The Surrogate (30 page)

Or did he?

Once he had made his way back to the beach, he took off his shoes and ran full out on the wet sand. As fast as he had ever run in his life.

J
AMIE STOOD AT
the perimeter of the tarmac and looked longingly at Flossie’s Truck Stop and Diner. It was a frame building that hadn’t seen a paintbrush in decades, but business was brisk. At least a dozen vehicles were parked in front, and several others were being fueled by their owners.

She could almost smell the coffee. But she hesitated to go inside. She was filthy and had cuts and scratches all over her arms and legs. She could imagine people turning to stare. What if there was a highway patrolman seated at the lunch counter? He might ask if she had been in an accident or take an interest in Billy’s welfare. He might want to know where she was going and how.

She had Billy over her shoulder with a blanket over his head to protect him from sunburn and was trying to jiggle him to sleep while she tried to decide if she dared go inside the diner.

An elderly rig with the words “Phillips Hauling” painted on the side rolled past her and came to a stop by a diesel pump. She watched while an aging couple emerged from the cab. It took her a few seconds to realize that an opportunity might have just presented itself.

The man headed inside the station, while the woman lifted the nozzle from the pump. Jamie started toward the truck, mentally composing her story.

The woman watched her approach with a wary look on her round face. She was a formidable-looking woman with broad shoulders, wide hips, and her graying hair in a no-nonsense ponytail.

“I suppose you want a ride?” the woman said, her tone challenging.

Jamie nodded. “The baby’s father pushed us out of the car last night down by Freeport,” she said. “I’ve been walking ever since, putting as many miles as I can between him and me, except for a couple of hours early this morning when I just had to get off my feet.”

“You heading home?” the woman asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been afraid to accept a ride in the middle of the night from just anyone who might pull over so I kept off the road. It’s been tough going.”

“How old is the baby?” the woman asked as she inserted the nozzle into the truck’s gas tank.

“Almost two months. My boyfriend decided that he wasn’t the father. But he is. I doubt if I’ll ever see him again, though. I’ve got family up in Washington County. If you’re heading that way, I’d be ever so grateful if you would give us a ride. I’m pretty much walked out.”

The woman cocked her head to one side as she regarded Jamie. Then, with a nod she said, “I reckon. We’ll be pulling out in about ten minutes.”

Jamie thanked the woman then went inside. Her first stop was the restroom, where she cleaned herself up as best she could and put on the clean T-shirt from her backpack. In the diner, she bought an apple-cinnamon muffin and a cup of coffee to go.

The couple was waiting by their truck.

“My name is Beverly,” Jamie said.

The woman nodded and got behind the wheel. Her husband crawled into the bed in the rear of the cab. Jamie climbed aboard.

“You ought to have that baby in a car seat,” the woman said.

“It’s in my boyfriend’s car along with all our clothes,” Jamie said.

Billy had drifted off to sleep after just a few minutes. Jamie ate the muffin and sipped the coffee. She was grateful that the woman didn’t want to chat. Lying was so exhausting.

She wondered where Joe was at this moment. Would she and Joe ever lead a normal life?

Would she ever see him again?

Once he was back behind the wheel of the RV, Joe waited a few minutes for his heart to slow and his nerves to calm. Jamie was physically strong and had the will to do what needed to be done, he told himself. She had escaped before. He would go on the assumption that she had done it again.

He drove with great deliberation, keeping his speed well below the speed limit. He knew that Jamie would stay out of sight as much as possible, which meant that he probably wasn’t going to spot her walking along the side of the road. But he looked anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her walking along one of the country roads that paralleled State Highway 36. And he carefully scanned fields and groves of trees. Maybe she had managed to catch a ride with someone. An old farm couple, perhaps. Every elderly vehicle he passed he looked to see if Jamie was inside or riding in the back.

In Brenham, he stopped for coffee. Then he drove slowly along the winding road, looking for Jamie.

He passed Old Baylor Park and paused to get his bearings.

He pulled into the Independence Cemetery and stood on the running board calling her name, but there was no response.

He drove to the back corner of the cemetery, fixed a sandwich and grabbed a bottle of water, then walked up and down the rows just to make sure that Jamie wasn’t there. He sat in front of a monument marking the grave of a man named Abner Martin, who, according to the inscription, was a veteran of the Texas War for Independence. From this vantage point he could see anyone approaching the cemetery.

