by Angela Hunt
“Can you fish in the river?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. But when I was little I worried about not being able to find my mom and dad in heaven because of all those people. So Daddy told me he’d meet me by the river, under the tree of life. So every time we could have said good-bye, instead he’d say, ‘I’ll meet you by the river,’ and I’d answer, ‘Right under the tree.’ He always knew what I meant.”
Marilee’s brow wrinkled, then she smiled. “So I say, ‘I’ll meet you by the river—’ ”
“And I say, ‘I’ll be waiting under the tree.’ Or something like that.” I kissed her forehead, then ran my finger along the rim of her bowl. “Yummy. Do you want to bake these brownies for supper?”
“Is that all we’re having?”
“Well, we ought to have some vegetables and meat, too. Or mac and cheese. Or”—I gave her a conspiratorial grin—“we could go see what Mama Isa’s cooking.”
As Marilee squealed and clapped, I slid from my stool and put ClingWrap on the brownie batter. We’d take it with us and bake brownies in Mama Isa’s oven.
Years before, I’d established the habit of heading to Mama Isa’s whenever Gideon went out on a mission. Being with family, especially a noisy, happy clan like the Lisandras, took my mind off my fears and helped me feel less alone. The way I figured it, la familia was cheaper and more effective than Prozac.
So I put Marilee in the car and we drove to Mama Isa’s house. I knew that once we arrived, Isa and Jorge would call Yanela and Gordon, Tumelo and Elaine, Amelia and Mario. Someone would be dispatched to pick up Carlos and Yaritza, who no longer drove. Within an hour or so, the house would brim with la familia, food, conversation, and the comforting confusion that didn’t allow me time for worry.
And while we cooked and ate and talked and laughed, Gideon would creep through whatever dangers faced him and know his family had united, we were praying for him, and a place had been reserved for him at the table.
* * *
Over a generous bowl of arroz con pollo, I smiled at my in-laws and tried to maintain a stiff upper lip. The Lisandra family knew plenty about risk, struggle, and patriotism. In 1960 Gordon and Yanela had fled Cuba with nothing but their dreams and the clothes they wore. After a fitful start in Miami they migrated to Tampa, where they met Carlos and Yaritza Fernandez, a childless older couple who welcomed the newlyweds and helped them make a new start. With the support of Carlos, Yaritza, and the Cuban community, Gordon and Yanela established Mama Yanela’s grocery in Ybor City.
At sixty-three, Gordon Lisandra still cut a formidable figure. After finishing his dinner, he pushed back from the head of the table and drew Marilee onto his lap. While my daughter giggled, he bounced her on his knee and sang a Cuban song I couldn’t understand. Yanela sat by his side, trying to follow various after-dinner conversations and occasionally asking Mama Isa, “¿Qué dice ella?”
Mama Isa, who spoke English far better than her parents, watched Marilee and me with compassion in her eyes. Tumelo and Elaine, my reserved in-laws, ignored these pity-filled glances, but I welcomed them, desperate for someone to understand the terror that overflowed my heart every time Gideon boarded a helicopter. I wanted to be brave; I wanted to be as independent as the military wives I met at family support meetings, but my spine lacked the iron others had developed.
But I had Gideon’s family for support.
Mama Isa had just passed around a bowl of dessert pastelitos when a bell pinged from another room. Jorge excused himself and went into his den; a moment later he returned and gestured to me. “It’s Gideon on the computer.” A secretive smile softened his mouth. “He wants to speak to you.”
Relief and gratitude crested within me as I hurried into the den, where I found Jorge’s laptop on the desk. He had opened the Skype program, and Gideon’s face filled the screen.
“Gideon!” I sank into the desk chair, thrilled to see my husband’s face. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine.” A wary look in his eye told me he was guarding his words. “I just wanted to check in and let the family know we’re not in harm’s way.”
“This mission’s not dangerous?”
“We’re training.” His voice lowered as he turned to murmur something to someone nearby, then he turned back to me and grinned while a disembodied hand fluttered near the right side of the screen. “That’s Snake. He says hi.”
