Mandi took the form from the receptionist, and settled into a paisley covered armchair in the waiting room, hoping for a quick stay. She’d honestly rather be working. She grabbed a couple of magazines from the table in front of her, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Even without looking, she knew easily half of the people there were pregnant or had recently given birth. Most of them were happy and excited. Some had spouses with them, there to take a peek inside at their developing baby through a sonogram.
She took a deep breath and blinked back the tears already welling in her eyes. Good thing she only had to endure this once a year. She flipped through the pages of a magazine without really seeing, her brain replaying a thousand thoughts and feelings, memories of earlier visits. She remembered the excitement and the awe of seeing Paige curled up inside her. Everything had changed then.
Somehow, after the sonogram, all of her thoughts and fears were for the tiny baby inside her. For a little while anyway, she’d stopped caring about what anyone else thought, stopped thinking about college, and began worrying about all the things that could go wrong in a pregnancy. She well remembered the relief of being handed a perfectly healthy baby girl with ten tiny fingers and toes.
How very long ago those days seemed. The memories of the labor and delivery had faded, but not that first moment when she held her baby. It had been a terrifying, yet amazing, experience. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall in love.
When she reached the last page of the magazine, Mandi squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nurses to call her name. The door opened, but Becky was called. Mandi opened her eyes again, staring down at the magazine. She looked closer as an ad caught her attention. “Surrogate Mothers Needed,” the ad read. “Could You Give the Gift of Life?” Her breath caught in her throat. “Healthy women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five needed to give birth for married couples unable to conceive.” Did people really do that? She scanned the ad. All expenses paid. Call for confidential consultation.
Could she? Her heart fluttered. Would doing something like that finally absolve her? What if she brought another baby into the world for someone else? For all the right reasons. Could she be free of the suffocating guilt she carried every minute of every day? She turned the magazine over. “Girl Talk.” Free Copy. Mandi held it against her chest, her thoughts spinning.
She jumped when the door closest to her opened, and the nurse called her name. Standing, she tucked the magazine under her arm, and grabbed her purse, then followed the nurse to a small examination room. Distractedly, Mandi went through the motions while the nurse took her vitals.
“Dr. Bensen will be right in,” the nurse said, handing Mandi a dressing gown.
Mandi quickly stripped down, donned the flimsy gown, and opened the magazine again, glad for the chilly air that breezed across her bare skin. She looked up when the doctor opened the door.
Lynda Bensen, Mandi’s ob-gyn from the time she was seventeen, reached out and squeezed Mandi’s hand. “Hey, Mandi. Nice to see you, hon. How are you?”
“Fine. Good, I guess.”
“Any issues? Anything you want to talk about?”
“Not really.” How crazy was that? When she left home that morning, she’d planned to ask for birth control pills. Now she was thinking about getting pregnant. She held up the magazine. “Actually, I, um, I was reading this ad about being a surrogate mother. Have you ever heard of anyone doing this?”
Dr. Bensen glanced at the ad then back at Mandi. “Sure. I’ve had a few patients do it over the years.”
“Really?”
“I could probably put you in touch with someone who’s done it if you’re interested.” The doctor searched Mandi’s face. “Are you?”
Mandi bit her lip and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It says in the magazine that they pay for everything, right? All the medical costs?”
“Absolutely. You’d work with an agency to do it the right way. The prospective parents pay all the expenses. But you have to remember, they’ll be in your business for nine months. They’ll want updates and pictures and tests. It’s not a simple process. I’d suggest you do some online research.”
She picked up Mandi’s chart and thumbed through it. “You know, you might be a good candidate. Your last pregnancy was very routine. No gestational diabetes, no morning sickness.” She paused and looked at Mandi again. “Of course, that’s no guarantee. Every pregnancy is different.”
Mandi nodded. The more the doctor talked about it, the more it became a real possibility. Or at least an idea to explore. “Right. I don’t care about that. I’d just need to make sure I didn’t have any costs.”
“Nope. In fact, the parents usually pay the surrogate a good chunk of change. I think twenty thousand or so is the going rate these days.”
