The Offering (32 page)

I sat back on the bed, startled by how simple the answer could be. I could ask Mr. Pippen to pursue a court order if I had to, but I knew Snake Billings, the special operator who could get anything from anyone. If Snake would work his magic and do me this favor, I wouldn't have to visit a lab at all.

I reached for my purse, pulled out my phone, and scrolled through my contact list. I hadn't spoken to Snake since we moved to Mama Isa's, but I knew he'd do anything for Gideon, even now.

If anyone could help me get access to Gideon's DNA and a genetic test, Snake could.

At the Christmas Eve service, I held Marilee's hand during the candle lighting and joined in the liturgical readings. My forearms pebbled with gooseflesh as the choir sang carols that sounded like echoes from a circle of angels. I caught Yanela's eye and smiled as we slipped out of our pew and lowered ourselves to the narrow wooden kneelers for prayer.

Then I settled back for the traditionally short homily. Though I wanted to feel the Christmas spirit, I had other things on my mind—the DNA evidence I'd given to Snake, the test he had promised to obtain, the boy who could be my son over in France.
What did Simone and Damien do to celebrate Christmas? How much about the holiday did little Julien understand?

Unable to find answers to my questions, I pasted on a mildly interested expression and let my mind wander. I was pondering how I should cook the potatoes for tomorrow's dinner when a phrase from the priest's sermon jerked me back to reality:
Mary was a surrogate mother.

I blinked and lifted my head, then glanced down the pew to see if the phrase had caught anyone else's attention. Mama Isa had her gaze on the flickering candles by the altar and Jorge had already nodded off. I thought Amelia might feel the pressure of my gaze and turn toward me, but she was focused on her baby, rubbing his back as he slept on her shoulder. Mario wore the dazed look of a sleep-deprived father, so he probably hadn't heard a word the priest said.

“You heard me correctly,” the priest repeated, squinting out over the packed church. “The other day I was reading a newspaper article about technology and it struck me that Mary was, in a sense, a surrogate mother. She bore a child for someone else; she carried a baby for the world. For you. For me.”

I stared at the small priest behind the pulpit. Candles from a nearby candelabrum glimmered on his shiny head, and his spectacles flashed every time he looked up from his notes. The man wasn't much to look at, but his comment had hooked me.

“Mary wasn't the first surrogate depicted in the Bible,” the priest continued, shooting a wry smile across the congregation. “In a misguided effort to produce the child of promise, Sarah gave her handmaid to Abraham, thus producing Ishmael, whose descendants have been contending with the children of Isaac ever since. Rachel and Leah, two sisters who were also rivals, each gave her handmaid to Jacob so the servant could bear children for her mistress.”

“But Mary had no rival, nor did she seek the privilege of bearing God's only son. Instead God chose her, knowing she had a generous and faithful heart, and then God warned her about the
pain her heart would suffer. When she presented the baby Jesus at the Temple, Simeon the prophet told her that a sword would pierce her soul.”

Marilee stirred beside me. When I glanced down, she was looking up at me, a question in her brown eyes.

I lifted a brow, silently giving her permission to whisper.

She leaned over to reach my ear. “Did Joseph die, too?”

My heart twisted when I realized that Marilee had linked the Holy Family and surrogacy to Gideon's sacrifice. “No, honey.” I slipped my arm around her shoulder and smoothed her hair. “Joseph didn't die; he lived with Jesus many years. For a long time, they were a happy family . . . just like we were.”

I waited, searching for signs of confusion in her eyes, but apparently my explanation satisfied her. She settled back in the pew and folded her hands in her lap.

I looked at the priest, inwardly groaning under a load of guilt. Marilee rarely spoke about my time as a surrogate, so I had no idea she had linked it to Gideon's death.

“Time proved Simeon right,” the priest continued. “Though Scripture does not record everything Mary endured as she raised the child Jesus, we know she experienced the pain of Christ's birth and his death. She tasted the bitterest agony a mother can know, but for every pain she experienced a corresponding joy. She rejoiced with the angels at Jesus's birth, she rejoiced in her son when he performed his first miracle at the wedding in Cana. And after that bitter, excruciating death on the cross, Mary rejoiced to know that Jesus had risen from the dead and promised to send his Spirit, whose arrival she witnessed at Pentecost.

