The Offering (5 page)

Closing the paper, I stood at the kitchen counter and whispered a prayer for my husband's safety, then followed with the completely selfish request that he and his team remain stateside for as long as possible. When I finished, I glanced over to see Marilee watching me, her eyes bright with speculation under their long silken fringes. She had stopped stirring.

“Mama”—she tilted her head—“why do you always talk about the tree?”

“Because”—I smiled and kept my voice light—“I don't like saying good-bye.”

My daughter pressed her lips together as thought worked in her eyes. “But what are we gonna do under the tree?”

I drew a deep breath and sat on the stool next to her. “When I was a little girl about your age, my daddy told me about heaven. He said it was a huge place with a dozen gates in four big walls and millions of people. The holy city has golden streets and a river flowing straight out from the throne of God. Beside the river, all around it, grows the tree of life.”

“Can you fish in the river?”

I laughed. “I don't know. But when I was little I worried about not being able to find my mom and dad in heaven because of all those people. So Daddy told me he'd meet me by the river, under the tree of life. So every time we could have said good-bye, instead he'd say, ‘I'll meet you by the river,' and I'd answer, ‘Right under the tree.' He always knew what I meant.”

Marilee's brow wrinkled, then she smiled. “So I say, ‘I'll meet you by the river—' ”

“And I say, ‘I'll be waiting under the tree.' Or something like that.” I kissed her forehead, then ran my finger along the rim of her bowl. “Yummy. Do you want to bake these brownies for supper?”

“Is that
all
we're having?”

“Well, we ought to have some vegetables and meat, too. Or mac and cheese. Or”—I gave her a conspiratorial grin—“we could go see what Mama Isa's cooking.”

As Marilee squealed and clapped, I slid from my stool and put ClingWrap on the brownie batter. We'd take it with us and bake brownies in Mama Isa's oven.

Years before, I'd established the habit of heading to Mama Isa's whenever Gideon went out on a mission. Being with family, especially a noisy, happy clan like the Lisandras, took my mind off my fears and helped me feel less alone. The way I figured it,
la familia
was cheaper and more effective than Prozac.

So I put Marilee in the car and we drove to Mama Isa's house. I knew that once we arrived, Isa and Jorge would call Yanela and Gordon, Tumelo and Elaine, Amelia and Mario. Someone would be dispatched to pick up Carlos and Yaritza, who no longer drove. Within an hour or so, the house would brim with
la familia,
food, conversation, and the comforting confusion that didn't allow me time for worry.

And while we cooked and ate and talked and laughed, Gideon would creep through whatever dangers faced him and know his family had united, we were praying for him, and a place had been reserved for him at the table.

Over a generous bowl of
arroz con pollo,
I smiled at my in-laws and tried to maintain a stiff upper lip. The Lisandra family knew plenty about risk, struggle, and patriotism. In 1960 Gordon and Yanela had fled Cuba with nothing but their dreams and the clothes they wore. After a fitful start in Miami they migrated to Tampa, where they met Carlos and Yaritza Fernandez, a childless older couple who welcomed the newlyweds and helped them make a new start. With the support of Carlos, Yaritza, and the Cuban community, Gordon and Yanela established Mama Yanela's grocery in Ybor City.

At sixty-three, Gordon Lisandra still cut a formidable figure. After
finishing his dinner, he pushed back from the head of the table and drew Marilee onto his lap. While my daughter giggled, he bounced her on his knee and sang a Cuban song I couldn't understand. Yanela sat by his side, trying to follow various after-dinner conversations and occasionally asking Mama Isa,
“¿Qué dice ella?”

Mama Isa, who spoke English far better than her parents, watched Marilee and me with compassion in her eyes. Tumelo and Elaine, my reserved in-laws, ignored these pity-filled glances, but I welcomed them, desperate for someone to understand the terror that overflowed my heart every time Gideon boarded a helicopter. I wanted to be brave; I wanted to be as independent as the military wives I met at family support meetings, but my spine lacked the iron others had developed.

