The Surrogate, page 16
“I take it to mean that Cally is an ambitious young woman,” said Hal.
“I guess so,” I said, continuing to survey the area. There were other clues scattered about. On the dining room table, I saw a pile of mail, some of it opened and some not. I saw a phone bill and a credit card statement and a gas bill with “past due” marked in red. I wanted to dig further in the pile of bills, but that would be too invasive. Best to keep to what was clearly visible. Next to the phone, two index cards were taped to the wall, as if they were everlasting phone messages. One read: “Call Sarah + Bob.” They were friends I remembered from the birth classes. The other said: “Call Hal=> Internship.”
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“Oh, you know about that,” said Hal, dismissing any concern. “We talked about that early on. I said I’d ask around.”
“Look!” I said suddenly. “Her answering machine!” I pointed to the black device next to the phone. “The light is blinking. She has messages.” I pushed the play button and the tape rewound.
Beep! “Hi, Cally, it’s Ruth calling to see how you’re doing today. Hope you’re feeling well and getting lots of sleep and drinking lots of water. Give me a call when you get a chance, okay? Thanks.” I cringed because my voice sounded so sugary and annoying.
The machine continued. Beep! “Hey, it’s me . . .” said a low male voice. Hal and I looked at each other with wide eyes. I put my finger to my lips as we continued listening. “Um, so you said you needed a ride. Yeah, I guess I could do that, but just let me know when.” The machine stopped.
“Her ex-boyfriend?” I said.
“I thought you said they were broken up?” said Hal.
“They were!” I said, furious. “Cally said they were done for good.”
“Oh, man,” said Hal.
“I’m gonna dial star-six-nine.” I picked up Cally’s phone and motioned for Hal to get me something to write with. I scrawled down the number. “I’m pretty sure this matches one of the numbers I got in her hospital room.”
“Call it,” said Hal, and it felt like we were a team again.
While I listened to the phone ringing, I asked, “What should I say if I get the machine?”
“Say you’re looking for Cally,” said Hal, as if that were obvious.
The phone rang and rang with no answer and no answering machine. “Nothing,” I said, hanging up. “Should we go over there?”
“Over where? Do we know where he lives?” asked Hal.
“No, I guess not,” I said, and it seemed we’d reached the end of this trail.
Hal shrugged and opened the door. I shuffled out into the landing, and we made our way slowly down the wet stairs, as the snow we’d tracked in was melting.
On the drive home, we brainstormed. What were our options? What were our next steps? In terms of calling the police, Hal wanted to wait until after we saw the security footage. We both knew the police would make us wait until Monday night before they’d do squat about anything. I insisted, respectfully, that we consult a surrogacy attorney, and I already had the name of a good one from Kristin’s research. Hal vehemently disagreed with the idea, and I could sense the hurt behind his anger, but I wasn’t backing down.
In addition, and I was on a roll, I informed Hal that I was going to call my brother, Raymond, and ask him for help. Hal had met my brother at our wedding. But I predicted that Hal might be threatened by Raymond’s expertise: he was a detective (and Hal was not).
“Do you really need to drag Ray into this?” he said as we pulled into the tuck-under garage at our condo.
“Yes,” I said without further elaboration.
Hal inhaled deeply. “All right, fine.” He sighed his reluctant acceptance.
At home, there were no messages yet from the hospital, but it was midafternoon on a Saturday, so we weren’t concerned. They’d probably had to call in additional staff who were off for the weekend.
Hal decided he’d make his goulash for me and Caleb, as we all could use some old-fashioned comfort food. And with a fire in the living room, we’d hunker down and wait. As Hal started the dinner, with the fire crackling, I slipped out and went upstairs to the guest room. There was a phone in there, and it was private.
“Hi, Raymond.” I was sitting on the bed, swinging my dangling feet. “It’s your little sis.” I waited for a reaction. He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I smoothed out the wrinkles beside me on the bedspread.
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re the only one who calls me Raymond anymore.”
“Ha!” I pulled my legs onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard. The overhead light was too bright, and the walls were bare. It felt oddly like a dorm room. “How’s work?” I was stalling. “Everybody good down at the station?” Even though Raymond was semi-retired, I knew he stayed close with the guys.
“They’re good, but what’s all this about?” he said. “I’m happy to hear from you, but it’s not every day that—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should call more often.” I curled and uncurled the phone cord in my fingers. I looked out the window to the dark sky. We should put curtains up, I thought. “It’s been a busy year, with the baby coming and everything,” I said, and that was the truth.
“Eh.” Raymond scoffed it off. “So what’s up, Ru? I know there’s something.” He held the phone close to his mouth, and using his deep voice, he said, “I’m a detective, remember?”
“That’s actually why I’m calling you, Raymond.”
“Oh, boy,” he said, and I could feel him smiling through the phone.
I was only able to give him the basics before Hal called, “Dinner’s ready! Come and get it!”
Thirty-One
Cally
OCTOBER 2002
Evening
It had been nice having a friend who was also pregnant. I met Sarah at the Lamaze classes Ruth made me attend on Tuesday nights. Since Ruth planned to be my birth coach, she wanted to learn the breathing and baby basics. Most of the other pregnant women were in their thirties, but Sarah looked closer to my age.
