The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one

by Leonard Foglia

  The good news was that she couldn’t get much bigger. Next month, the baby would start to drop into her pelvis and, while she might not be any smaller as a result, her shape would be different. The bad news was that her stretch pants had lost all their stretch, bending over was a Herculean chore, and the baby was kicking like a linebacker.

  Dr. Johanson had told her to make a big game of it by placing a piece of paper on her abdomen and watching the baby kick it off.

  “Is fun, you will see!”

  At least as much fun, Hannah imagined, as being at the bottom of a pile-up on the Notre Dame football field.

  Hannah made no mention of Jolene’s most recent nocturnal outing. Jolene seemed in every respect her usual self - a little more mother-hennish than usual, perhaps, but there was nothing suspicious about that. Ever since her outburst at the rectory, in fact, the older woman had made a point of being solicitous around Hannah, as if her anger that night had been the legitimate concern of a mother for her daughter. “You’re like the daughter Marshall and I never had,” she said all too frequently now. Hannah knew she was supposed to reply that they were like her parents … her new parents, but she couldn’t. Jolene’s congenial mood struck Hannah as particularly expansive during Saturday night dinner, much of which incorporated fresh produce from a roadside stand. Marshall opened a bottle of Chardonnay and soon got to talking about his favorite subject - the joys of travel and how essential it was to change scenery now and then.

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” piped up Jolene, as she ladled sweet potato soup into a cup and passed it to Hannah. “I always say I’ll go anywhere at least once. I may not go back, but until I see a place with my own eyes, you can’t keep me away.”

  “How about you, Hannah?” Marshall asked.

  “I’ve never been anywhere. New York City once on a school trip. My aunt and uncle preferred to stay at home.”

  “So where would you like to go?”

  “I don’t know. Europe some day.”

  “Anyplace else?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  He swirled the wine in his glass. “What do you think of Florida?”

  “It’s warm, I guess. The pictures look nice.”

  “Ever heard of the Florida keys? Key Largo? Key West?”

  “That’s like at the very tip of Florida. Way out in the ocean, isn’t it?”

  Jolene interrupted. “Oh, Marshall, that’s enough. Stop torturing the girl. Just come right out and say it.” She put down the soup ladle and stared at her husband. “Marshall has a little surprise. Tell her, dear.”

  “We have a friend who has a small island off the coast between Marathon and Key West. There are no other houses on it. The only way you get to it is by private boat. It’s beautiful and secluded and even has a lovely beach all its own.”

  “So you know you’re not bothered by all the pesky tourists,” Jolene added. “It’s very quiet. Just the sound of the waves and the seagulls. Anyway, he’s offered it to us for a couple of weeks over Thanksgiving. And since the insurance company owes me a good deal of vacation, I thought—”

  “Ahem!” Jolene cleared her throat.

  “Yes, dear. We thought it might make a nice escape. A little peace and relaxation far from the madding crowd. No traffic, no television. What do you say?”

  Hannah didn’t know how to respond. Her delivery date was not that far away, and here Marshall was proposing they all go off on a trip. The offer was so unexpected. Then her mind flashed back to the nights she’d spotted Jolene and Marshall in the garden - Jolene rambling on about danger, some terrible danger that was coming, and the need to be vigilant. Just the other night, she’d said…What was it? “We have to be ready to leave” or words to that effect. Were they running from somebody?

  As if he sensed her reservations, Marshall said, “Of course, we’d have to ask Dr. Johanson if it was okay. We’re going nowhere without his official stamp of approval. So you don’t have to decide right now, Hannah. But think about it.”

  He changed the subject and for the rest of the meal held forth on some proposed legislation that was going to throw havoc into the insurance industry. Jolene interrupted with dithyrambs of praise for the autumn leaves.

  Hannah took a few dutiful bites of Apple Crisp, then pushed her dessert plate away.

  Her appetite was gone.

  1:32

  Hannah wasn’t surprised when, at her weekly check-up, Dr. Johanson pronounced her health remarkably improved.

