The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one (18 page)

1:33

“You must have ESP, doll. I was just this minute thinking about calling you.” Teri’s voice came over the wires all fuzzy and warm.

“Beat you to it,” Hannah replied.

“We sure do miss you at the diner. The new girl that Bobby hired is a mental midget. Any table with more than two customers sends her into a cold sweat. I know you probably never want to see this place again, but let me tell you, if ever you decide to come back, there’ll be a brass band out front to greet you.”

“How is Bobby?”

“He hasn’t been himself lately. His girlfriend dumped him. He just comes in, mopes around and goes home. I can’t even get a rise out of him. I never thought I’d say it, but I feel sorry for the fat fuck. How about you? Still on bed rest?”

“No, the doctor says I’m fine now. Look, Teri, I don’t have a whole lot of time to chat. Do you mind if I come right to the point?”

“Shoot, honey.”

“Do you think I could come stay with you for a while?”

“Well, sure. Why? What’s up?”

Hannah explained about the imminent vacation and how she really didn’t want to accompany the Whitfields. They were all on one another’s nerves, as it was, and the last thing she needed was the forced proximity of some God-forsaken retreat in the middle of the ocean. “The Nova’s dead in some garage, and I know they’re not going to want to leave me here by myself.”

“They prefer to cart you off someplace where it’s 110 degrees? In your state? Are they nuts?”

“I wouldn’t even have to stay with you. I could go to a motel.”

“Eight months pregnant and she’s going to stay in a motel! Are
you
nuts? Listen, doll, the couch is yours, as long as you don’t mind two cowboys rounding up the cattle at the foot of your bed at 6 a.m. I should warn you, Nick bought them cap guns. It’s Dodge City around here night and day.”

“It was never exactly peace and quiet at Ruth and Herb’s.”

“I’ll bet it still isn’t. So when are the Whitfields planning to leave?”

“Sunday morning.”

“I tell you what. I’ve got the evening shift on Saturday. So why don’t I come pick you up Saturday around noon? Sounds to me like you need to see some different faces. Maybe you’ll even drop by the diner and say hello for old time’s sake? The back booth is sitting there empty, waiting for you.”

“I just had a terrible thought, Teri.”

“What’s that, hon?”

“I won’t fit into it!”

When she hung up, Hannah could still hear Teri’s laughter. The prospect of a visit with her old friend cheered her immensely and she suddenly felt less trapped. But whose fault was that? Jolene didn’t have to hover over her at every second, tending to her every need. Somehow Hannah had allowed it to happen bit by bit. From now on, she had to assert herself, speak her mind more forcefully. Like Teri. No one bossed her around.

She would begin tonight at dinner.

Father Jimmy logged on to the internet and went directly to the web page of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Under Consumer Protection, he found a list of regulated industries and professions, and clicked on Board of Registration of Medicine.

“Welcome to Massachusetts Physician Profiles” popped up on the screen. “A comprehensive look at over 27,000 physicians licensed to practice medicine in Massachusetts.”

He’d learned about the site a year ago, after his father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He’d come home one night to find the old man rifling frantically through the yellow pages, prepared to entrust his life to the first surgeon who would take his phone call. Fortunately, a fellow seminarian had told Father Jimmy about the “Physician Profiles,” which provided basic biographical information about every doctor in the state, so he and his father were able to take a more reasoned (and ultimately successful) approach to the choice of a surgeon.

Besides helpful specifics about education and training, each profile included the doctor’s hospital affiliations, areas of specialty, years of practice, honors, awards and professional publications. Just as important, any malpractice or criminal charges brought against the doctor in the last ten years were reported, as were any disciplinary measures taken by either the state board or by a Massachusetts hospital.

Father Jimmy typed Johanson and Erik in the appropriate boxes, and clicked on - Start query.

In a flash, the doctor’s curriculum vitae was before him. Born in Gothenburg, Sweden, Dr. Johanson had been licensed in Massachusetts for 12 years, accepted most insurance plans, and was affiliated with Emerson Hospital. He had studied at the University of Stockholm Medical School and later, Columbia Medical School, graduating in 1978. Under specialty, it said, Reproductive Physiologist, which Father Jimmy assumed was a fancy term for obstetrician.

According to the profile, Dr. Johanson had never been sued for malpractice nor had he been the object of any disciplinary actions. He was clean as a whistle. Attesting to his standing, he belonged to numerous professional societies in Sweden and the United States, although Father Jimmy recognized few of them. When it came to professional writings, Dr. Johanson had clearly been working overtime.

The entry read: “More than 50 articles, in such publications as Lancet, Tomorrow’s Science, La Medecine Contemporaine, and Scientific American, including “Looking Ahead: The Future of Genetics and Reproduction.”

All through the “bon voyage” meal, Letitia Greene couldn’t stop singing Jolene’s praises. To begin with, the ragout a la marocaine was perfect, tender and delicately spiced, but richly flavorful, too, and “such an original dish.” Then there was the house itself, so handsomely appointed, but that was to be expected of an artist, wasn’t it? “Artists don’t see like you and me, Hannah,” she explained. “Their eyes are different from ours. They’re color sensitive. They actually see shades that don’t even register on our retinas.”

One had only to look at Jolene’s artwork, she chattered on, to know that the woman had “an original sensibility.” (Hannah noted the use of “original” for the second, but surely not the last, time.) Not everybody could appreciate their value, she conceded, but wasn’t that always the case with visionaries? “It takes a generation for us ordinary people to catch up.”

Hannah listened politely, waiting for a break in conversation, but Letitia gave no signs of slowing down, and Marshall wasn’t helping the situation by keeping her wine glass filled with a fine merlot.