Scott “Snake” Billings was Gideon’s right-hand man, a guy who probably spent more time with my husband than I did. I’d made a face when I first learned that my husband’s best friend was named after a reptile, but Gideon had explained how the nickname fit: “He’s wily, lethal, and he can get anything from anyone at any time. Snake’s a good man to have in your corner.”
I managed a weak little laugh. “Tell him hi for me.”
“I wanted to make sure you were settled. My family taking good care of you and the little bug?”
“Of course.” I pressed my hand to my chin to hide its quivering. “I wish you could see what I saw tonight. Your grandpa sang to Marilee and bounced her on his knee.”
“Maybe he’s the source of her talent.”
“Maybe she got it from her daddy.”
“I’m nothing special—”
“Come on, Ricky Ricardo, admit that you’re good. You probably handle a guitar better than you do a gun.”
“Ha! You’d better hope that’s not true.” Gideon looked away again, then returned to the computer. “I only have about two minutes, so if there’s anything else—”
“Nothing here. I love you. I miss you.” I touched my fingertips to my lips, then pressed them to the screen.
“Love you too, baby girl.”
“I’ll meet you by the river.”
“Roger that. I’ll be under the árbol de vida.”
I sat perfectly still, listening to the rumble of heavy trucks, until the transmission blinked out.
* * *
Two days later, as I stood in the living room trying to encourage Marilee to play the cheesy practice keyboard on loan from the school, the clump of boots on the porch stairs distracted me. I squeezed Marilee’s shoulder. “Guess who’s home?”
“Daddy!”
Marilee abandoned her keyboard and ran toward the front door, with me only a few steps behind her. Gideon and Snake stood on the porch, both dressed in camo, both grinning. Gid winked at me. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought someone home for dinner.”
My heart flipped over like it always did when he looked at me that way. “You could have brought an entire platoon and I wouldn’t care. I’m just happy to see you.”
Gideon caught Marilee as she leapt into his arms, then stepped into the house to swing her in a circle. She giggled and lifted her hands for more when he put her down, but he reached out and pulled me into an embrace.
“What’s gotten into you?” I asked after he kissed me soundly.
“Shh.” He glanced over his shoulder and told Snake to make himself at home; he’d be back in a minute. But first he wanted to talk to me.
While Snake sat on the sofa and entertained Marilee, Gideon led me into the kitchen. “Okay, I’ve been thinking about it,” he said, his eyes dark and earnest. “And the way you talked about us having our own house . . . I want that, too. When I get out of the military, more than anything I want a normal life for us and our kids.”
“When you get out?” I pronounced the words carefully, testing his meaning. Gideon often talked about the music store he wanted to open when he was free of the military, but he had never given me any idea of when that might be.
“I’m not going to re-up. I’m going to finish the two years I have left, then I’m done. I’m walking away.”
I stared, momentarily unable to imagine Gideon as anything but a soldier. His skill, training, and heightened awareness permeated every aspect of his being, so how could he set aside part of his personality?
“Did you hear what I said?” His hands fell on my should
ers and gave me a little shake. “I want out, Mandy, I want to be around to put my kids to bed and make more babies with you.”
“Did you say babies? As in more than one?”
“Yeah, I want as many as we can handle. So what I’m saying is that I’ve been thinking a lot about your idea. I even asked some of the guys what they thought about it. I checked out some stuff on the Internet and—”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying your idea might be okay. I’m trying to understand how that sort of thing operates.”
I caught my breath, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “I’ve been thinking, too. And I’m not going to pursue it if you’re going to hate seeing me pregnant. I need to know you’ll be comfortable with the situation.”
A wry smile crept into Gideon’s voice. “You’re sure it’s not illegal? Everything’s on the up-and-up?”
“It’s legal, but not everyone approves of surrogacy.” The words came out in a rush, so I paused to let them sink in. “Here’s how it works: the baby will be the couple’s biological child, but they’ll pay me to carry it until it’s born. For my part in the arrangement, I’m pretty sure I could earn as much as you do in a year.”
