The Offering (13 page)

“Everything went beautifully. We have six embryos.” Simone gave me a pleased smile. “All are healthy and of a good size. Damien and I have decided to keep four in storage and transfer two. Our agreement calls for the transfer of no more than three, but we wanted to be considerate of you. Carrying three babies would be, I imagine, quite strenuous, no matter how healthy the volunteer.”

I laughed. “Carrying
one
baby can be strenuous, so I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

I shifted my gaze and stared at the carpet as a realization bloomed in my brain. Today they would transfer two embryos. I might soon be carrying twins. Two little flag-waving French citizens.

“I would love twins,” Simone said, happiness warming her voice. “But who can say whether both eggs will implant? But if they do, yes, twins would be wonderful. If they do not, we will pray that at least one survives. Damien's dreams and all our hopes depend on it.”

I nodded, though I knew Gideon wouldn't be thrilled by the idea that I might actually carry multiples. We had known all along that the doctor could implant up to three embryos, but Gideon was adamant that I not risk my health. If I found myself pregnant with twins, he'd make me hire a housekeeper and stop working at the grocery. He'd want me to check my blood pressure every day. He'd be watching my diet and making me put my feet up every ten minutes. In short, he'd turn into a royal pain in the tuchus.

I set the magazine back on the table while Simone picked up another one and used it to fan herself. “I cannot get used to the heat here. We will return to France tomorrow, but we will keep in touch with you. We can come back if we are needed. All you have to do is send an email, and we will return as soon as possible.”

I didn't have a chance to comment because at that moment the
inner door opened. A nurse stepped out, file folder in hand, and looked straight at me. “Amanda?”

I squeezed Simone's arm. “Say a prayer for me, will you? We need everything to go right this morning.”

Simone didn't answer, but her eyes filled as I released her. I managed a falsely confident smile and followed the nurse, trembling with every step.

The nurse led me into an exam room and closed the door behind me. “Everything off; gown opens in front.” She pointed to the folded paper garment on the exam table. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

I stepped out of my shoes. “Do I get some kind of medication for this? Maybe a Valium?”

“You won't need anything.” A half smile crossed the nurse's face. “This is no more painful than a Pap smear. You just lie there with your feet in the stirrups. The doctor does all the hard work.”

I drew a long, steady breath and unbuttoned my blouse. The nurse could talk all she wanted about the doctor's hard work, but he wasn't the one who'd been enduring shots every day for two and a half months. The cute little egg donor and I had been the hardest-working parties, though I supposed someone in a lab had to add Damien Amblour's sperm to a petri dish containing the eggs and then count the developing cells. But that person, whoever he was, didn't have bruises on his arms and stomach.

Wrapped in the thin hospital gown, I climbed onto the table and lay back, the paper mat crinkling beneath me as I tried to get comfortable. Someone had tacked a child's drawing of a palm-tree-studded beach onto the ceiling, so I was trying to imagine myself at the seashore when Dr. Forrester came into the room.

“Hello, Amanda. He sat on his little stool and rolled toward the business end of the exam table. “Ready to get pregnant?”

I sighed. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

“I've confirmed the names and double checked the file numbers,” the nurse said. “Amblour to Lisandra. We're all set.”

All business, the nurse handed the doctor some kind of gadget—I only glimpsed it from the corner of my eye—and squirted ultrasound jelly on my abdomen. A wave of déjà vu swept over me—I'd been in this situation before, when I was first pregnant with Marilee and terrified by the thought of having a baby. I was terrified this time, too, but not about having a child. I couldn't say exactly why my heart was rattling like a trip-hammer and my arms had pebbled with gooseflesh. Maybe this anxiety sprang from fear of the unknown. Or of possible complications in this brave new world of baby making.

As I tried to keep from shivering, the nurse rubbed an ultrasound transducer over my abdomen.

“This is a basic procedure,” the doctor said, my view of him obstructed by a paper drape spread over my bent legs. “Nancy will use the ultrasound to give me a good image of the uterus and help me keep the tip of the device in the center of the endometrial cavity. This gives the embryos the best chance of implantation. After placing the catheter in exactly the right spot, I will squirt the embryos into your womb. Just think of me as the man with the turkey baster.”