Now Letitia was going on about what a nice family they made, a lovely family, but how big a surprise was that? You had a feeling about these things right from the beginning or you didn’t. If you didn’t, forcing the match only led to disaster. But if you did -have that special feeling, that is, and she had, remember her intuition? - well, the joy, the satisfaction!

“I think we should all congratulate ourselves on our accomplishment,” she said, lifting her wine glass. “To a marvelous vacation. Let me tell you, Hannah, there aren’t many couples who would do this. Are you excited?”

She put the glass to her lips, bringing a momentary stop to the rush of words.

Hannah understood the moment had come. “Oh, I think it’s very generous of Jolene and Marshall. Too generous!”

“Nonsense!” Jolene interjected.

“No, it is. I was just thinking that this will be your last vacation before you become parents.”

Marshall nodded. “That’s why we better get it in now. Otherwise, we won’t be trotting around the globe anytime soon.”

“Yes…that’s what I meant…and so…well, what I was thinking was…that you should take this trip by yourselves. I really feel I would be in the way.”

Marshall set his wine glass on the table, reached over and touched Hannah’s hand. “But we want you to come.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Jolene said. “But the vacation is for all of us. So not another word out of you. It’s decided!” She, too, extended her hand, but sensing something awry, drew it back. Mrs. Greene exchanged a worried look with her.

They all turned back to dinner and the room was quiet until Hannah spoke up. “I want to thank you for everything and for inviting me on the vacation, but I’ve decided not to go.”

Red blotches came up instantly on Jolene’s face, as if she had just been slapped across both cheeks.

“Do you really mean that?” said Letitia Greene. “What seems to be the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“But this is Jolene and Marshall’s way of saying thank you. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I don’t mean to upset anyone. I would just rather not go.”

“Would you mind telling us why?” Giddy with wine and conviviality only seconds before, Mrs. Greene had sobered up instantly. Her voice carried the stern authority of a headmistress, redressing an inexplicably capricious student. “An explanation is in order.”

“Mrs. Greene, does it say anywhere in my surrogate contract that I must live in a particular place or go wherever I’m told?”

“You know it doesn’t.”

“Very well, then. I appreciate the invitation. But I have to decline.”

“There’s only one solution, then,” said Jolene, dramatically. “We’ll cancel the vacation.”

“Please, I don’t want you to do that,” Hannah insisted.

“You don’t give us much of a choice. Do you think we’re going to leave you here all by yourself? At Thanksgiving? What will you do about meals and things? What if something were to happen to you? I mean, there is a baby to consider!”

“I’ve thought of all that. I’ve made arrangements to spend the holiday elsewhere.”

“You have?”

Jolene pulled back in her chair.

“I don’t know if we can allow that, Hannah,” sputtered Mrs. Greene.

“Allow it? I’m not a prisoner here, am I?”

“Of course, you’re not.”

Marshall held up a hand for silence. “I think we should all take a moment to calm down. We’re making entirely too much of this.”

But Jolene was not easily quieted. “Are we, Marshall? Hannah has known about this trip for more than a week. Why has she waited until now to spring this on us? All this time, she’s been running around behind our backs, making plans of her own. I just don’t like that kind of deception.”

Hannah surprised herself with the vehemence of her reaction. “I don’t think anyone at this table has the right to talk about deception. Not you, Jolene. Or you, Mrs. Greene. Not any of you.” The charged silence that followed told her her words had struck a nerve.

“What do you mean by that, Hannah?” Marshall finally said.

Hannah kneaded the napkin in her lap nervously. She wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty, when she had done nothing wrong. Aunt Ruth had used that tactic on her for too many years. To give herself courage, she thought of Father Jimmy’s advice. If she had questions about the Whitfields, it was her responsibility to ask them. There was no backing off now.

She turned to Jolene. “Who’s Warren?”

A small smile flickered across Jolene’s lips. “Someone, I believe, has been poking around my studio. You know what they say about curiosity and the cat!”

“I was just looking…at paintings, that’s all.”

“Of course, you were. If you have any questions, Hannah, you should come right out and ask them. Warren is my son.”

“Jolene!” Letitia Greene protested.

“No, she has a right to know. I thought if I told everyone I already had a son it would be harder to get a surrogate to help us. It’s as simple as that. You see, Warren is not Marshall’s son and the point was for
us
to have a child. I had Warren when I was very young. I wasn’t even married. He was brought up by his grandmother. That was another life. I should have told you. Are you satisfied now, Hannah?”

“Good heavens! Is that what’s been bothering you tonight?” said Letitia, with a sigh of relief. “Then don’t blame Jolene, Hannah. Blame me. I never brought it up at our first meeting, because I didn’t think it mattered. It certainly doesn’t invalidate what you’re doing in the least. Jolene’s pregnancy problems came later. They’re real. She and Marshall need you. We all do. Well, this just goes to prove what I’ve believed all along. Good communication is the grease that keeps Partners in Parenthood functioning smoothly.”

“Could I ask you something else, then?”

“Of course, you can.”

“Who is Judith Kowalski?”

“I beg pardon?”

“Judith Kowalski. You know her, don’t you, Mrs. Greene? You know her very well.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re driving at.”

“The truth.”

“What truth are you talking about?” The woman’s voice was dry and hard, and her face had taken on a mask-like rigidity. Unconsciously, her hand went to the silver charm around her neck.

The charm! Hannah recognized it now. A cross. Square in shape. Supported by two angels. It was a copy of the cross in the cathedral at Oviedo.

“Tell me about the sudarium.”

“The what?”

“The sudarium. Don’t pretend you don’t know. I saw the pictures in Jolene’s studio.”

Mrs. Greene stood up abruptly and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. “Would you excuse us a moment?” She nodded curtly to Jolene and Marshall, who proceeded her into the kitchen.