The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one Read Free

fulfilling thing you ever do!
Give the gift that comes directly from the heart.
    It looked like an advertisement for Valentine’s Day, with hearts in each corner and in the center, a drawing of an angelic baby, gurgling with delight. But Valentine’s Day was a month and a half away. Hannah read on.
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    “Look at this,” she said, as Teri placed two mugs of piping hot chocolate on the table and slid into the booth, opposite her.
    “What?”
    “In today’s Globe. This ad.”
    “Oh, yeah. They get paid a lot of money.”
    “Who does?”
    “Those women. Surrogate mothers. I saw a thing about it on TV. It’s a little strange if you ask me. If you’re going to all the bother of carting a kid around in your belly for nine months, you ought to be able to keep the little bastard afterwards. I can’t imagine giving it away. It’s kind of like being a baker. Or being the oven, actually. You bake the bread and somebody else takes it home.”
    “How much do they get paid, do you think?”
    “I saw on Oprah some woman got $75,000. People are pretty desperate to have kids these days. Some of those rich people will pay a fortune. Of course, if they knew what kids are really like, they wouldn’t be so quick to shell out. Wait until they find out they’ll never have a clean living room again.”
    A voice came from the kitchen. “Enough gabbing, girls.” The overhead lights went out.
    “Do you mind if I take your paper?”
    “All yours. I was never gonna get 26 down anyway.”
    At the door, Hannah gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek and darted across the lot to a battered Chevy Nova. Once she was inside, Bobby flicked off the Blue Dawn Diner sign. Clouds masked the moon, and without the neon lights, the place looked even more forlorn to her.
    She gave a honk of the horn, as she guided the Nova out onto the roadway. Teri honked back and Bobby, who was locking up the front door, managed a vague wave.
    The newspaper lay on the seat next to Hannah all the way home. Although the roads were freshly sanded and free of traffic, she drove prudently. Up ahead, a stoplight turned red and she pumped the breaks gingerly to keep the Nova from skidding.
    While waiting for the signal to change, she cast an eye at the newspaper. The print wasn’t legible in the dark, but she remembered exactly what the advertisement said. As she pulled away from the intersection, she could almost hear a voice whispering, “This could be the most fulfilling thing you ever do.”

1:3
     
    Standing guard at the gate, the attendant shifted lazily from one foot to the other. The cathedral wouldn’t reopen until late afternoon, and his thoughts had already gravitated to the cold beer he’d get himself in a few minutes.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of movement in the shadows on the northern side of the transept. But he was in no hurry to investigate. Over the years he’d learned that the light flickering through the stained-glass windows played tricks with his weary eyes. And he was long since accustomed to the murmurs and groans that emanated from stone and wood, when the church was empty. His wife said it was the saints talking and that the house of God was never empty, but personally the attendant figured the sounds were merely those of an old edifice getting older.
    Didn’t his own bones crack now and again?
    Except that the noise he was now hearing was different. It was that of whispered words, the rush and tumble of supplication. Then he saw another flash of movement and moved away from the gate to get a better view. Indeed, a woman on her knees was praying in front of the Altar de la Inmaculada, one of the Baroque splendors of the cathedral that depicted a large-than-life Mary, surrounded by a golden sunburst that attested to her sanctity.
    The woman’s eyes were locked on the