With My Whole Heart

by MariaLisa deMora

  Still serious, Trisha asked, “You liked being pregnant?”

  “Yeah, what’s not to like? Knowing you’re cradling and nurturing new life? I loved it.” Jaime lifted the hand that wasn’t tied to the arm of the chair, holding her palm up at Trisha. “Not saying the delivery wasn’t hard, but even that wasn’t as bad as everybody made it out to be.” She considered the look on Trisha’s face and dropped her hand back to her belly. “Are you preggers?”

  “Me?” Trisha laughed, reaching out to flip a switch on the machine, removing the bag to finish the process. “No way. I have no desire to be a baby maker.” She cut her gaze to Jaime, then back to the bag. “But my cousin’s girlfriend’s sister did this pregnancy thing. Paid decent money. She was able to keep working, too.”

  “A surrogate?” Jaime frowned. “Is that even legal in Tennessee?”

  “Yeah, totally legal. They had a contract and everything.” Trisha reattached the bag, hanging it on the pole next to the chair. “There we go, honey. Almost done.”

  Jaime stopped at the library on the way home. Using the computers in the lab there, she pulled up the apartment website and clicked the button to pay her rent. Within three minutes the cash card the donation center used to transfer funds was almost completely empty, but she and Nate were guaranteed a roof over their heads for another month. She glanced at the clock, saw she still had thirty minutes before Nate would be home from school, and on impulse, opened a browser to a search engine.

  Fifteen minutes later she walked out the front door of the library, two dollars’ worth of printouts in her hand, head spinning from her hurried research into contracted gestational carriers and surrogacy.

  ***

  “Mom.” Nate’s complaining tone finally registered, and Jaime looked up from the closely-printed text on the paper she held in her hand. “You’re not even listening to me.”

  “Sure, I am, buddy.” When he scowled at her, she grinned and admitted, “Well, I am now, anyway. What’s up?”

  “I have to paint the model.” He gestured to the plaster half circle he’d crafted from covering bits of newspaper with the flour and salt concoction the night before. “I asked if you had any food coloring.” She shook her head, and he grimaced, then she could tell he was thinking hard. “Markers. There’re old markers in the kitchen drawer.” He rushed that direction, then yelled over his shoulder, “I need five or six little jars. Do we have anything like that?” He was digging in the junk drawer now, pulling out the old markers that Jaime had intended to throw away weeks ago. “Pliers!” he shouted happily, and turned to give her the double-dimple grin, the one she’d do anything for. The sight of that got her up and moving.

  Squatting in front of the bottom cabinet, she moved a pile of pots and brought out a box, taking six small glass jars from inside. “If baby food jars will work, then we’re covered. How are you making paint?”

  “Scissors!” This shout was as happy as the previous one, and he ran to the table, grabbing the leftover newspaper from the previous night. “The markers are dry, but they have ink inside still. I just need to use primary colors so I can make strong paint fairly quickly. I’ll crack the tubes open, cut up the marker bits and put just a tiny bit of water on them in the jars.”

  “How do you know how to do this?” Jaime shook her head. “I get it, and I see how it will work, but how did you think of it?”

  “I dunno. How do people think about anything?” Nonchalant about his idea, after spreading the newspaper on the floor, he got to work, both hands on the pliers as he opened one of the tubes.

  “You need my help, Nate?” It was clear he didn’t, not really, and that felt strange. Where did my little boy go? “Let me cut up the marker tips. Those are sharp scissors.”

  Without speaking, he nudged the scissors in her direction, then using the pliers, held up a long, red piece of what looked like felt. “Pink, red, and a little purple can all go in the same jar.” She stood and grabbed the tongs she used to serve food, and then took the marker tip from him. Nate grinned at her, then bent his head back to his self-appointed project. Soon they had tidy piles of the remains from dismantled marker tubes on one side, and a line of glass jars with color-sorted marker tip bits that were slowly marinating in water. “Makin’ marker juice, Momma. Good job.” She laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair, stopping when he said, “I saw Mr. Solon today. He said the rent is paid.”

