The Surrogate

Chapter 5

The week had gone by smoothly. Working her schedule around, Esther had been able to take Grace out to lunch each day and be home to help her daughter cook dinner. She kept her morning sickness well-hidden as to not worry or gross out her daughter. Her clients were kind enough to not cause trouble or call in the evening like they sometimes did. She had not had to worry about break room placement or flooring mishaps. Esther just had to fawn over her daughter and worry about getting enough hugs to last her while they were apart.

When Saturday came, Esther’s delight began to ebb as it was the day she told her typically conservative father. Born into a devoutly Christian family in Haiti, Esther’s parents’ one martial conflict had been about how their daughter should be presented to the world. Her mother was a bra-burner. Her father wanted Esther to be in dresses, sent to cotillion, and be an old-fashioned debutante like he had seen in American movies. This long-lasting argument had permeated every facet of Esther’s childhood, including her choice of hemline, whether or not she should attend an all-girls school, and if she should be allowed to date.

Thankfully, her mother always had won, but the childhood memories left her with a bad taste in her mouth. After all, she was having a child out of wedlock with a young man who had corrupted her as a teenager with parties and dating. How was he going to react?

Nevertheless, Esther rented a car for the day, pulling her sleepy teenager into the car as the city woke up around them on the lazy Saturday morning. The air was colder than usual, allowing the girls to see their breath as they waited for the heat to kick in. Taking the highway out past Long Island and toward the Hamptons, the roads were fairly empty. In the summer, it was a different story. However, Esther knew the path like the back of her hand. She had driven this road a hundred times in the last few years in a hundred different run-of-the-mill economy cars rented from the same little company two miles from her apartment.

Grace buried her face into the hood of her coat, letting the faux fur trim hide her face from the early light. It was typical for her, and the light snoring kept Esther company. It was not too long of a drive, but eagerness and impatience made it seem that way. The highways seemed endless, taunting Esther as she sped along its route. By the time the sun sat clearly in the sky, Esther was parking her car and waking her daughter up once more.

Stepping out of the car, she could hear the sound of gulls and the lapping of water. The coastal shingles of the massive building made it look like some overgrown Cape Cod mansion, but the ambulances and medical staff told another story. Women with puffy white hair strolled slowly in the nearby gardens for their morning exercise, while an older gentleman was pushed in a wheelchair down the pavement toward the little boardwalk to see the water obstructed by the edifice of the building.

Grace stepped out with a bouquet of dahlias in deep rich hues that seemed ever decadent against the stark neutral tones of the space. Following the familiar path, Esther and her daughter headed toward the main reception desk where a few young women quietly kept busy. Their tread was softened by the plush olive green carpet that seemed endless down the many different hallways leading to a dozen different wings of the building. Esther caught the eye of a plump middle aged woman returning to her seat at the long wooden space alcoved into the tan walls of the open space lit by the natural light pouring in from the wide glass windows feeding the many indoor ferns placed about the main lobby. The woman set aside a little watering can, and smiled.

“How may I help you?”

“I just wanted to see if Louis Boudreaux was up yet. I’m his daughter, Esther.”

“Ah, yes.” The woman went to quickly typing to find the answer. “He’s just been registered as taking his breakfast in his room. I will let the floor staff know of your arrival.”

“Thank you so much.” Esther smiled politely before heading down a far left hallway, knowing exactly which turns to take.

Grace kept pace with ease, taking an elevator up to the fourth floor where nurses smiled at them as they passed. The space was quiet, and a pair of old men had parked themselves at the window looking out to the waterfront. Their gazes were glassy, and it gave Esther a certain melancholy to see them frozen there. Counting down the right side doors, at the sixth, Esther found an open entrance to a little studio space that would have been confused for a hotel room if not for the nurse leaving a few pills on the breakfast tray.

“I will be back to make sure you took all your pills, Louis,” the young woman said in her thick Long Island accent.

“How do you know I won’t flush them down the toilet?”

“Because you’re better than that.”

“Am I?” The old man chuckled. “I can’t recall.”

Esther sighed lightly. “Hi, Dad.”

The old man with dark skin and stunning light brown eyes looked up at her with a shining smile. His short hair was a veil of downy gray curls on his head, but his eyes were bright all the same. The nurse said good morning, and slipped out to continue her rounds.

“Hey, baby girl,” he called, holding out his hands from the leather chair where he sat with a little television tray.

The morning news was left on in the background, showing the cool weather with chance of rain for the next weekend. Esther wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. Louis sipped his coffee, and added a pinch more sugar before smiling to himself.

He leaned over to eyeball his granddaughter with her back turned to him as he called out, “I see my other my baby girl, but she hasn’t come to give me a kiss yet.”

Grace turned from the little kitchenette, fixing the flowers up in a glass pitcher. She laughed lightly, heading over to where Louis sat.

“Grandpa, I was just fixing up the flowers I got you at the market.” She kissed his cheek before settling onto the plush leather ottoman across from him.

“Thank you, baby. They are beautiful. They remind me of your grandmother. She loved that color red.”

“I remembered you telling me that when I picked them out. I kind of remember you guys having flowers that color too when I was little.”

Louis smiled. “You were very little then. Were you in school yet?”

She nodded. “I was seven.”

“Oh, I thought you were younger. Are you sure you weren’t three or four?”

“No, I was seven when you replanted your backyard’s flower beds with new colors to remind you of Grandma Maggie. I helped you pick them out at the nursery.”

Louis nodded, but it was easy to see that the old memory was not to be found in his mind. Unsure of how to change the subject, Esther pulled up a chair from the other side of the room at the tiny dining table her father never seemed to use as she thought of new topics. Louis just tasted his oatmeal, frowning.

“I think I used to like oatmeal, but I don’t think Jesus himself could save this bowl right here.”

“You have to eat though,” Esther noted.

“Well, maybe you could fish out the spare yogurt out of the fridge?”