the baby comes and I have to go back to Miami. I thought we should spend some time together.”

  “Sure,” she says. “I’d love that. I passed by the hotel to pick up some delicious salads for dinner. Come to the house in thirty minutes. Travis should be home by then. Let’s keep it casual tonight.”

  As she walks away, I wonder why she came to the guesthouse. She didn’t seem like she expected me to be inside. But I’m relieved I at least don’t have to dress up for the dinner. The only thing I want to do is get inside, eat with them, and grab the key on my way out.

  Travis arrives fifteen minutes after Marcia.

  Dinner with them is uncomfortably quiet and I almost regret joining them. During the meal, my phone vibrates in my lap. It’s Clayton, but Marcia has a no phones at the table rule. I’ll call him back later. A text follows the phone call. I don’t read it.

  After sitting in silence for half an hour, I stifle a yawn.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I get exhausted quickly these days. I think I should go to bed early.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Travis says. “Get as much rest as you can.”

  “I will.” I get to my feet and wish them good night. “I’ll show myself out.” Thankfully, neither of them follows me to the front door.

  The keys have all been labeled, making it easy to pick up the right one. I reach for one of the two older-looking keys. One belongs to the shed, the other to Marcia’s studio.

  Before long, I’m back inside the guesthouse with the key in my hand, waiting for darkness to fall and praying that they won’t notice it’s gone. If they do, I’ll have to deny that I have it. I haven’t even thought about how I’m going to get it back inside the house.

  Maybe Travis will think he dropped it somewhere outside.

  Shortly after ten, the lights in the main house go out. Wasting no time, I throw on a bathrobe and sneak out of the guesthouse.

  Normally, I find the sound of chirping crickets soothing, but not tonight. It will make it harder for me to hear if anyone approaches. But that’s not the only sound distracting me. My heart is beating way too loudly in my ears.

  I glance at the main house to make sure the lights are still off, then dart across the yard and past Marcia's studio. By the time I reach the door of the shed, I’m panting, both from exertion and the fear of getting caught. I’m grateful they have stopped watching me from their windows.

  I slide the key into the lock and twist to the right, only to be met with resistance.

  After I went to all that trouble, the door is unlocked.

  You’d think Travis would have locked it if he was hiding something in there. Then again, that might create suspicion if Marcia happened to come to the shed.

  I pull the door open and enter.

  Enveloped by the darkness, I switch on the flashlight on my phone.

  Spades, trowels, garden rakes, and every other tool required to tend a garden fill the surrounding space, but I don’t see an envelope. What if it’s no longer here? What if before he came into the house, Travis came to get it and hid it somewhere else?

  I don’t give up. I follow the light over every object in the room until it lands on a metal storage box at the back of the shed, next to a rusty wheelbarrow full of seed and fertilizer bags. The perfect place to hide something, especially in a hurry, and especially if Travis doesn’t want Marcia to see it. I’ve never seen her come inside.

  I dart to the door again and look outside. Still no sign of anyone nearby.

  The envelope is not inside the box, which is filled with garden furniture cushions and throws. Disappointed, I put the cushions back inside and stare at the box.

  If it’s not inside the box, maybe it’s under it. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins as I push the box aside. Again, nothing, but when I stare at the empty space, I noticed that the surface is slightly uneven. Some pieces of the wooden floor are slightly raised.

  I pick up a heavy-duty digging trowel and use it to pop open the piece of wood that stands out most. It gives way without much resistance.

  Bingo. The white envelope is folded and pressed as far to the bottom of the small space as it would go. My hands are shaking as I pick it up. Whatever is inside might have to do with Beatrice’s death and might help me prove that Travis did it.

  I’m tempted to take it with me to the guesthouse, but if he comes looking for it and doesn’t find it, he might suspect I was here.

  The flap is not glued to the envelope, so I slide it out and reach inside. My hands come in contact with something glossy. I grab the contents and pull them out.

  I stare at the photos in my hands. The photos the Travis took of me the day of the photo shoot. The photos that were not supposed to show my face.

  As if that’s not troubling enough, there are more photos of me. Most of them not taken on that day. Photos of me sleeping, eating, washing dishes, lying in the bath with my eyes closed, and even several of me at the Sawyer hotel.