  Jaime pulled in a breath, shaking her head at how the manager seemed willing to use her child to leverage against her. Asshole. “Yup, we’re good to go for a while.”

  Nate touched the inside of her elbow with one finger, gently tracing along the edge of the bandage that covered the skin there. “You okay, Mom?”

  Jaime leaned down and pressed her lips to the top of his head, tears stinging her eyes. “Right as rain, Nater Potater. Right as rain.” She swallowed hard. “I love you a lot, you know that?”

  “I love you, too.” His voice soft, Nate returned the words to her. They were quiet for a minute, and Jaime tried to etch this moment on her memories. He’s growing up so fast. Nate cleared his throat, then said, “I’ll let the markers sit for a bit, then finish the model.”

  Chapter Two

  Connor

  “Good hustle.” He lifted the whistle to his lips and blew hard, creating a piercing sound that echoed through the gym. The squeaking slide of shoe soles on varnished wood stopped and one of his seniors cradled the ball on his hip. Thirteen pairs of teenaged eyes locked on him as he walked out from the sidelines. Connor held up his hands in a wordless request, catching the ball when it was thrown. “Good hustle,” he repeated, “but we’re trying to play pack-line defense and keep the ball out of the paint. You—” He pointed at one of the kids, then tossed the ball. “—are over there gambling on every pass that comes your way. Need to be a team player to be on a team.” Two quick blows of the whistle and he said, “Reset and run it again” and walked back to the sidelines.

  “Coach,” he heard, and looked over his shoulder at the kid he’d reprimanded. A sophomore, he’d been a stud on the court back in junior high, but now was one of a handful of talented players at the high school level looking to make a name for themselves. Connor could almost predict the next words.

  “I can’t play that way.”

  Nailed it, he thought, and held up a hand to stop the forward from beginning the play. “Can’t doesn’t belong on my court.” Connor shook his head. “Can’t is for people who want things handed to them. Who don’t want to work for them. Can’t is for kids who don’t have discipline and drive. Can and will? Those are for players, men and women who aren’t afraid of a little hard work. Can you?” Connor tipped his head at the scoreboard which would show the score if this was a game. “Board will tell. Will you?” Connor lifted his chin and looked the kid up and down, watching as the boy’s own chin came up to match his posture, how his shoulders squared up. “I think you will. Now let’s play ball.”

  When practice was over, Connor made his way to the office adjacent to the gym, going through his e-mail that had come in over the afternoon. He printed out several, packed them into a folder and had just stood, finger to the switch of the light he used on his desk when Jordan Bates, one of his senior boys came to the doorway.

  “Coach?” Connor gave him a level gaze and waited. “Can I talk about my grades? I suck at chemistry, and I’m afraid I’m gonna fail.”

  Shit. The school had a no pass, no play rule like nearly all academic institutions, and this was never a good start to a conversation. Beyond basketball, the kids needed a solid educational career so they could get into a decent college, and move on from here. He tossed the folder down on the desk and rolled his chair out to sit, “Sure, son. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Two hours later they’d hammered out a strategy to help Jordan keep his science grade up, and Connor had praised him for coming forward before things had become unrecoverable. He turned off the light and picked up the folder, locking the do
or behind him as he followed the kid out into the hallway. “You got a ride home?”

  “Yeah, Coach. I’m covered.” The kid started trotting away, and then turned, running backwards. “Coach Con, you’re the best.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just bring the attitude you have on the court to the books. Make it worth my time.” Connor laughed and pushed through the door to the parking lot.

  Home or diner? He started the truck and sat a minute, folder on the seat beside him. I go home, I won’t eat. The rumble from his stomach settled things, and he pulled out, headed towards a nearby twenty-four-hour diner.

  He ordered his usual without referring to the menu, and then pulled the papers from the folder, taking a pen from his shirt pocket. He was digging through the stack, making notes as he went along, things he needed to handle or respond to, and items to research. This cut down on his time in front of the computer, and he found he’d do nearly anything to make that happen.