“Yes, a sword pierced Mary's soul, and yes, she suffered. But she still offered up her son, and no one has greater love than one who willingly sacrifices for another. So this Christmas, as you consider the immeasurable love God has for us, take a moment to consider the love Mary had for God—an unselfish love that resulted in salvation for the world. For whom are you showing that kind of
love? For whom are you suffering, and for whom are you willing to undergo the agonizing pain love sometimes requires?”

I sat very still, thinking, as the choir began to sing.

To my surprise and delight, Marilee slept late on Christmas morning, allowing me to snatch an extra hour of rest. By the time we sleepyheads made our way to the kitchen, Mama Isa had pastries on the table, a sausage casserole in the oven, and hot cider simmering on the stove. A CD player on top of the refrigerator played “Jingle Bell Rock” in Spanish as Jorge danced through the house draping silver icicles on anyone who got in his way.

Marilee and I sat at the table to wait for breakfast, but Mama Isa would have none of that. “Get that child to the Christmas tree,” she scolded, a happy light in her eye. “Let her open a few presents before all the others get here. If you want to have any time alone with
tu hija,
you had better grab it now.”

So we went into the den, where Marilee pulled out the presents I'd wrapped and stashed under the tall Christmas tree. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, a mug of cider in hand, and felt a little guilty for waiting until the last minute to do my shopping. I had every intention of getting an early start this year, but I'd been plagued by inertia until I received the Amblours' cards. Since seeing those photos, my quest to discover the truth about Julien had pushed almost every other concern from my mind.

Fortunately, a week ago Mama Isa reminded me of my duty to my daughter, and shopping for Marilee helped me remember that I also needed to get a gift for the newest addition to the family. Twice I'd driven over to see Johny, Amelia's and Mario's baby boy, and each time an awestruck Amelia had offered him to me as if he were the rarest of treasures.

I wanted to be happy for her, but a current of grief pulled me under each time I took Johny into my arms, a current that intertwined memories of Gideon's death and my baby's birth. I
swallowed my misery and cooed to the baby, even giving him a bottle once, but those tasks only aggravated an old wound that ached at any mention of a little one. Because I couldn't bear the raging maelstrom in my heart, I always handed Johny back after only a few minutes.

I suspected that my throat would always ache with regret when I thought about what happened in that horrible December, but the ache would evolve into complete wretchedness if Julien proved to be my son and I wasn't allowed to care for him. In two years I had never given him a bottle, changed his diaper, or sung him a lullaby, but if he proved to be mine I had no intention of missing another day.

“Thank you, Mommy!” Marilee's squeal roused me from my reverie, then she threw her arms around my neck. I hugged her, surprised to see that she had already opened the puzzle, the doll, the art set, and the CDs of classical piano music.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” I kissed her forehead and smiled. “And I hope you're hungry, because something smells awfully good in the kitchen.”

We feasted with Mama Isa and Jorge, then laughed and joked with other family members as they arrived—Amelia, Mario, and Johny, Elaine and Tumelo, Yanela and Gordon, Carlos and Yaritza. Jenna Daniels, the grocery's bakery manager, had also been invited, and she brought her boyfriend, a Polish student who didn't seem to speak much English but kept his arm around Jenna's full figure.

Yanela was sporting a new red sweater, complete with sequins, and Elaine modeled a new skirt, spinning so it flared in a circle and delighted Marilee.

When everyone had eaten their fill of Mama Isa's delicious brunch, we moved into the living room for the family gift exchange. Marilee had drawn Gordon's name, and was excited to give him a hand-carved pipe. I tried to tell her that he hadn't smoked a pipe in years, but she insisted that the pipe was pretty, and wouldn't he enjoy just looking at it?

Of course he would. He opened the box and beamed at the beautiful pipe, then called Marilee over for a warm hug and kiss on the forehead. She grinned at me, her
I told you so
expression reaching all the way across the family circle.

