Page 93 of The Surrogate Mother
“Um…” I hold my breath, waiting to hear what she’ll say. “She was in such a state, Sam… she just left everything behind.”
“Even herphone?”
“Apparently…”
“I’m sorry,” Sam says. “If there’s one thing I know about Abby, she wouldneverleave the house without her phone. Where is she, Monica?”
“I told you—I don’t know!”
“Abby!” He’s shouting now. “Abby! Are you here?”
I’m here! I’m here!
“Abby!” His voice is louder now. He’s coming toward the bedroom. “Abby! Where are you?”
“Sammy, she’s not here…”
“Abby!” The bedroom door is open now. His voice is much louder. “Abby!”
With all my might, I kick against the side of the bed. The noise makes Sam go quiet. I hear bedsprings creak. A second later, the weight of the blankets lifts off my body, and Sam is staring down at me, a look of growing horror on his face.
“Abby,” he gasps, bending over me. “What… what’s going on?”
Call the police!
But it’s too late for that. Much too late.
40
“Get up, Sam.”
I can’t see Monica, but I can imagine what she looks like. Stomach bulging under her striking red dress, black hair falling loose around her face, eyes flashing. Gun pointed at my husband’s face.
“Monica.” His voice is hoarse. “What are you doing?”
“I saidget up.”
His face disappears from view. I lift my head just enough to see him standing there, his hands raised in the air. I can move a little by squirming, but not very much. I shift over to the side so the radiator edge isn’t slicing my forearm anymore. Stupid radiator. That thing is so sharp, it could cut through…
Oh my God, could it cut through the duct tape?
“You’re unbelievable, Sam.” Monica’s voice is filled with venom. “Here I am, offering youeverything, and all you want isher.”
“But she’s mywife,” Sam says. And he says it so simply, like it’s an immutable fact that once a person is wed, they are mated for life. As he says those words, I don’tunderstand how I ever could have doubted his fidelity. That is Sam all over—undyingly faithful.
“But she can’t give you anything you want!” Monica is practically shouting now. “She doesn’t fulfill any of your needs!”
“Trust me, Monica. She fulfills my needs.”
I squirm again, moving my body upward until the sharp edge of the radiator is against my wrist. It’s difficult, considering my wrists and ankles are bound, and also, the sleeping pills are starting to hit me. Keeping my eyes open is an effort and my body feels really heavy.
Painfully heavy.
“I can give you more though,” Monica says. “I’m ready to give it to you.”
Sam lowers his voice a notch. “We talked about this in your apartment the other night, Monica. I told youno.”
I can’t even focus on what they’re saying anymore because my wrists have made contact with the radiator. If I know anything about the duct tape from work, I know it’s cheap crap. If I can just get the right angle…