But I had Gideon's family for support.

Mama Isa had just passed around a bowl of dessert
pastelitos
when a bell pinged from another room. Jorge excused himself and went into his den; a moment later he returned and gestured to me. “It's Gideon on the computer.” A secretive smile softened his mouth. “He wants to speak to you.”

Relief and gratitude crested within me as I hurried into the den, where I found Jorge's laptop on the desk. He had opened the Skype program, and Gideon's face filled the screen.

“Gideon!” I sank into the desk chair, thrilled to see my husband's face. “Are you okay?”

“We're fine.” A wary look in his eye told me he was guarding his words. “I just wanted to check in and let the family know we're not in harm's way.”

“This mission's not dangerous?”

“We're training.” His voice lowered as he turned to murmur something to someone nearby, then he turned back to me and grinned while a disembodied hand fluttered near the right side of the screen. “That's Snake. He says hi.”

Scott “Snake” Billings was Gideon's right-hand man, a guy who probably spent more time with my husband than I did. I'd made a
face when I first learned that my husband's best friend was named after a reptile, but Gideon had explained how the nickname fit: “He's wily, lethal, and he can get anything from anyone at any time. Snake's a good man to have in your corner.”

I managed a weak little laugh. “Tell him hi for me.”

“I wanted to make sure you were settled. My family taking good care of you and the little bug?”

“Of course.” I pressed my hand to my chin to hide its quivering. “I wish you could see what I saw tonight. Your grandpa sang to Marilee and bounced her on his knee.”

“Maybe he's the source of her talent.”

“Maybe she got it from her daddy.”

“I'm nothing special—”

“Come on, Ricky Ricardo, admit that you're good. You probably handle a guitar better than you do a gun.”

“Ha! You'd better hope that's not true.” Gideon looked away again, then returned to the computer. “I only have about two minutes, so if there's anything else—”

“Nothing here. I love you. I miss you.” I touched my fingertips to my lips, then pressed them to the screen.

“Love you too, baby girl.”

“I'll meet you by the river.”

“Roger that. I'll be under the
árbol de vida.
”

I sat perfectly still, listening to the rumble of heavy trucks, until the transmission blinked out.

Two days later, as I stood in the living room trying to encourage Marilee to play the cheesy practice keyboard on loan from the school, the clump of boots on the porch stairs distracted me. I squeezed Marilee's shoulder. “Guess who's home?”

“Daddy!”

Marilee abandoned her keyboard and ran toward the front door,
with me only a few steps behind her. Gideon and Snake stood on the porch, both dressed in camo, both grinning. Gid winked at me. “I hope you don't mind that I brought someone home for dinner.”

My heart flipped over like it always did when he looked at me that way. “You could have brought an entire platoon and I wouldn't care. I'm just happy to see you.”

Gideon caught Marilee as she leapt into his arms, then stepped into the house to swing her in a circle. She giggled and lifted her hands for more when he put her down, but he reached out and pulled me into an embrace.

“What's gotten into you?” I asked after he kissed me soundly.

“Shh.” He glanced over his shoulder and told Snake to make himself at home; he'd be back in a minute. But first he wanted to talk to me.

While Snake sat on the sofa and entertained Marilee, Gideon led me into the kitchen. “Okay, I've been thinking about it,” he said, his eyes dark and earnest. “And the way you talked about us having our own house . . . I want that, too. When I get out of the military, more than anything I want a normal life for us and our kids.”

“When you get out?” I pronounced the words carefully, testing his meaning. Gideon often talked about the music store he wanted to open when he was free of the military, but he had never given me any idea of when that might be.

“I'm not going to re-up. I'm going to finish the two years I have left, then I'm done. I'm walking away.”

I stared, momentarily unable to imagine Gideon as anything but a soldier. His skill, training, and heightened awareness permeated every aspect of his being, so how could he set aside part of his personality?

“Did you hear what I said?” His hands fell on my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “I want out, Mandy, I want to be around to put my kids to bed and make more babies with you.”