He ate the sandwich and drank half the water then settled in for a wait. With no sleep the night before, he kept nodding off, and would wake with a jerk then look around frantically to see if Jamie had arrived while he was asleep. To keep himself awake he would walk up and down the rows, ducking out of sight when an occasional vehicle went by, reading the inscriptions on the headstones then returning to Abner’s grave until he started nodding off once again and would force himself to take another walk.

At dusk, while he was taking a walk, he realized that someone on foot was walking toward the cemetery. But in the fading light he could not tell if it was someone out for an evening stroll or a woman carrying a baby.

The person was hunched over and walking with a lagging step. He or she was either elderly or very tired. He watched as the walker stumbled and almost fell. When he started walking toward the road, the person stopped and stared in his direction. And lifted a hand.

It was
her.
It was Jamie!

Joe took off at a dead run. “Jamie,” he called, waving his arms in the air. “Jamie.”

When he reached her she handed him the baby at the same instant her legs collapsed beneath her. He knelt and with his free arm embraced her, saying her name over and over again. She put her face against his shoulder and wept. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her cracked lips. “My Jamie, my poor darling Jamie,” he said.

“I was so afraid that I’d never see you again,” she sobbed. “Some men came while I was taking a walk. I was afraid that they would be waiting for you when you got back.”

“They were, but I saw them first,” he said. “I got the RV. It’s parked at the rear of the cemetery.”

“I can’t walk another step,” she said.

He left her sitting on the ground leaning against a fence post. Holding Billy tightly in his arms he raced through the cemetery. Billy began to cry. His lusty cries seemed quite out of place in the silent burial ground.

Once he was in the RV, he put the still unhappy baby in the center of the bed and drove back up the dirt track.

Jamie was sitting where he had left her. He helped her to her feet and into the vehicle. Billy was still crying. She lay down beside him, fumbling with her T-shirt. Joe bent over her and kissed her forehead.

“We’re together,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I’ll be all right now.”

Joe reluctantly returned to the driver’s seat. After a half hour or so, he pulled off onto a dirt road and went back to the bed.

Billy was asleep. Jamie looked like a rag doll. “Would you please take off my shoes?” she asked.

Joe did as she asked. Her feet were filthy, her heels and toes worn raw. He got a pan of water and a bar of soap and gently washed her feet. He prepared a simple meal for her, then helped her to a sitting position, propping pillows behind her. Billy was sleeping peacefully next to her.

She sipped tomato soup from a cup and ate several wedges of apple, then fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “We can’t keep living like this.”

Joe left her there.

He continued to head north, winding his way toward Bryan, where he caught 190 and headed northeast. It was dark when Jamie came to the front and stood beside the driver’s seat, her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve ruined your life,” she said.

“Well, you’ve certainly
changed
it,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’ll be all right as soon as I’m clean,” she said, caressing his neck and hair. “Does the shower work?”

“Yeah. Billy okay?”

“He’s asleep. Where are we headed?”

“We can talk about it after you have a shower.”

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“You are my hero. And you are the only man that I’ve ever loved and ever plan to love.”

“And you are the love of my life. We are going to get through this, Jamie. We have to.”

She stood there caressing his neck. He didn’t want her to stop.

“Are you going to drive all night?” she asked.

“No. I didn’t sleep at all last night and am running out of steam. That little dining area turns into a second bed. I thought we could put Billy there. I’d like to have you to myself back in the big bed.”

“That’s what I have in mind, too. I have never been so exhausted in my life, but I need you, Joe. I need endless kisses and to feel you inside of me.”

Joe reached for her hand and kissed it, then watched in the rearview mirror as she opened the narrow bathroom door.

In the town of Cottonwood, he stopped at a convenience store to buy diapers then parked the RV behind a boarded-up service station. He prepared Billy’s bed while Jamie nursed him.

Once the baby was taken care of, they stood clinging to each other. Joe relished the feel of her wonderful body against his and the scent of her. He couldn’t tell her enough times that he loved her. Could not kiss her deeply enough. He had thought they had reached some sort of pinnacle back at the cabin on the beach, but he realized that there were limitless pinnacles spread out in front of them, enough to last a lifetime. A
long
lifetime. Not one cut short by evil people who stopped at nothing to get their way.