Gideon’s smile twisted. “That can’t be right.”
“It is; I’ve done a lot of research. And we won’t incur any expenses, since we’re covered under your health insurance. Everything I need will be supplied by the other couple.”
Snake and Marilee laughed in the background, but Gideon didn’t say a word.
“You don’t have to give me a final answer now, Gid. But keep thinking about it, okay? Surrogacy might solve all our financial problems.”
“I don’t know.” Doubt filled his voice. “Don’t know what to say, except it still doesn’t seem natural. A man wants his wife to carry his own babies.”
“In a perfect world, sure,” I added quickly, wanting him to understand. “But not every woman can carry babies while people like me carry them easily. Look at it this way—I want to contribute to our family’s dream, and you risk your life for us every time you go out the front door. No one could ask you to do any more.”
“I’ll be done with all that in two years.”
“And when you’re done, we could leave this rental behind and buy a house with the surrogacy money.” I kept my voice light. “But think about what we could do for our family. We could get Marilee a piano and pay her tuition for next year. I could finish college and get my degree. And we could put a huge chunk into our savings account, where it would earn interest until we’re ready to move.” I laid my hand on his chest, reminding myself not to press too hard. “We’d be working together, Gid, for our family’s future.”
I left him and pulled together a quick dinner of spaghetti, salad, and French bread. Gideon and Snake relaxed in the living room, but as I listened from the kitchen, I noticed that Snake and Marilee did most of the talking—which meant Gideon had to be deep in thought.
While I watched the spaghetti boil, I wrestled with my own thoughts. Was I wrong to suggest surrogacy to Gideon? I’d known he would be opposed to the idea, but I’d been equally sure I could eventually bring him around to my point of view. But maybe my mom was right—maybe Gideon was too wrapped around my little finger. Maybe a good wife should be more inclined to follow her husband’s opinions, and maybe a husband should be less vulnerable to his wife’s persuasive powers.
No one would dare call Gideon henpecked, but I’d once heard the never-married Snake joke that Gideon was “whipped”—implying that Gid was so besotted he’d do anything I wanted him to do. I loved knowing that Gid wanted to please me, but maybe Snake was right. Maybe I had unintentionally robbed Gideon of some force of will he might one day need to survive. . . .
Dinner was pleasant enough. We talked about the weather, Rays baseball, and the possibility of the Buccaneers ever repeating their Super Bowl win. After dinner, Snake thanked me for the meal, kissed me on the cheek, and pulled Marilee’s ponytail before heading out the door.
I was about to go have a long soak in the tub, but Gideon caught me in the hallway. “I’ve thought about it,” he whispered, holding me close while his breath fanned my cheek. “And if it really means so much to you, let’s do this surrogacy thing. If I need to sign something, swear something, or say something, just let me know. I’m with you, baby girl. Whatever you want to do is okay with me.”
I searched his eyes and saw nothing but eager willingness in them. “Are you sure about this? I’d hate it if you changed your mind when it’s too late to turn back.”
“I’m sure, baby girl. If you want to be generous, why should I stop you? Some lucky couple is going to thank God for your willingness to help them out.”
I studied his face, then smiled. What could possibly be wrong with having a man wrapped around your finger?
I slipped my arms around his neck, then exhaled a long, contented sigh. “You won’t be sorry. This is going to be good for us.”
“There’s just one thing—well, two.” He loosened his grip so he could look me in the eye. “First, if this is going to risk your health, I don’t want to do it.”
“Sweetie, you know I’m healthy.” I pressed my hand to his stubbled cheek. “Don’t you remember what the doctor said when Marilee was born? She said all the other mothers should be jealous of my easy pregnancy. I told her I wanted a huge family, so maybe that’s why I’d been built for having kids.”
Gideon grunted. “I don’t remember that.”