I managed a fake laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

He chuckled. “It's not quite as simple as basting a turkey, but I like to put my patients at ease.”

“Do you transfer both embryos at the same time?” Not knowing what to do with my hands, I gripped the side of the table. “Simone said there were two.”

“I'll insert them simultaneously,” Forrester said, “but after I remove the catheter, we'll do a microscopic examination of the tubing to make sure we didn't miss one. If we find cells remaining in the device, we'll simply go through the routine again.”

I winced as the doctor inserted one of his instruments—no doubt about it, that was a speculum and this felt like a Pap test. I closed my eyes and felt vague interior movements that elicited a cramp, then nothing. A moment later, the nurse carried something
to the microscope on the counter. Finally, she nodded at the doctor. “All clear.”

“Then we're about done here.” After the doctor removed the intrusive speculum, the resulting metallic clatter told me he had tossed it on a tray of instruments. “Great job, young lady,” he said, rolling away from the exam table. “We're all finished.”

I lifted my head. Finished? The procedure had taken no more than ten minutes.

The doctor stood and pulled off his latex gloves. “Now, Amanda, Nancy is going to make sure you're comfortable and you're going to lie on your back for about an hour. You can sleep if you want. After an hour you can go home, but we want you to limit your physical activity for the rest of the day—no running on the treadmill, no weight lifting, and above all, no intercourse with your husband. We've just given you the perfect excuse to camp out in the living room and be a couch potato for the rest of the day.”

“What about tomorrow?” I asked. “And the rest of the week?”

The doctor smiled and crossed his arms, folding his hands into the armpits of his lab coat. “You may resume your normal activities tomorrow. But I would not recommend jogging, strenuous exercise, or any vigorous activity until after the pregnancy test. Once the embryo or embryos have safely implanted, you can behave like any other pregnant woman—and since you've had a baby before, I trust you know what that entails.”

“I do.”

Dr. Forrester smiled, but before leaving the room, he stopped by the side of the exam table to shake my hand. “I think you're doing a generous thing. Not every woman is able to be a gestational carrier.”

I managed a wavering smile. “You might want to hold that thought. I haven't done anything yet.”

“But you will.” The doctor gave me a cocky grin. “You look like the sort of woman who accomplishes whatever she sets out to do.”

Did I? No one else had ever seen me that way.

As Nancy the nurse cleaned up the instrument tray, I folded my hands on my stomach, stared at the ceiling, and hoped Dr. Forrester was right.

The clock's minute hand had slid well past the hour when I ran into the grocery the next morning. A light spring rain had slowed the carpool lane at Marilee's school, but Amelia didn't even seem to notice my tardiness. Without even glancing in my direction, she stood at the register chatting up two white-haired men who were buying pastries and coffee. I slunk past her, half expecting to hear a jibe tossed at my retreating back, but instead I heard her laugh. Amelia,
laughing
? Something unbelievable must have happened, because Amelia rarely laughed these days.

I halted in midstep. Could she be pregnant?

Buoyant with hope, I stashed my purse in the office, poured a cup of coffee, and strolled over to take my place in the checkout stand. Amelia didn't scold me for being late; she simply surrendered the register and smiled as she ambled back to the stockroom with a dreamy look on her face.

She
had
to be pregnant. What else could elicit that kind of euphoria?

I took my place at the register and gave Mama Isa an
I'm sorry
smile as she walked by. “The rain slowed me down,” I told her, not mentioning that I'd also overslept by half an hour. I hadn't felt guilty for oversleeping, figuring my body needed the rest. I was sleeping for two now, or maybe even three. When the time came to announce a pregnancy, Mama Isa would understand.

For some reason I felt extra protective toward the tiny embryos inside me. Yesterday I ate an extra helping of green vegetables, last night I climbed the stairs more slowly than usual, and this morning I took a tepid shower because I didn't want to shock a pair of blastocysts with an abrupt change in temperature.

I sipped from my coffee mug and studied Mama Isa's face,
wondering when I would hear about whatever had transformed Amelia from a morning grump into a glowing angel.

