Read The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one for Free Online Page B

through three outfits on Friday morning, before settling on a tweed skirt, white blouse and tan cardigan. An Arctic front had blown in during the night, and she would have been more comfortable in pants and a sweater, especially since the heater in the Nova was functioning badly. But the skirt and cardigan were more appropriate - in good taste, but casual, too, so it didn’t look as if she was trying too hard to impress.
    She brushed a few strokes of blusher on her cheekbones and darkened her lashes with a hint of mascara, and by 12:15 judged the results in the dresser mirror satisfactory, or at least as satisfactory as they were going to get. That left her an hour for the drive to Boston, with a forty-five minute cushion in case the traffic was heavy or she had trouble locating a parking place.
    On the way, Hannah concentrated on the questions she had for Mrs. Greene. How long would an in vitro procedure take? Was it painful? Did it have to be done more than once? Were there any legal documents involved? Piles of them, probably. And when did the monthly payments begin?
    Strangely enough, she had no fears about carrying a child. She had an innate trust that her body would know what to do. Anyway, there would be doctors involved, watching over her so nothing would go wrong. There was just one thing. She wasn’t particularly experienced in sex. As the car threaded in and out of traffic, she wondered how much it mattered.
    What if Partners in Parenthood wanted someone more…skilled? She had a moment of panic. Maybe Mrs. Greene would consider her too big a risk, if she knew the truth.
    The fears built steadily in her mind, so that by the time she stood outside the door of Partners in Parenthood, she was momentarily paralyzed. For a while, she stared at the brass plaque on which were engraved the initials P.I.P. in fancy script. Unable to bring herself to walk right in, she looked around the landing and tried to marshal her courage. The only other office belonged to a lawyer. The glass in the door was the old-fashioned kind that had chicken wire embedded in it - to prevent breakage or discourage robberies. Gene P. Rosenblatt, attorney at law, read the black letters stenciled on the glass, but the paint was so chipped and flaking that she doubted he was still alive and practicing.
    She turned back to the PIP plaque, took a deep breath and opened the door.
    Letitia Greene was seated at her rosewood desk, busying herself with several pastel-colored folders. “Just finishing up a few details,” she called out, with a cheerful smile.
    “Let me file these papers away. I was about to brew myself a pot of tea. Can I get you a cup? You must be a block of ice.” She stood up and disappeared through a door in the corner, which seemed to open onto a back room. Hannah didn’t recall that from before.
    Hannah removed her coat and hung it on a metal coat tree by the main door, then checked out her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was a little wind-blown, but the outfit was suitable. It made her look like a college student.
    “Here we are.” Mrs. Greene backed carefully through the door, a cup and saucer in each hand. Hannah sat down in front of the rosewood desk, took the cup that was offered her and rested it delicately on her lap.
    “I told the Whitfields 2:30. I figured that would give us a little time to chat, run over a few things before you meet them.”
    Hannah started to raise the cup to her lips, but afraid it might spill, promptly put it back on her lap. “I’m guess I’m a little nervous today.”
    “No need to be. The Whitfields are really a very nice couple. Been married for twenty years. They’ve tried just about every procedure known to science and, well, nothing. I’m afraid she had bad fibroids.”
    Hannah’s blank look prompted an explanation. “You know, tumors on the wall of the uterus. They’re perfectly benign, but the first time they were removed, the wall of the uterus was damaged. She loses her