“Just a little?” he teased.
“Well, maybe more than just a little,” she allowed.
“The older you got, the more eager I was to spend part of my summer in Mesquite,” Joe admitted. “No matter how old you got, though, it seemed like I was still too old for you.”
At first, Joe had tried to play devil’s advocate with Jamie’s story. As far-fetched as it seemed, however, there was no questioning the fact that someone had marshaled impressive forces to track her down. People with official-looking badges had come to his grandparents’ home in Georgia to ask about her, and they interviewed people in Mesquite. And apparently there were taps on his parents’ and grandparents’ phones. He did not doubt that her fear was warranted.
“This Hartmann guy must be a very powerful man to be able to launch an illegal investigation like that,” Joe acknowledged. “And close your bank account. The people who broke into your apartment were probably paid henchmen, but the others involved in the search must be some sort of government agents. It’s just so hard to accept that it’s possible for someone to abuse power like that.”
Jamie didn’t so much as finish telling her story as run out of steam. She would think of things she had not told him, and he would quiz her in search of more details. But what he needed to do now was get them some breakfast and let her sleep for a few hours. He had two last questions, however. Did she still have a copy of the contract she had signed? And what was the name of the attorney in Austin who had arranged for her to enter into a surrogate-mother contract with Amanda Hartmann and her husband?
Jamie explained that when she was packing up her possessions at the ranch, she realized that the contract was gone. “I’m sure that Miss Montgomery took it, but by that time, I knew I was leaving and wasn’t about to raise any more issues with her.”
While he was waiting at the pancake house for their carry-out breakfast, he placed a call to one of his former law professors at the University of Texas. Franklin Billingsley had served two terms as state attorney general and knew just about everything there was to know about the Texas legal system.
“I understand that you’ve applied for a job with the FBI,” Professor Billingsley said.
“What makes you say that?” Joe asked.
“A woman from the agency showed up at the law school asking questions about you. She said you’d put in an application with them, and the agency was conducting a background check.”
“That’s very interesting,” Joe said, “but I’m calling about something else. I wonder if you know an Austin attorney named Bentley Abernathy.”
“Abernathy? I’ve met him. He’s given a couple of guest lectures at the law school. He made quite a name for himself sorting out the mess left by old Buck Hartmann, who founded Palo Duro Oil and Gas and acquired a mountain of mineral rights through hook or crook. The bulk of Abernathy’s practice continues to deal with Palo Duro and handling in-state affairs for the Hartmann family.”
“What sort of person is he?”
“In what way?”
“Shady or not shady?”
“I think he’s managed to keep things on the right side of the law. Old Buck’s grandson runs Palo Duro now and maybe the whole damned country if you believe some of the rumors.”
The professor paused a second then added, “But don’t you go around asking questions about Gus Hartmann, Joe. I hear things from time to time. Hartmann is not someone with whom you want to get at cross-purposes. And reconsider this FBI business. You belong in a courtroom, son.”
Chapter Thirty-three
THEY ATE AT THE table next to the window with the draperies still tightly closed. They could hear the footsteps and voices of people walking by the window and packing up their cars.
Joe told her about the phone call to his professor then added, “I think we should be moving on—before someone discovers that I own a motorcycle.”
“Any ideas as to where?” Jamie asked.
Joe nodded. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
They packed up their few possessions and loaded them in the Harley saddlebags. Jamie had no choice but to climb onboard, with her baby slung out of sight across her stomach. Carrying an infant on a motorcycle was not only unsafe, it was surely against the law. She wanted to tell Joe to drive carefully, but he must realize how disastrous even a minor accident could be to her unprotected baby.
He stopped at a Target on the way out of town and waited while she replaced her tattered shoes.
Staying on country roads and driving at a very sedate speed, he wove his way south. By midmorning they had crossed under Interstate 10. When Billy started to fuss, Joe headed down a country lane, and Jamie leaned against a tree trunk while she fed her hungry baby. Joe had stopped looking away, but he didn’t stare either. When she was finished, she handed Billy to Joe and found a sheltered place to relieve herself.
They ate chicken sandwiches in the town of Wharton and rested for a time on a shady patch of grass at a small park with Billy lying between them and entertaining himself by kicking furiously and waving his arms. “We’re heading for the gulf, aren’t we?” Jamie asked.
Joe nodded. “Yeah, there’re some cabins near a place called Neptune Beach. At least I hope the cabins are still there. My grandparents and I stayed there for several days back when I was in grade school. As I recall, it’s on the primitive side but very out of the way.”
“What about money?”
“I got some before I left Houston. Don’t worry, I won’t be using any ATMs or credit cards along the way.”
“I’m afraid that I’ve ruined your life.”
Joe propped himself up on an elbow. “I walked into this with my eyes wide open,” he said.
“Not really. You didn’t bargain for a baby or for the scope of the mess I’ve gotten myself into.”
He didn’t say anything for a time then he stretched out again, his hands behind his head. “There’s a way out of this, Jamie. We just have to figure out what it is.”