  Whatever problems she’d had with hypertension, gone! Blood pressure, normal! Urinalysis, no traces of protein! The swelling in her hands and ankles, down! All the tell-tale signs of preeclampsia had been reversed.

  “You do what I tell you and you get the results,” Dr. Johanson said, with a self-congratulatory nod of the head. “The situation is so much better I see no reason why you can’t take a plane ride to Florida.”

  Jolene’s eyes sparkled and she clapped her hands soundlessly with exaggerated girlish enthusiasm. Dr. Johanson raised a cautionary hand.

  “However…I wouldn’t want you doing the surfing in the ocean or the deep sea diving, you understand. On other hand, if you stay out of the sun and sit under the palm trees, a trip could be beneficial. Stop you from worrying so much. So why shouldn’t you go to Florida?”

  The chief reason, Hannah was tempted to answer, was that she didn’t feel like it. Life with the Whitfields was inhibiting enough in East Acton. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be cooped up with them in an isolated compound on some remote island, private beach or no private beach.

  The second reason was Dr. Johanson himself. His diagnosis of preeclempsia several months ago and his insistence on bed rest had coincided with Jolene’s desire to keep her at home. And now that the Whitfields wanted to go traipsing off to nowhere, he was prepared to send her right along with them. His diagnoses were conveniently timed, to say the least.

  “It’s going to be such fun.” Jolene bubbled. “I can’t wait to call Marshall, so we can start making some definite plans.

  “Call him now. Use my phone,” beamed Dr. Johanson, pushing the telephone on his desk in her direction.

  “Oh, no. You’ll want to finish your consultation with Hannah. I’ll use the phone in the waiting room.”

  As she left, Dr. Johanson said, “Ask Marshall if there’s room for one more. I come too, no? We all sit on the beach together.” He winked mischievously at Hannah.

  How cozy and cooperative they were with each another, Hannah thought. Just like the day she’d caught them examining her sonograms. Theirs was definitely not a typical doctor/patient relationship.

  She realized that her wandering thoughts had taken her away from Dr. Johanson, who was talking about some exercises she should begin doing. Relaxation and breathing exercises that would aid in the delivery and minimize the pain…Did she know that music helps? Yes, soothes and relaxes - didn’t Shakespeare tell us that? -so it might be wise for her to pick out the music that will be played during the delivery, her “birth music,” and start listening to it now…

  She tried to focus on the words, but what kept bobbing up in her mind was how little she knew about this man. She didn’t even know his nationality. The diplomas on the wall seemed to come from foreign universities. Back in March, when he had been recommended by Letitia Greene - or whatever her real name was -Hannah had understood that he was the official doctor of Partners in Parenthood. She’d never questioned it. Now she asked herself what that alliance entailed. She wondered if Father Jimmy had been able to find out anything about the man?

  “The A-One Seal of Good Health is officially restored to Miss Hannah Manning,” announced Dr. Johanson, as he escorted her back to the waiting room.

  Jolene was beside herself. “Marshal’s going to make the reservations today. Next week at this time, we’ll be having fun in the sun. Oh, except for Hannah, of course. I’ll see to it that she has fun in the shade. And, Marshall says, of cou
rse you’re invited, Doctor Johanson. You can have your own special hammock!”

  The woman’s excitement had almost a giddy flirtatiousness to it. Everything she did lately was high-pitched and overly demonstrative, as if she no longer understood half tones and in-between shades.

  “You put me outdoors, eh? Like a pet or a lizard. I shall have to reflect on the significance of this.”

  Although his voice was gruff, Hannah had the impression he was flirting right back. The familiarity they exhibited with one another transcended purely professional behavior. She didn’t think they were having an affair, but they didn’t act like strangers, either.

  “Enjoy, enjoy your trip,” he said to them heartily, as they left the office. “Don’t give your poor Dr. Johanson another thought.”

  But Hannah did.

  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 gene
rous 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.”