  The waitress appeared at his elbow, plates in hand. He shifted things to accommodate the dishes, putting the stack of papers he had finished back into the folder, leaving just a few on the table. “You’re always working when you come in here,” the waitress said, and he looked up, seeing a coy smile on her face. “You ever just have some fun?” Hands on her hips, she waited for his response.

  “I have fun all the time.” He unwrapped his silverware, smoothing the paper napkin across one thigh.

  “You ever wanna have fun with me?” She dipped her chin, looking at him from underneath her lashes. “I could give you my number.”

  “I think I’m all booked up for fun, sorry.” Connor kept the smile on his face, hoping the fact he wanted her out of his space didn’t show. “Thanks.”

  With narrowed eyes, she stared at him for a minute, then pulled his ticket from the pocket of her apron. Turning to walk away, she tossed a clear understanding of where they stood over her shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Chapter Three

  Jaime

  “Hi,” Jaime said, keeping the slight smile on her face. “I’m interested in the surrogacy fertility program you have. How can I make an appointment to meet with someone to discuss it?” She let the smile drop and shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she began again, her expression serious. “Hi, I’m Jaime Grimes. I’m interested in applying for the surrogacy program your clinic offers. Can I make an appointment to talk to someone?”

  The mirror Jaime stared back at her, clear blue eyes locked on hers. “I can do this.”

  One bus transfer later, Jaime stood in front of the clinic, staring up at the sign over the doors. “Am I really going to do this?”

  In her mind, she pictured Nate’s face, imagined having the money to pay for the classes she knew he would need. Imagined not having to worry about rent. Imagined having breathing space for a few weeks or months. Then she imagined seeing the faces of the parents who would love and cherish a child, seeing it as a gift of life. She remembered how she felt when she carried Nate, the sense of rightness and joy she had.

  “I’m going to do this.”

  Chapter Four

  “We have all your test results back, Jaime, and I’m pleased to tell you that everything looks great. Your history is perfect, the previous uncomplicated pregnancy and birth are good indicators that you’re a physical candidate. Your psychological workup is really good, too. The notes say that you liked being pregnant, and you’re looking at this as a chance to give someone a family. That’s exactly what we want in a gestational carrier or surrogate.” Sarah, the case worker assigned to Jaime, smiled broadly at her. They’d first met on the day Jaime walked into the clinic, nearly two months ago.

  Jaime smiled back, pulling her purse closer to her body. If everything is so wonderful, she thought, then why does this feel like a rejection? “That’s all good, right?”

  “Right. That is all very good. I do”—Sarah slipped a paper from the folder on the desk in front of her, and lined the edges up neatly—“have a few additional questions about your family.”

  “My family? I don’t see them much. My brother is in San Diego. My mom and dad are divorced. She’s in Oregon, and he’s in Florida. About as far apart as they could get geographically and still stay in the states.” Jaime laughed nervously.

  “Do you know of any major illnesses or diseases?” Jaime shook her head, and Sarah made a note. “Your grandparents?”

  “Not that I know of. My mom’s parents were killed in a boating accident. I was about ten, I think. Daddy’s parents are both dead, but they lived well into their eighties.” Jaime smiled. “We’re embarrassingly healthy.”

  Sarah rested her hands on the paper and looked at Jaime for a minute. “Okay.” She smiled. “We’re done with this part. Now, comes the tough stuff.” When Jaime lifted an eyebrow, Sarah laughed softly, shaking her head. “Matching you to prospective parents. Since you’re willing to go either the surrogate or carrier route, that opens the playing field quite a bit, and we’ve already tentatively matched you to several profiles based on your evaluation.” Sarah picked up the folder and handed it to Jaime. “Here are the profiles of interested couples that I’d like you to review.”

  “Wow, so fast?” Jaime was taken aback, and knew her face showed her unease. “I expected it to take a while.”

