Page 67 of The Surrogate Mother
“Oh, you know…” Gertie smiles and pats her puffy white hair. “Retirement has its benefits. I’ve been getting to spend more time with my little grandson. What a handful he is!”
“That’s wonderful.”
“We spent three hours yesterday playing with Legos!” she sighs. “I never thought I was capable of playing with Legos that long! They’re actually sort of fun though. What agreat idea for a toy. Although I’m not entirely sure how they managed to make so many movies about them. I mean, they’re just blocks, aren’t they?”
I force a smile. “Yes.”
“Anyway, you’re going to have your hands full with that new baby, Abby! I’m so happy for you.”
A lump rises in my throat.Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Abby.
“And how’s your husband Samuel?” she asks. “He was such a sweet man. He must be very excited too.”
I know she thinks she’s being polite, but I can’t do this anymore.
“Listen,” I say, “there’s something I need to ask you.”
“Of course, dear.” Gertie places her wrinkled hand on mine. “What it is?”
I take a deep breath. “Do you remember the day you fell down the stairs at work?”
She winces. “Of course I do. It’s hard to forget something like that.”
I feel a stab of guilt. The last thing I want to do is dredge up bad memories for her. But I need to know. “You told me you thought someone pushed you.”
“I didn’t mean that though. It was just, you know, the usual pushing and shoving.” She laughs lightly. “Show me a young person whoisn’tpushing or shoving!”
“If I show you a photograph,” I say, “could you tell me if that person is familiar to you?”
Gertie never had the opportunity to meet Monica. If she recognizes the photo, then that means there’s a chance Monica was in the stairwell that day. And maybe it will jog her memory about other things too.
Like that Monica was the one who pushed her.
I pull out my phone and bring up the one photo I’ve got of Monica, taken in the waiting room at our first OB/GYNappointment. I wanted to take a photo to commemorate the whole thing. In retrospect, it seems so stupid. Who knew it would all go so horribly wrong?
Well, aside from Sam, Shelley, my mother… well, everyone but me.
I slide the phone across the table to Gertie. Who then takes out her reading glasses. God, I forgot all about Gertie’s reading glasses. She has this pair of purple-rimmed giant reading glasses that she always keeps stashed away in her purse. Whenever she’s asked to read anything, she takes about five hours to pull out those stupid reading glasses. I’m beginning to remember how annoying Gertie used to be.
Finally she gets out her reading glasses and peers through them at the image on my phone. She squints a bit, then lifts the phone up in the air to get more light. Then she turns it around. After about sixty seconds, I’m ready to shake her.
“Well?” I say.
“Shedoeslook a bit familiar,” Gertie admits.
“So you think you’ve seen her before?”
“Yes, I think I have.”
My heart speeds up. “Do you think she’s the person who pushed you down the stairs?”
Gertie looks up sharply. She pulls off her giant reading glasses and her eyebrows bunch together. “Abby, are you all right?”
“No!” And now I can’t hold it back anymore. I really am sobbing. I had so much hope for this meeting, but that was stupid. How could Gertie remember something that happened a year ago, when she couldn’t even remember you had to press “send” on the fax machine before a fax would go through? “I’mnotall right. Somebody slipped drugs intomy coffee at work and I got fired and my husband thinks I’m a drug addict and…”
Her eyes widen. She gawks at me for a moment, but then she pulls me in for a hug. “This is going to be okay, Abby. I promise you.”
“No, it’s not! How can it be okay?”