  I feel sick to my stomach. He has been following me. For him to get most of the shots, he had to have come really close.

  My throat goes dry and my knees weaken, but I can’t stop looking at them. There have to be at least thirty photos of me.

  When I reach the last, something falls to the floor. My head swims as I pick up what looks like folded newspaper pages. I set the photos aside and stare at the three articles one by one. Two of them are about the two murdered women I read about in the papers Marcia brought me—one found in a lake, and one in her kitchen. One brunette and one blonde. Both women from two separate towns neighboring Wellice. They died about two years apart. The woman in the lake is the most recent.

  Why would Travis have the articles about them? Why would he hide them?

  I move on to the third, torn from the Wellice Gazette. Something inside my gut shifts.

  My eyes move to the title.

  Hit and run kills thirty-year-old Wellice resident, Daisy Lane

  Blood rushes to my head.

  It’s Cora’s daughter. I saw her photo on the table at Latte. I memorized her face the day I picked it up from the floor.

  I hear a sound outside and my heart jumps to my throat.

  I stuff everything back into the envelope. I don’t have time to put it back in its place before I hear another sound. Someone is out there. Is it Travis? What will he do if he catches me with the photos and articles?

  I don’t see anyone outside. I want to feel relieved, but something is moving out there. I can hear it even over the cricket sounds.

  My arms around my body, I hurry back to the guesthouse. Once inside, I collapse against the door and close my eyes. When I open them again, I freeze.

  Thirty-One

  “You look flustered, Grace,” Marcia says. “Are you okay?”

  “I—sure.” I press a hand to my chest. “You startled me. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She puts a hand on my arm. “I saw you go to the shed. Is there something you needed?” She glances at my empty hands.

  How do I get myself out of this corner?

  I blurt out the first thing that comes to me. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought fresh air would help.”

  Marcia pushes her hands into the deep pockets of her long camel cardigan. “In the shed?”

  I let out a stifled chuckle and swipe a film of sweat from my upper brow. “No. Of course not. The door was open. I went to close it.”

  She takes a step back. “Silly me, I thought I saw you disappear inside.”

  Crap. Whatever I say, I’m digging myself into a deeper hole. Why am I acting like a kid found with a hand in the cookie jar? The shed is normally unlocked. Surely, there’s nothing wrong with going inside.

  Act normal. You did nothing wrong.

  I try again. “Yes, I did. I checked to see if someone was inside first before closing it.”

  “I see
.” Her eyes are now narrowed to a squint. She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. I wouldn’t either if I were her. I wish I could get inside her mind and see what she’s thinking, so I can respond appropriately.

  Thank God I escaped the shed and didn’t get caught with the contents of the envelope in my hands. Then I would have had more questions to answer.

  But there’s another problem. I didn’t put the envelope back where it belongs. Marcia knows I was inside the shed. If she goes there now, she’ll see the hole in the flooring, the envelope, everything. She’ll know I saw it.

  “Did you also have trouble sleeping?” I jam my hands into my armpits, force a smile. What I most want to do is get the hell away from her.

  Once again, she has invaded my private space, but I can’t complain this time. I’m not better than her. I went through their things.

  I silently plead for her to leave. I need time to process what I’ve seen.

  Maybe the photos and articles all meant nothing. But how’s that possible? Travis took photos of me without my permission. He stalked me.

  What does he plan on doing with them? More importantly, why is he hiding them?

  “I heard a sound outside,” Marcia says. “It woke me.”

  We’re both lying. She couldn’t have heard me. The door to the shed creaked when I opened it, but not loud enough for the sound to reach the main house.

  “Okay,” I say. “Marcia, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to go to bed. Can we talk in the morning?”

  “Sure. You and the baby should definitely get some rest.” She touches my cheek with a forefinger. “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m tired,” I say quickly.

  “All right then. I’ll see you in the morning, Grace. Goodnight.” She opens the door and steps outside, closing it behind her.

  “Goodnight,” I murmur, but I’m not sure if she hears me.

  I remain standing at the door. I can’t hear her footsteps. She must be standing on the other side. What is she waiting for? What’s going through her mind?

  When I finally hear her footsteps retreating, I hurry to the window and watch her dark figure walking toward the main house.