  Sarah spoke soothingly, her confidence helping Jaime come to terms with what had been said so far. “Not fast, we’ve been working towards this for a few weeks now. Jaime, you’re an optimal candidate in a high-demand situation. Take a couple of days and look through the profiles, see what you think. The fee structure is different for each, but don’t let that be your deciding factor. Each profile is in the forty to sixty thousand range. If there is one in there that you are interested in pursuing, I’m certain I’ll hear from you quickly.”

  Sarah stood, and Jaime did as well, her breath coming quickly. It was the first time she had heard the dollar amounts and believed they were real.

  “When you leave my office, go directly to the clinic downstairs. They’ll be expecting you. We’ll go ahead and do a quick test so we can see where we are in the cycle. You can pick up your prescription for prenatal vitamins at the same time.” Walking around the desk, Sarah held out her hand, and Jaime tried not to clasp on too tightly. “You’re doing a very good thing, Jaime. A special thing. Thank you.”

  Seated on the bus headed back to the apartment, Jaime held the folder against her chest, arms folded defensively across it the whole way. She knew there wouldn’t be any personal information in the profiles, nothing to identify the individuals; still she wanted to keep them safe. Felt a responsibility to these potential parents to make sure they were protected.

  In the door, she slipped off her shoes, lining them up neatly to the side and wandered into the kitchenette, placing the folder on the table.

  She looked around, taking inventory of where she and Nate lived, the first time she’d allowed herself to do this in a while. It was a small, single-bedroom apartment. Furnished, the couch was a foldout, but she didn’t bother most of the time, so her sheets and blanket were stacked neatly at one end, wedged in along the arm. The kitchen and dining area were a tiny space, carved off the end of the living room. There was a small table and two chairs, but it was just her and Nate, so no need for anything more. The way the building was laid out, their apartment was surrounded on five sides by their neighbors. Sounds of arguments and fights, babies crying, and occasionally a dog barking could be heard all day long. At night, there would be the loud noises from TVs. Those never-ending sounds she tried to ignore from the news, and movies, and games, or more shouting.

  What would it be like to give Nate more? Give him what he needs? Jaime filled a mug with water from the tap and put it in the microwave, waiting the sixty seconds the old unit needed to heat the water enough for tea. At forty, I could move us to a better apartment. Get him in good classes. Put money away for his college. Moving by rote, she opened the cabinet and pulled down the tin of tea.
Opening a bag, she stuffed the wrapper into the tiny trash can kept under the sink, and dunked the bag into the mug. At sixty thousand, I could buy a house. We don’t need much. She looked around. We’ve never needed much.

  Carrying her mug of tea, she walked to the table and sat in a chair. Pulling the stiff cardboard towards her, Jaime took a deep breath and flipped it open.

  ***

  Jaime clutched the phone, wrapping the cord around her wrist and turning so her voice would project into the waist-high booth. The library was quiet, even here in the basement where the kids’ section was. Nate was at one of the tables, books spread in a semicircle around him, more comfortable here where the furniture was right-sized than he was upstairs. When he needed to study, she helped him lug the books back and forth, and would run interference with the volunteers if they didn’t know him. The library kept a row of phones for local calls down here, to help people do their job searches.

  “This is Sarah.”

  Startled, because it was Saturday so she’d been expecting voice mail, Jaime stumbled over her own greeting.

  “Hey, Sarah. Hi. This is…um, Jaime.” She paused, not sure what she should say next. Fortunately, Sarah didn’t have any problems.

  “Jaime, hello. I’m so glad to hear from you. Have you had a chance to go through the profiles yet?”

  Glancing over to Nate, Jaime verified he was still engrossed in his work. He was busy researching a paper on cell mitosis, which was more extra credit. “Uh, yeah. I did. There were more than I expected.”

  “If there aren’t any profiles in that group that are of interest, then I have several other couples who have already reached out.” Papers rustled in the background, and she imagined Sarah flipping through more prospective parent matches.

  “No. I mean, yes. There were two profiles that jumped out at me.” Jaime tipped her chin down, studying the scuffed toes of her shoes. “Two couples.”