Mama Isa had just opened the lightweight sweater I bought her when the phone rang. Jorge answered, then gestured to me.
“Es para ti, Mandy. Creo que es tu madre.”

Mom. Of course she would call on Christmas day, since her busy social calendar hadn't allowed her to drive over this year. And of course she would call right in the middle of the Lisandra clan's gift giving.

I smiled my thanks to Jorge, then went to my bedroom to pick up the extension. Any other time I would ask Mom if I could call her later, but I hadn't yet told her about the photos of Julien. I
wanted
to tell her, but I'd postponed that news, not knowing how to explain a situation that still held so many uncertainties.

But she was waiting on the phone, and I'd run out of time. She'd never forgive me if she learned that I'd known about Julien and said nothing when we talked on Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” I fell forward onto my bed and propped myself on my elbows. “Are you doing anything special today?”

“Just lunch at the Social Center,” she said, “and caroling tonight. I've been seeing one of my neighbors—a real nice man named Mark. I think you'd like him.”

“As long as
you
like him.” I pulled my pillow toward me, intending to get comfortable. “Isn't that the important thing?”

She asked me what I got Marilee for Christmas and I told her, leaving out the part about how I waited until the last minute to do my shopping. I told her what Mama Isa and Jorge had given me (a nice necklace/earring set), and when I ran out of gifts to describe, I told her that I might have a son living in France.

While she listened in stunned silence I told her about receiving the photos, talking to my doctor, and consulting with Mr. Pippen.
I told her about finding the baby hair and asking Snake Billings to pull whatever strings he could in order to get the hair tested and compared to Gideon's DNA. I talked so fast that my words came out double-time, as if they'd been glued together.

“What—who—are you sure you can trust him to do that?” Mom said when I paused to snatch a breath.

“Mom.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Snake has friends in high places. He told me that taking care of a DNA test would be cake.”

“What does that mean?”

“It'd be easy. Simple.” I paused, waiting for her to bubble over with excitement at the thought of another grandchild, but her reaction wasn't exactly what I expected.

“You shouldn't pursue this child,” she said, her voice flat. “You should leave it alone. Walk away and pretend you never saw those pictures.”

My mind whirled at her response, then I swallowed hard, lifted my chin, and gripped the phone more tightly. “Thank you for sharing your opinion,” I said, a chill on the edge of my words. “And I hope you'll understand if I don't accept that advice. Because it's obvious you can't understand what I'm feeling.”

“Amanda—”

“I've gotta go, Mom, we're opening Christmas presents.”

“Amanda, I—”

I dropped the old extension phone back into its cradle, not interested in her excuses and explanations. I sat on the edge of the bed, trembling inside, then picked up the receiver and laid it on my nightstand, leaving it off the hook. I didn't want to talk to her, and I didn't want her to interrupt the Lisandra Christmas. She'd probably try to call a couple of times, then she'd give up and go on to her luncheon, maybe take in a movie with her new boyfriend.

As for me, I had family waiting in the family room.

Because the day after Christmas was a Sunday, after church I decided to take Marilee to see Amelia's new baby. Mama Isa and Tumelo had closed the grocery for the entire weekend, so with no school and no work, my daughter and I felt positively giddy with freedom.

We drove to Ybor City, the heart of the Cuban section of Tampa, and parked on the street. Amelia and Mario's charming one-story home appeared neat and tidy, though I knew in a few months I'd see toys strewn on the sidewalk, a Little Tikes house on the front lawn, and maybe a swing set in the side yard. They had waited so long to be parents, they would delight in their roles as mama and papa. Everyone in the family would be happy to spoil little Johny Guevara.

After getting out of the car, I opened the trunk and picked up the baby food machine I'd brought as a gift. Mama Isa said the machine was unnecessary and too expensive since it didn't do anything a blender couldn't do, but I wanted to get Amelia something unique. As to Mama Isa's objection, television remotes were unnecessary, too, but everyone I knew used one.

Marilee and I walked up the sidewalk and stopped at the front door. Ordinarily we'd exercise the prerogative of family and walk on in, but a new baby could upset even the most reliable family schedule. If Amelia and Mario were taking advantage of the post-Christmas quiet to rest, I hated to disturb them.