I didn't have to wait long. Mama Isa leaned over the counter. “Have you heard Amelia's news?”

I smiled. “What's up?”

Mama Isa caught a breath as if she would spill the secret, then some motherly instinct must have stopped her. She shook her head. “She should be the one to tell you. I'll send her over to give you the news.”

“Is she expecting?” I called to Mama Isa's retreating back.

She only lifted her hand and waved, prolonging my frustration.

Other morning customers entered the store and wandered the aisles, thumped the fruit, and argued with Mario over the price of pork. I rang up several orders, filled the cigarette boxes behind the counter, and organized the candy bars, which seemed to have vaulted into other brands' boxes on my day off.

During a lull, I spotted Amelia beneath the Cuban flag at the back of the store. She was simply standing in one spot, her eyes wide and distracted, so I hurried over.

“What's this big news of yours?” I tugged on her sleeve to snap her out of her daze. “Not fair keeping me in the dark, cuz.”

She glanced around, then leaned toward me. “Mario and I did it.”

“You're pregnant?”

“Not quite.” She tapped my wrist in light rebuke. “If God closes a door, he opens a window, right? So we've been praying, and we felt led to make an appointment with a social worker. I think we're going to get a baby through an adoption agency.”

This wasn't the news I'd hoped for, but I managed to work up enough enthusiasm for a tentative squeal. “Honestly? You're going for it?”

“Shh.” If Amelia was disappointed about missing out on pregnancy, I would never have guessed it from the way her eyes sparkled. “I called the public agency over in Clearwater. They handle
adoptions of all kinds of kids and all ages. They don't work with international agencies, but that helps keep the costs down. Mario and I have our first interview with them next week.”

“That's really wonderful.” I gave her a quick hug, then squeezed her shoulders. “I'm so excited for you both. We might be pregnant at the same time—sort of. We'll both be expecting babies, but you'll get to keep your figure.”

“I'll get to keep the baby, too,” Amelia quipped, then she bit her lip. “I'm sorry, Mandy. That was probably a thoughtless thing to say.”

“Don't worry—when it comes to being insensitive, I think I've already won that prize. And I know having a kid is a lot more important to you than keeping your figure.”

“Yeah . . . well.” She gave me a rueful smile. “Look at us, pioneers in parenting. Who'd have thought we'd both explore such unconventional options?”

“Yanela and Gordon must be thinking we're crazy.” I forced a laugh. “But the sooner I get through this surrogacy arrangement, the sooner Gideon and I can begin to plan our family's future. We don't want Marilee to be an only child, and Gideon really wants a son. We want our kids to play with
your
kids.”

Caught up in a flood of optimism, we hugged each other like middle school girls on a hormonal high.

“There's one thing I need to ask you.” Amelia released me, abruptly curbing her enthusiasm. “We need letters of reference from three adults who know us well. We're not supposed to use immediate family members, but since you're a cousin by marriage, I think you'll qualify. Would you please write a letter for us and say we'd make decent parents?”

“I would be delighted.” I grinned at her, happy I could do something to help. “Just tell me where and when to send it.”

“You can mail it anytime and the agency people will put it in our file. I'll bring the social worker's contact information tomorrow—there's so much stuff whirling in my brain I can barely
remember my own name. But I do remember hers—Helen. Helen Something-or-other.”

I stepped into the center aisle and checked the register to be sure I had no customers waiting, then I leaned against the stockroom doorway. “How does the adoption process work, anyway? I've always wanted to be a social worker, but I've never had an opportunity to see how things actually operate.”

Amelia drew a deep breath. “This is how they explained it over the phone: Mario and I will have six meetings with Helen. In the first, we'll talk about our marriage and how we got together so the woman can understand us as a couple. In the second, we'll talk about Mario. In the third, I guess, we'll talk about me. In the fourth, we'll discuss what kind of child we want to raise, and in the fifth, she'll come to our home and make sure it's suitable for a kid. In the last meeting, I guess, we'll tie things up and she'll explain how she'll go about finding a baby for us.” Amelia paused, breathless. “It sounds simple when you spell it out, doesn't it?”