“I hope so. I wouldn’t have gotten you involved if it weren’t for Billy,” she confessed. And felt better for saying the words.
“You really love him a lot, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She closed her eyes and dozed for a time. She woke when he put his hand on her shoulder. “Time to go,” he said, handing her a bottle of water.
She touched his cheek. He moved his face so that his lips were touching her fingers. It was a sweet moment, one that filled her heart with hope.
By midafternoon, she could smell the ocean.
The cabin was one of a dozen or so scattered along a low bluff and overlooking a series of dunes and the cobalt-blue gulf beyond. They both stood for a minute to take in the view before Joe put the key in the lock.
Jamie noted the rough siding on the walls, faded linoleum on the floor, and iron bedstead covered with a lumpy comforter. The kitchen had an ancient refrigerator, a galvanized-steel sink, and was equipped with mismatched dishes and dented cooking utensils. The back porch overlooked the ocean. “It’s perfect,” she said.
“Will you be okay here by yourself while I go buy some groceries?”
She nodded.
She wasn’t really okay, though. As nice as it would be to sit on the back porch while she fed Billy, she locked herself inside and got a butcher knife from the kitchen before curling up in the bed with him. Then she closed her eyes and prayed. “Please, let this turn out all right. Please.”
When Billy drifted off to sleep, she closed her eyes and slept for a time, awaking when she heard the motorcycle approach. Joe parked behind the cabin, where the bike would be hidden from the road. Judging by the sun, it was already late afternoon. He must have had a hard time finding a grocery store.
Billy was still sleeping soundly. She left him on the bed and hurried out back to help carry in the groceries.
The saddlebags were overflowing, and a cardboard box was tied to the back of the motorcycle. Apparently their stay here was
to be more than a one-night stand. Jamie was glad.
Together they put the groceries away. He had done a good job. In addition to several days’ worth of food, he had bought her two scooped-neck T-shirts, one a rosy pink and the other a black-and-white stripe, a couple of pairs of knit shorts, and a set of navy sweats. When she pulled a package of women’s underpants and a nursing bra out of the sack, Joe blushed. “The saleswoman had me watch the women walking by and point out one who was about your size.”
And there was more—baby shirts, pajamas, and receiving blankets, and a baby rattle. Another sack held a big bottle of sunscreen and some toilet articles for Jamie. “I asked for the essentials,” Joe explained. “I told the saleswoman that my girlfriend’s luggage had gotten lost.”
Girlfriend. He had called her his girlfriend. “You’ve done a wonderful job,” Jamie said. “Thank you.”
They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds. Then she busied herself putting away her new possessions. Together they put away the groceries and filled the cardboard box with the things they would need for a picnic on the beach.
As darkness fell, with Jamie carrying Billy and Joe carrying the cardboard box, they headed down to the beach. They gathered driftwood and built a fire in a secluded place among the dunes and, with Joe wearing Billy in the sling, walked along the beach. The waves washed over their bare feet as the sun sank closer and closer to the horizon until it became a huge orange ball and gradually slid from view, leaving streaks of vivid color in its wake. When they turned and made their way back up the beach, Joe reached for Jamie’s hand.
He added more driftwood to the fire, and she spread out a blanket, put Billy on it, and watched delightedly as he became mesmerized by the flames. She took a few small sips of Joe’s beer, taking enormous pleasure in the intimacy of passing the can back and forth. It was a thrill to put her lips where his had been and wondered if he felt the same.
She fed Billy while Joe downed a second beer on his own. By unspoken agreement, they did not talk about the circumstances that had brought them to this place. She told him about her hope to attend medical school and maybe to specialize in the care of very ill children if she had the courage. Joe told her about Oxford and how exhilarating it was to study at such a venerable place. And how he had spent every weekend prowling about London—the ethnic neighborhoods, street markets, used book stalls, pubs, museums, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square, dining on the Indian tacos he bought from street vendors. “I’d like to take you there someday,” he said.
“I’d like that,” she said. His words empowered her. She reached over and touched his hand. Then, after years of dreaming about such a moment, she was in his arms.
He kissed her neck first. Then her eyes. Her hair. And finally her mouth. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth. Or his tongue. And the feel of his strong body against hers. She had always wondered if she would know what to do should she ever find herself in his arms. But there was no thought. No plan. Just craving. Lust. Need. Her body was on fire. She strained against him, wanting more. Wanting all.
They tugged at each other’s clothing, making themselves naked in the firelight. “You’re beautiful,” he told her, his voice filled with awe.
Jamie was amazed by his words. Did he really think that? “Oh, but you’re the one who is beautiful,” she told him. And he was. His body was lean and brown and muscular. His erect penis was amazing. It was a magnet pulling her toward him, her desire so great she felt as though she would cease to exist if she did not take it inside of her. She had been waiting her entire life for this moment and had no fear. Only desire.