He backed her toward the bed. Toward heaven. He wished that he were more clever with words, that he could say something more profound to express his feelings than simply “I love you” over and over again. But oh, how he did love her. And she loved him back with the same intensity.

Her body was wonderful. And she gave it so completely.

Billy slept until dawn. Jamie brought him back to the bed and nursed him.

Then the talking began. It continued while Joe drove, a coffee cup in his hand. Jamie read him the article she had clipped out of the newspaper. Joe nodded. Mr. Morgan had found the same information online. Amanda Hartmann would be holding a three-day crusade in Dallas.

For hours they tried to come up with a game plan, debating back and forth, sometimes arguing vehemently and having to take a break, during which they would sulk a bit and calm themselves, then begin anew, knowing full well that whatever scheme they decided upon would either save their lives or end them.

G
US CLIMBED THE
freestanding staircase that curved its way gracefully to the second floor. He took the stairs slowly to accommodate the discomfort in his joints that had grown more pronounced with each passing year. For the last decade, his quarters had been located on the first floor. Gus seldom visited the second floor—until recently, when the babies came into his life.

Even though Victory Hill had been his primary residence since childhood, he had never loved it the way that he loved the ranch. But when he began his accession to power, it was necessary for him to be a limousine ride away from the nation’s capital. Now he seldom went into the city; if he needed to see someone, that person came to him. Only when he was extremely displeased did he put himself through the drama of strolling unannounced into the White House.

At the top of the stairs, Gus paused and reached down to rub his aching knees, then made his way down the broad corridor with its many-paned, arched windows that looked out onto rolling green acres. Gus tapped gently on the door to Sonny’s old room then opened it and stepped inside. The two sari-clad women smiled, and the younger one, Randi, called out in her precise English, “Good morning, Mister Gus.”

The babies were lying side by side on a pallet wearing identical blue sailor suits. Randi’s baby was brown-skinned with dark hair, and the other was fair-skinned with a bit of light fuzz on the top of his head.

Gus grabbed hold of a nearby chair and gingerly lowered himself to his knees. Then he held out his fingers for the babies to grasp. He found them equally beautiful and equally appealing. Amita and Buck. Both were boys—fine boys who were fat and happy.

Gus had fallen into the habit of stopping by to see the babies morning and evening. Sonny’s old suite was now a nursery. His books were still on the shelves, but most of his possessions had been removed and packed away in the attic. Gus hadn’t even bothered to ask Amanda if that was agreeable with her; he had simply ordered it done. Randi looked after the babies, and her mother, who was called Patty in lieu of her very long and unpronounceable name, came in the morning to help her and often spent the night so that Randi and her baby could be at home with her husband.

Gus produced two musical baby rattles from his pocket and began shaking them in front of the babies’ faces. Then he placed tiny fingers around the rattles and watched the babies’ delight as they waved them around.

“Has Amanda been by to see Buck lately?” Gus asked. He had taken to calling the baby Buck even though Amanda planned to name Sonny’s baby Jason after their father. What would happen to Buck after baby Jason arrived was beginning to weigh heavily on Gus’s mind. To acquire the child, he had given substantial amounts of money to the birth mother and her parents. And to obtain legal custody, he had filed for adoption. Of course, he had no intention of going through with the adoption. No intention at all. He would make sure that the boy went to a good home, however. And perhaps he would maintain some sort of relationship with him in the years to come.

In response to his question, Randi shook her head, her lovely face sad. “No, Mister Gus. Miss Amanda has not seen her baby since the magazine people came last week to photograph them together. I think that Miss Amanda has the sickness in the head that some women get after their babies are born.”

“Postpartum depression?” Gus responded.

“Yes,” Randi said with a nod. “Miss Amanda is not a happy lady. Not happy to have a beautiful son. Not happy with her handsome husband. She is here at Victory Hill so seldom now, and when she does come to this room, Mister Toby is not with her and she does not want to hold her own baby. She just looks at him and leaves. It makes me weep to see her that way, Mister Gus. Miss Amanda, she is our guardian angel. My mother and my husband and I love her so very much. With all of our unworthy hearts, we love her.”