“Because you were too busy passing out cigars. But the doctor said it, and she was right.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. And the second thing—”
I rose on tiptoe and gave him a kiss. “What?”
“I want a son.” An eager, hopeful glint flashed in his eyes. “I will always love daughters, but as long as you stay healthy, I want a son or two to carry on the family name. It’s important to me.”
I tipped my head back and studied my handsome, intelligent, kind, and undeniably macho husband. “Of course you want a son, and I want to give you one. We’ll have another baby—or two or three or four. Once I finish school, I’ll get a better job so we’ll be able to afford as many kids as we want.” I squeezed his arm. “You won’t be sorry. This will go as smoothly as any pregnancy on record, then we’ll give the baby to its parents and get busy living our dream. But for the first time in a long time, we won’t have to worry about money.”
“If you say so,” Gideon answered. “But you can’t take risks with your health. Promise me.”
“I promise. But I’m sure everything’s going to go perfectly.”
I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tight, determined that he should see how confident I was.
* * *
Somehow I kept my mouth shut over the weekend, swallowing my eagerness and offering vague replies when family members asked “¿Qué pasa?” at Mama Isa’s weekly dinner. We sat around the table passing rice and corn and roasted pork, and every time my eyes met Gideon’s I lifted a brow and silently asked if I could share our news. He moved his head sideways and held up a restraining hand, quelling my enthusiasm and urging me to hold off.
But why were we waiting? Now that he’d agreed that I should try surrogacy, all I had to do was find an agency, a couple, and a doctor. And the family should know of our decision beforehand. They would never forgive us if we progressed without telling them, and heaven help us if I became pregnant without forewarning them that we couldn’t keep the baby. Gideon’s parents might never get over the disappointment.
On Sunday evening I finally convinced my husband that we should tell la familia as soon as possible. I stressed all the practical considerations, but truthfully, I wanted to share because I was thrilled about the future stretching out before us. If all went as planned with the surrogacy, in two years Gideon and I would be in a house, with another baby of our own on the way.
I couldn’t wait.
No one expected m
e to arrive at the grocery on Monday until after I’d dropped Marilee at school, but like a kid with a secret she can’t wait to share, I let Gideon and Marilee sleep and slipped out of the house before sunrise. Since Mama Isa and Tumelo always arrived at the grocery early on Mondays, I thought I’d get everyone together and make my big announcement.
The approaching dawn spread gray light over the silent highway as I turned into the lot behind the grocery and parked the car. The November morning was cool, not cold, and I barely needed the sweater I’d tossed over my shoulders. I walked through the morning stillness, then opened the back door used only by employees.
Mama Isa’s voice and Jorge’s laugh rang in the hallway, followed by Amelia’s musical murmur as she asked them something in Spanish. She and Mario seemed to be with her parents and Tumelo in the small stockroom, so this should be an ideal time to break the news.
I pulled my sweater closer and walked into the stockroom, then shivered and nodded good morning.
“Mandy.” Mama Isa’s brows lifted as she stepped forward and kissed me on the forehead, the traditional family greeting. “What brings you in so early?”
“I have news.” I looked around the circle, waiting for their undivided attention. Amelia lowered her pricing gun and Mario stopped cutting empty boxes long enough to shoot me a curious look.
“Buenos días.” I smiled and tried to maintain a serene expression. “I have an announcement, and thought it would be easier if I talked to everyone at once.”
“¡Gloria a Dios!” Mama Isa clapped, and one glance at her hope-filled face told me what she expected to hear.
“Lo siento.” I gave her a sad smile. “But Gideon and I aren’t having a baby. Not yet, anyway.”
Amelia caught my wrist. “You’re not quitting work, are you?”
“No.”
“Then what?” Mario ripped a strip of sealing tape from the box he’d been breaking down. “We have customers waiting outside.”
I lifted my chin and spoke with quiet firmness. “I have decided to volunteer to be a surrogate for a woman who can’t carry a baby on her own. Doing this will help us be able to buy a house one day, and I’ll be able to do something amazing for a childless couple.”