She walked up to me during a break one Tuesday night. “So are you guys, like, a couple?” She pointed to Ruth, who was getting a cookie from a platter by the bulletin board. Before the break, we’d been listening to a lecture about the cervix, and after the break, we’d be changing diapers on baby-sized dolls. “Your birth partner,” said Sarah. “Is she, like, your significant other?”
“No, I’m not a lesbian,” I said, smiling at the thought of me and Ruth.
“Oh, okay,” she said, embarrassed. “My hubby is over there. See him in the yellow-striped shirt?” She pointed at a tall skinny man with bushy brown hair. He stood in the corner sipping from a Styrofoam cup. “That’s Bob.”
“Hi, Bob,” I said, waving. He smiled and gave us the thumbs-up.
“So, is she your mom?” said Sarah. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be asking all these personal questions.”
“Ha, well, we’re pretty much letting it all hang out anyway,” I said, nodding to the posters on the wall showing women’s body parts and nude shots of birth with blood and vaginas on display. “No, that’s funny. She’s not my mom. She’s the intended mother of this baby I’m carrying.”
Sarah scrunched up her face.
“I’m a surrogate.”
“Ohhhhh,” said Sarah, looking back and forth between me and Ruth. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I said, rubbing my belly.
“Is that, like, what you do for a living?”
I didn’t know how to answer. First of all, that was a rude question. I hadn’t really known what to say about the money part of this. Before, people usually didn’t ask me such nosy questions, but my being pregnant somehow gave them permission. Sarah was sweet and seemed more clueless than mean. “This is my first time,” I said. “But I may do it again. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Must be tough on the body.” She made a face.
“It’s been pretty easy, actually.”
“Just wait,” she said, shaking her head. “After my first, I swore I wouldn’t do it again. But here we are!”
“Wow. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.” Sarah laughed. “We had our first pretty young. And you?”
“Almost twenty-one.”
“Oh, you’ll get your body right back.”
“I hope so,” I said. We’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor mat, so it felt good to stand. I pushed my elbows back and rotated my shoulders, stretching. Some of the women bounced gently on exercise balls. Sarah wore a pink scoop-neck T-shirt, as wide as a poncho, and tight black pants. I was sure they were maternity pants. I was wearing them, too. No one ever would have guessed that under our flowing shirts, the tops of our pants were these ridiculous expandable, wide stretchy waistbands. They were hideous, and I loved them.
“I should look into that,” said Sarah.
“Into what? Hiring a surrogate?”
“No, silly. Being one.”
“Oh,” I said, nodding. I didn’t say more, because I wasn’t sure if I would recommend the job. I thought about those women in the article I’d read in Dr. Salovich’s office. If they interviewed me now, I’d say it’s a big-time commitment with no privacy and plenty of physical risks but great pay. And it’s really important that you like your intended parents, because if you like them, you’ll feel much happier giving them the baby they always wanted.
“What will you do after the baby is born? Do you have another job?”
“I’m a trainer at a dog daycare in Minneapolis,” I said.
“Oh, cool, I love dogs.”
“I know,” I said, “they’re my babies.”
“Until now.” Sarah pointed at my belly.
“Ha, yeah,” I said, looking down. This thing in my belly hadn’t felt like a baby until about a month ago, when I was six months pregnant. I’d been at work, and it was around ten in the morning. My stomach suddenly growled, and I rubbed the area where I’d felt it. I assumed I was just craving food until it happened again and I saw it: a weirdly shaped roll flashed under my shirt, like those cartoons of a mole digging a trail under the dirt. And it felt like a tiny fist had punched me from the inside.
Sarah continued talking, but I wasn’t paying attention. I thought about the many times the baby had kicked since that first time, and how I’d rubbed my belly and talked to it, trying to settle it down. Sometimes I imagined what the baby looked like, and the closer I got to my due date, the more excited I was to see her. Whenever I had thoughts like that, I tried not to get too attached. “It’s a baby,” I said, interrupting Sarah, “but not my baby.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Sarah. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“No, that’s okay,” I said, reminding myself of the plan. “After it’s born, I’m going to go back and finish college. To go into accounting.”
“That’s great,” said Sarah. “Bob’s an accountant.”
“Awesome,” I said, looking for Bob again. “Does he like it?”
“Yeah,” said Sarah, also looking for Bob.
Ruth walked over and handed me a chocolate chip cookie and a cup of cold water.
“This is Sarah,” I said.
“Nice to meet you,” said Ruth, smiling at me like, Oh, what an accomplishment, for me to make a new friend.
The instructor called everyone to order. Ruth walked back to our spot on the floor, but I stayed to ask Sarah for her phone number. I was looking for a piece of paper and a pen when Ruth called my name and pointed at the diaper-changing area for the next lesson. I shook my head and told her to wait a second.
Sometimes I needed Ruth to give me more space.