Patty nodded vigorously in support of her daughter’s statement.

“You cannot imagine the kindness that Miss Amanda has shown us,” Randi continued. “And now we are afraid for her and pray for her many times every day to the Christian God and to Uma, who is the Hindu goddess of motherhood.”

Gus grabbed hold of the chair, pulled himself to his feet, and stood watching the babies for a time.

How perfectly beautiful they were.

He bid Randi and her mother good day and headed downstairs to his office, where he tried to reach Amanda on her cell phone for the fifth time in two hours. She still did not answer. Every day that went by she became angrier at him. He had promised that he would deliver Sonny’s baby to her, and he had failed to do so, which shook him to the core. How could a young woman with a small baby and no resources outwit all the muscle that he had thrown against her? Gus had developed a begrudging admiration for Jamie Long and would actually feel sad when she met her eventual fate. And her boyfriend. Gus had been furious when he learned that Joe Brammer had slipped out of Houston on a motorcycle that no one knew about. And when they finally tracked them to that place on the beach, Brammer and the girl weren’t there.

The whole thing seemed like a bad movie in which he was the supreme villain. Which maybe he truly was. Gus knew that eventually he would prevail. He had to. Every day that went by Amanda became more and more difficult, acting out like a petulant child who no longer got her way. It wouldn’t be long before the press got wind of her behavior, and he would have a devil of a time keeping a lid on bad publicity. Fortunately, with the consolidation of the media, it was far easier to pull in chits with various CEOs than it had been in the old days, when he was forced to make good on threats to feisty managing editors who thought they had some God-given right to print “The Truth.” Nevertheless, squelching bad publicity was time consuming and still not a fail-safe process.

Amanda had put him on notice. She would behave herself and come back home to Toby only when she had Sonny’s baby in her arms—a baby who would be genetically tested just to make sure that Gus was not trying to pull a fast one on her. Only Sonny’s actual child would do. She was even threatening to cancel her next national tour. Right now she was holed up in a hotel in Brunswick with some tattooed piece of shit who probably would infect her with a sexually transmitted disease. And her so-called husband was still living down the hall and spending his days tanning, swimming laps, pumping iron, eating nuts and sprouts, and praying to keep himself in shape for when Amanda came home. For the most part, Gus avoided Toby, but he had gone from being appalled that Amanda actually married a brainless bodybuilder to wishing she would honor her marital vows and cleave only unto him.

But Amanda was so much like their mother that it was frightening. Of course, Gus himself had a healthy sexual appetite, but he conducted his activities with great discretion. And he did not preach one thing and do another. His sister—like their mother before her—presented herself to the world as a virtuous woman who not only believed her own sermons but also lived them when nothing could have been further from the truth. But while Mary Millicent and her old reprobate of a father had been hard-core con artists, Amanda actually seemed to believe all the godly rhetoric that flowed from her lovely mouth. Her rationalization seemed to be that God held her to a different standard, that, after all, God had made her beautiful, appealing, clever, and persuasive so that she could bring Him souls, and was therefore perfectly willing to look the other way when those same attributes attracted adoring men. Except that beauty didn’t last forever. In spite of Botox and peels and procedures, Amanda wasn’t going to be able to keep her looks forever. And then, he feared, she would become pathetic like their mother had become. But he would always love her.

Gus called his sister’s cell-phone number once again. This time he left a message. “I miss you terribly and am greatly worried about you, Amanda. I desperately need to see you. We need to make the final plans for your crusade or cancel it. And surely you realize that it’s past time for you to conduct another one. Just popping in and out of a city here and there is not the same as a full-fledged crusade. We have worked too hard to make you one of the most beloved and powerful women in America to let it all fade away. And the president’s reelection committee is counting on both the funding and the loyal voters that only the Alliance of Christian Voters can provide. No one else can fill your shoes, Amanda. You are the greatest evangelist of our times, maybe of all times. No one has ever saved more souls to glorify God or mobilized Christian voters like you do. But all that aside, I miss my darling sister. You know that I love and adore you above all others. You are my life, Amanda. Please come home to me. I swear that you will have Sonny’s baby in your arms. Soon. It is my solemn promise.”