Page 19 of The Surrogate Mother
8
“Yes, this is Jean Johnson. Who is this?”
“Hi.” I clutch my cell phone in my hand so tightly, my fingers start to tingle. “My name is Abigail Adler. Your daughter Monica…”
I don’t even know how to complete that sentence.Your daughter Monica agreed to allow my husband to impregnate her then give me the baby.When you put it that way, it does sound a bit odd.
Thankfully, Jean Johnson knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Mrs. Adler! Yes, Monica told me all about it…”
And then there’s the awkward silence.
There’s a whistling sound in the background. “Sorry about that,” Mrs. Johnson says. She has a pleasant, husky voice that makes her sound like a film star from another era. “I had put a pot of tea on a few minutes ago. I’m just going to turn off the stove. Sorry about that, Mrs. Adler.”
“Abby,” I correct her.
“Abby,” she repeats. There’s shuffling on the other line,the sound of boiling water being poured into a teacup. “So you work with Monica in New York, is that right?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “And you’re in… Indianapolis?”
“Yes, I am. Born and raised.”
“It must have been hard when Monica moved away.”
“Yes, well…” She sniffs. “Children do what they want to do. You’ll find that out someday.”
I analyze her tone, trying to figure out if it was a dig. I don’t think it was.
“I want you to know,” I say quietly, “what Monica is doing for me… it means the world to me.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Well, that’s Monica—she always wants to help people.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. To a fault even.” She sighs. “Whenever someone tells her their problems—she’s got an open sort of face that makes people confide in her—she has to figure out a way to put it right for them.”
I feel a little jab in my chest. Monica is giving me the thing I want most in the world and here I am, investigating her. But this is Sam’s strict condition—he won’t go through with this unless we have all the information. He’s sorting through Monica’s medical records while I make these calls. He wanted to hire a private investigator, but I drew the line at that.
“We’re going to compensate her,” I say, desperate not to sound like we’re taking advantage. “We’re going to send her to graduate school in graphic arts.”
“Perhaps. But you have to know, she’d do it even if you weren’t paying her a penny.”
“Yes,” I agree. “I think she would.”
“Well, anyhow.” Mrs. Johnson lets out a sigh. “What information do you need about my Monica?”
I look at the list Sam scribbled out for me in his nearly illegible handwriting. “I guess… I was wondering if there are any serious illnesses that run in the family.”
“My mother has the diabetes,” she says thoughtfully. “But she’s still living. Monica’s father is healthy—well, no, a little bit of high blood pressure. Monica’s always been healthy as a horse.”
“Any…” I look at the next question and wince. “Any history of mental illness?”
“Mental illness?” Mrs. Johnson repeats. “You mean craziness? No, of course not! What sort of family do you think this is?”
“I, um…”
“Look, my Monica is a good girl,” she says. “Always did well in school, always was kind to everyone. I have to be honest with you, Mrs. Adler, I told Monica not to do this. That we’d find another way to raise the money for her to go back to school. But she wanted to do it. And now it feels like… what’s the expression? You’re looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
I fold Sam’s notes in half and push them across my desk. “You’re right, Mrs. Johnson. I’m sorry to take up so much of your time.”