The air whooshed out of Mandi’s lungs. She stared at the doctor. “You mean they pay the surrogate? Money she gets to keep? In addition to the legal and medical expenses?”
“Exactly. It’s like getting paid for working twenty-four/seven for nine months, you know?”
She began her examination as she spoke. The blood pounded through Mandi’s veins. Good thing the nurse already took her pulse and blood pressure.
When Dr. Bensen placed the stethoscope on Mandi’s chest, she met her eyes again. “Honey, your heart is pounding. You okay?”
Mandi gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I’m fine. Thinking about this surrogate thing, I guess.”
“Sounds to me like you’re a little excited. You know, Mandi, the more I think about it, you’re the perfect kind of person to do this,” the doctor said. “You’re young and healthy. You’ve given birth to a healthy baby before. You know what to expect.”
Her hands stilled on Mandi’s back, and she took the stethoscope from her ears. “But could you give birth and then give the baby away? It wouldn’t be yours legally or biologically.”
Mandi’s heart bounced.
“Something to think about,” Dr. Bensen said softly.
Definitely something to think about. Mandi endured the rest of the examination, but couldn’t relax, which made it more unpleasant than usual.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Dr. Bensen asked. She removed her gloves, washed her hands, and picked up the chart again. “Sexually active?”
Mandi’s face flushed. She hadn’t answered that question affirmatively in the last few visits. “Uh, yeah, actually I am.”
Dr. Bensen’s brows shot up. “Birth control?”
“Condoms.”
“Honey, you can’t be getting pregnant with your own baby if you want to be a surrogate.”
“I know. I just found out about this. Not even sure I’m interested.” But she was. What she didn’t know was how long she’d continue to be sexually active. She’d had a fun weekend with Lane. But whether they had any more good times or not, that was temporary, and by the time she researched and interviewed and got pregnant, Lane Whitmore would be history. She refused to dwell on the quick pang of regret that went along with that thought.
“All right, look. I’m going to write you a script for some birth control pills. You can decide whether you want to have it filled or not. You look into this surrogate stuff, and let me know if you want to pursue it. We’d have to send your medical files and work with the agency.”
Mandi nodded. “Okay.”
“Get dressed, and I’ll meet you at the nurse’s station in a minute.”
When Mandi stepped outside the examination room, Dr. Bensen handed her a prescription and a pamphlet. “Here you go.” She squeezed Mandi’s shoulder. “Now you keep me posted.”
Unsteady legs carried Mandi through the parking lot. Inside her car, she stared at the brochure, tempted to sit and read it immediately. But she knew she didn’t have time to get her head around it then, anyway. It’d have to wait. Didn’t stop her from thinking about it all the way to work, though. What kind of women were surrogates, and would she qualify?
**
Brittney was already seated at her computer when Mandi arrived after her appointment. “Hey,” Mandi said over the short wall that separated them. “How was the weekend?”
Brittney shrugged. “Oh, hey. It was okay.”
Mandi’s heart sank. Brittney had been excited about this new guy she’d met, but her response lacked enthusiasm. “Just okay, huh? Did you go out both nights?”
Brittney nodded, but didn’t meet Mandi’s eyes. “Uh-huh. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Oh, no. That didn’t sound good. “Yeah,” Mandi said. “We can talk at lunch.”
With a sigh, Mandi locked her purse in the cabinet and powered up her computer. Guess she’d have to wait a couple of hours to get the scoop. If Brittney’s weekend had gone sour, Mandi wouldn’t be able to tell her much about her own weekend. Too bad, since it had turned out to be way more interesting than she’d expected.
At noon, Mandi took her lunch bag out of the refrigerator in the break room and joined Brittney at a small table in the corner. Another bad sign. She obviously didn’t want the whole group to hear the details. She looked tired, Mandi thought. Or maybe she’d just run out of time to mess with hair and make-up this morning. Her blond hair was pulled back, but several strands fell loose around her face.
“So what’s the deal?” Mandi asked. “That guy turn out to be a jerk?”
She could swear she’d seen Brittney’s lips tremble before she took that drink of Diet Coke. “Brit? You all right?”