She gasped as he thrust himself into her. And then she thrust back, marveling at the feel of him. She felt herself melting around him as wave upon wave of sensation cascaded over her skin and through her belly and veins and mind until finally sensation was all that there was—white, hot, intense sensation that filled every pore of her body and lifted her higher and higher until finally it exploded inside of her.
And for a span of time—a hundred years or a few seconds—she lost herself. She could not have said who she was or where she was. All that existed in the entire universe was her body and his.
When finally she could speak, the only word she could say was his name. Over and over she said it. He held her tenderly and stroked her hair and covered her face and neck with kisses. Then he began to speak, telling her that he had always loved her. Even when she was a little girl, he had felt a kind of sweet, protective love for her. And he knew that this love was something that would linger and grow and one day become the center of his life. He had even told his mother that he would like to marry Jamie Long when she grew up. Then Marcia came along, and they didn’t so much as love each other as use each other. They skirted the issue of commitment, but he had begun to feel as though it was inevitable, as though it was something he owed her. When he told her about his plan to go to Europe, Marcia suggested that they should go their separate ways for a time. He’d been gone for months before he called her. The conversation had been cool. He didn’t call her again. While he was trying to decide if he should come home when his fellowship was over or trek around the Continent with some of the guys he’d met at Oxford, he’d called his grandparents to ask if they’d ever heard from Jamie. Then he called Austin information. And Mesquite information. And he’d gone to a cyber café to search for her, but there were countless Jamie Longs. And he didn’t know her middle name or initial.
“What is your middle name?” he asked, rising up on his elbow and looking down at her face.
“Amelia,” she said. “It was my mother’s name.”
“Amelia,” he said softly, then he continued explaining how it seemed as though she had vanished off the face of the earth and he realized that he didn’t want to decide about his future until he had seen her again. So he simply drifted along with the other guys. He had been drunk when he staggered onto the ship.
“I thought about you even more on shipboard than I had on dry land. The waves made me think of you. And the wind. And the night sky. Remember how wonderful we thought the night sky was in Mesquite? I knew I had to find you and take you out into the middle of the ocean to show you what a night sky really looks like.”
“I love you,” she told him, “and I will love you for the rest of my life.”
By way of disguise, Joe shaved his head and let his beard grow. Jamie’s cheeks turned red with whisker burn, but after several days of growth, the whiskers became less bristly.
They allowed themselves a week to put the future on hold and enjoy being in an isolated, beautiful place while they explored each other’s bodies and hearts and minds. They had no radio or television to interrupt the process. The rest of the world could have vanished, and they wouldn’t have known it. They walked for hours on the beach and took turns swimming in the ocean while the other watched over Billy. Joe became proficient at diapering and learned how easy it was to make Billy smile and gurgle and wave his arms and legs. They both knew this idyllic time was only temporary, but that made it all the more precious.
Only when they held a planning session did reality intrude. And only then did they argue. Jamie refused to be left alone. Joe insisted it was too dangerous for the three of them to go. It was bad enough to have had Billy onboard while they traversed little-used secondary roads, but there was no way he could avoid Houston traffic. And by now, Gus Hartmann’s people would be looking for them on a Harley, which was the reason he had to go to Houston in the first place.
On the last day before Joe’s departure, they hiked to a convenience store and stocked up on diapers and other provisions. Jamie bought some magazines and newspapers to help her fill the time of waiting that lay ahead. Joe had already paid another week’s rent on the cabin in advance and given her a roll of bills that she’d put in her backpack along with diapers, a change of clothes for herself and the baby, a couple of water bottles, a bag of trail mix, and a road map—just in case she had to make another hasty departure. Jo
e knew that she was remembering Oklahoma City and how she could have been out the door minutes sooner if she had been better prepared and came within seconds of losing her life.
That evening, with Joe carrying the baby, they had taken an evening walk on the beach and sat cross-legged on the warm sand while they watched the sun set. “I should be back here by tomorrow evening or the day after,” Joe told her. “But if I have to lie low for a time, it might be longer. If I’m not back by the end of the week, you probably should assume the worst.”
He tried to engage her in a discussion of what she should do then, but she refused to go there. “You have to,” he said, “for Billy’s sake if not your own.”
“Later,” she said. “Let’s just sit here for a while longer and listen to the sounds.”
And they did. To the wind and waves. And the methodical clanging of a distant buoy bell. Joe reached for her hand.
When Billy began to fuss, they walked back to the cabin. Jamie changed him and nursed him to sleep. Then they talked. After considering all the difficulties involved with fleeing to a foreign country, they finally decided that if he did not return she should go through the same process as before—find the grave of a child who would have been close to Jamie’s age had she lived and use her name to get yet another birth certificate and Social Security number. The money Joe had given her should be enough to last for several months. By then, hopefully she could find a job and start a new life.
“How can we sit here and talk sanely about how I should live my life without you?” she asked. “We only just found each other. And if you die, it will be my fault. I created this impossible mess. If anyone should die, it should be me. But if I die, my child will be raised by a religious fanatic who thinks she speaks for God and by her insidiously evil brother.”
The Surrogate Page 30