“Did you say
babies
? As in more than one?”

“Yeah, I want as many as we can handle. So what I'm saying is
that I've been thinking a lot about your idea. I even asked some of the guys what they thought about it. I checked out some stuff on the Internet and—”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying your idea might be okay. I'm trying to understand how that sort of thing operates.”

I caught my breath, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “I've been thinking, too. And I'm not going to pursue it if you're going to hate seeing me pregnant. I need to know you'll be comfortable with the situation.”

A wry smile crept into Gideon's voice. “You're sure it's not illegal? Everything's on the up-and-up?”

“It's legal, but not everyone approves of surrogacy.” The words came out in a rush, so I paused to let them sink in. “Here's how it works: the baby will be the couple's biological child, but they'll pay me to carry it until it's born. For my part in the arrangement, I'm pretty sure I could earn as much as you do in a year.”

Gideon's smile twisted. “That can't be right.”

“It is; I've done a lot of research. And we won't incur any expenses, since we're covered under your health insurance. Everything I need will be supplied by the other couple.”

Snake and Marilee laughed in the background, but Gideon didn't say a word.

“You don't have to give me a final answer now, Gid. But keep thinking about it, okay? Surrogacy might solve all our financial problems.”

“I don't know.” Doubt filled his voice. “Don't know what to say, except it still doesn't seem natural. A man wants his wife to carry his own babies.”

“In a perfect world, sure,” I added quickly, wanting him to understand. “But not every woman can carry babies while people like me carry them easily. Look at it this way—I want to contribute to our family's dream, and you risk your life for us every time you go out the front door. No one could ask you to do any more.”

“I'll be done with all that in two years.”

“And when you're done, we could leave this rental behind and buy a house with the surrogacy money.” I kept my voice light. “But think about what we could do for our family. We could get Marilee a piano and pay her tuition for next year. I could finish college and get my degree. And we could put a huge chunk into our savings account, where it would earn interest until we're ready to move.” I laid my hand on his chest, reminding myself not to press too hard. “We'd be working together, Gid, for our family's future.”

I left him and pulled together a quick dinner of spaghetti, salad, and French bread. Gideon and Snake relaxed in the living room, but as I listened from the kitchen, I noticed that Snake and Marilee did most of the talking—which meant Gideon had to be deep in thought.

While I watched the spaghetti boil, I wrestled with my own thoughts. Was I wrong to suggest surrogacy to Gideon? I'd known he would be opposed to the idea, but I'd been equally sure I could eventually bring him around to my point of view. But maybe my mom was right—maybe Gideon
was
too wrapped around my little finger. Maybe a good wife should be more inclined to follow her husband's opinions, and maybe a husband should be less vulnerable to his wife's persuasive powers.

No one would dare call Gideon henpecked, but I'd once heard the never-married Snake joke that Gideon was “whipped”—implying that Gid was so besotted he'd do anything I wanted him to do. I loved knowing that Gid wanted to please me, but maybe Snake was right. Maybe I had unintentionally robbed Gideon of some force of will he might one day need to survive. . . .

Dinner was pleasant enough. We talked about the weather, Rays baseball, and the possibility of the Buccaneers ever repeating their Super Bowl win. After dinner, Snake thanked me for the meal, kissed me on the cheek, and pulled Marilee's ponytail before heading out the door.

I was about to go have a long soak in the tub, but Gideon caught
me in the hallway. “I've thought about it,” he whispered, holding me close while his breath fanned my cheek. “And if it really means so much to you, let's do this surrogacy thing. If I need to sign something, swear something, or say something, just let me know. I'm with you, baby girl. Whatever you want to do is okay with me.”

I searched his eyes and saw nothing but eager willingness in them. “Are you sure about this? I'd hate it if you changed your mind when it's too late to turn back.”

“I'm sure, baby girl. If you want to be generous, why should I stop you? Some lucky couple is going to thank God for your willingness to help them out.”