Bright tears sparkled in her friend’s eyes. Mandi reached out and squeezed Brittney’s arm. “Hey. I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Brittney looked around, then leaned in toward Mandi. “Friday night was okay. We stayed at my place. We had dinner, and he was cool. But Saturday night was different. We went to his apartment and he– it’s like he was a different person.”
Mandi’s blood chilled. “What do you mean?”
Brittney swiped at a tear. “He wanted to do things. Weird things. Kinky, you know?”
Mandi sucked in her breath. “Oh, no.”
They were both silent for a moment, and Brittney stared down at the table.
“Brit?” Mandi said softly. “Did he hurt you?”
Tears spilled from Brittney’s eyes. Mandi handed her a napkin, and scooted her chair around to the side of the table, hopefully blocking anyone else’s view of Brit.
“Do you need to go to the police?”
Brittney shook her head. “No. He did some things that hurt, but I went there with him willingly. The police wouldn’t do anything. I just don’t want to see him again.”
“And has he tried? What about yesterday?”
“Yeah. He keeps calling. And he knows where I live.”
“Did he try to keep you from leaving yesterday morning?”
“I left Saturday night. As soon as he let me go. He said he wanted to get together again Sunday, and I told him no. But now I’m scared.”
“What about Holly? Is she around?” Brit’s roommate was a tough girl. Mandi couldn’t imagine her getting scared easily.
“Yeah. And now she’s pissed, and threatening to move out because she’s afraid he’ll show up when she’s there alone.”
Mandi groaned. “Does she have someone else she could stay with for a couple of nights? You could stay with me, just in case. Maybe he’d get the message and move along.”
“Maybe.”
“Come on, Brit, you can’t stay there by yourself if you don’t feel safe. What about the locks on your doors? Are they good?”
Her shoulders lifted again. “I don’t know. I guess so.”
“Look, I won’t be home until after eleven tonight and tomorrow night, but you could come to the diner for awhile. Find out whether Holly’s going to bail. If she does, I want you to stay with me. I mean it.”
Brittney wiped her eyes, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to her.”
“Or, what about your brother? Would he come stay with you for a night or two?”
“I suppose.”
“Brit, you need to take this seriously. Have you ever had a self-defense class?”
“Not officially.”
“You should do that. We could do it together some weekend if you want. I’ve done it but I’m sure I could use a refresher.”
Mandi was determined to keep her friend safe. She could call the police and ask for some surveillance around Brittney’s apartment. They could trade cars for a couple of days so the asshole wouldn’t know if she was home. Mandi threw her arm around Brittney’s shoulder and drew her into a quick hug. Then she glanced at her watch, and pushed Brittney’s lunch closer to her. “You’d better eat something.”
Brittney pulled a pita sandwich from a plastic bag, and the pungent scent of honey mustard hit Mandi’s nostrils. That, along with the pall of her friend’s face, rolled Mandi’s stomach. She grimaced, hardly able to chew her own turkey sandwich. A few minutes later, she gave up, and twisted the bag of chips closed. She’d take them and the Mountain Dew back to her desk.
“Hey, Mandi?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t tell anybody, okay? I don’t want everyone to know I was so stupid. I mean, I thought he was a nice guy.”
Anger flashed through Mandi. Why did women who got taken advantage of always end up feeling stupid or ashamed? She lowered her face to Brittney’s. “I won’t tell anyone, but listen to me, Brit. It’s not your fault he turned out to be scum. You don’t have any reason to feel stupid. The asshole was a good actor, that’s all.”
They went back to work, but Mandi spent the rest of the day worrying, and wondering what she could do to help her friend. She wished she knew the right answer. Maybe the guy had gotten his kicks and now he’d just go away and leave Brit alone. She hoped so.
The keyboard in front of her took the brunt of Mandi’s frustration. Banging hard on the keys she thought about her idea of becoming a social worker. Would she be able to help women like Brittney, or would she never even get the chance because they wouldn’t ask for help or seek services? Mandi blew out her breath. Maybe she should become a cop instead.