Thirty-Two
Hal
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2002
Evening
Ruth was giving me a lot of grief about the credit card I’d set up for Cally. Ruth said we should find out where Cally had been using it, and this was a fair point. A good idea. So, after we ate my famous goulash, I called the credit card company.
Ruth sat across the kitchen table from me, clearly intending to participate in this venture; I put the phone on speaker so she could hear.
“Nice Muzak,” I said when I was placed on hold. Ruth had no reaction.
“Okay, we’ve tracked your credit card to a couple of gas stations, a restaurant, and a Target,” said the credit card representative when she finally clicked back on the line.
It was safe to assume that the Visa woman had no idea Ruth was listening in, but Ruth was waving her hands at me and mouthing things she wanted me to ask. It was terribly annoying.
“Ask where,” Ruth whispered, poking my hand.
“Where, exactly?” I asked, slapping Ruth’s hand away. I hated being poked.
“Well, it looks like Hinckley and Duluth in Minnesota, and then also in Superior, Wisconsin,” said the Visa woman. “Does that make sense?”
“No,” I said.
“Do you think the card was stolen?” asked Ruth, not whispering. I frowned and shushed her. She didn’t like being shushed.
“Oh,” said the credit card representative, clearly having heard Ruth’s question. “I thought you said it had been stolen.”
“Yes, we believe it was,” I said, holding up my hand, signaling Ruth to stop. Clearly, she didn’t think I could handle this call.
“Can you give us the addresses of these places where it was used?” asked Ruth in a voice that was louder than it needed to be.
There was a pause from the credit card representative. She must have determined that Ruth’s voice was not mine. Perhaps she was checking her training manual for instructions on how to handle that. “Who is speaking, please?” the woman said finally.
“I’m Ruth Olson.”
“Mr. Olson, since you are the named credit card holder, I am only authorized to release information to you. Do you authorize me to speak to Ruth Olson? Is that your wife?”
“Yes, yes, she is, and yes, I authorize it,” I said.
“Thank you,” said the voice.
“Thank you,” said Ruth with as much fake sincerity as she could muster. She pulled out a pad and pen and found a clear space on the kitchen table next to the handheld receiver, which lay between us like a grenade.
“Can you repeat your question, Mrs. Olson?” said the woman after some clicking on a keyboard and a pause.
“The addresses of the places where the card was used,” said Ruth.
“And the dates and times,” I added.
The woman gave us the store names, store numbers, and street addresses. The dates and times were immediately after Cally’s hospital stay. If someone had stolen the card from her hospital room, this would make sense.
“Would you like me to cancel the cards now?”
We looked at each other. I was inclined to say yes.
“Hang on.” Ruth pressed the mute button.
“What are you doing?” I said, grabbing the phone from her.
“Let’s leave the cards activated. That way, if it’s Cally, we can track her and find the baby,” said Ruth.
“Is that what Ray suggested?” I asked.
“Yes, but I also thought of it,” Ruth said, unmuting the phone.
“Oh, Christ,” I said.
“Let’s leave the cards activated,” Ruth said to the woman.
“So you are now saying the card has not been stolen?” The customer service woman must have been required to ask clarifying questions like that, in case her conversation had been recorded for training purposes. Or in case the cardholder’s wife had an ulterior motive.
“We’re not sure,” said Ruth.
“Mr. Olson?” she asked. “Do you agree with that?”
I hung my head; I needed to think.
“Mr. Olson, are you there?” she asked. Perhaps she worried that Mrs. Olson had drugged me or taped my mouth shut or something.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m here.”
“May I suggest freezing the card until you can verify whether the purchases were authorized?” said the Visa woman.
“Would they be able to use the card?” I asked, lifting my head. This was an interesting option.
“No, they wouldn’t,” she said. “The account would be frozen, with the balance protected, and you could unfreeze it within the next thirty days.”
“In that case, I think we should keep the card functioning, so we can track their purchases,” I said, looking at Ruth for approval. She nodded vigorously.
“All right, but you will be responsible for those charges,” said the representative.
“I understand,” I said. Ruth smiled at me.
“I will add a note to your file reflecting this conversation. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No,” we said in unison.
“Thank you,” Ruth added.
After we hung up, we sat staring at each other across the table for a few seconds. The overhead light cast shadows that carved up our faces. Ruth stood up and gathered the stray newspapers that littered the table. Someone, possibly me, possibly the boys, had left a half-empty can of root beer on the table, and an old cereal bowl with a few swollen Cheerios floating in a few teaspoons of milk. This was one of Ruth’s pet peeves. She’d been trying to get the boys to bring their bowls to the dishwasher. I’d say they remembered about thirty percent of the time.
“What if she is being held against her will? And she can’t call us?” I asked, watching Ruth empty the cereal bowl into the sink.
“That is highly unlikely, and you know it.” Ruth switched on the faucet, and the garbage disposal roared.
“Yeah,” I said, and she was probably right.
Ruth walked over, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, her favorite green one. “Hal, she took the baby.”
I hated to think that. I hated to think Cally could have fooled us into believing she had good character, good motivations. It didn’t make sense. “But she wants to finish college. She took the money.”
“What does the contract say about this situation?”
