Page 4 of The Wolf's Surrogate

Chapter 2 - Anita

Afternoon light spilled over my cluttered desk. Unopened letters stacked on the right side of the desk threatened to fall over. Each of them bore a red stamp, one of thosepast duemarks that companies added for the whole panic effect. Opening any of them would mean facing the fact that my water bill was piling up as high as these letters.

If I could grimace any harder, I would. The pile of letters that I had dared to open on the left side of my desk was much smaller, neater, set in order of being paid. In the end, that didn’t seem to be enough. No matter how much I made, I never could quite chew away at my debts.

Which were too many. And continuously piling up.

Just like my unopened mail. And the books on my dresser.

A thrifted plastic cup held some pens and pencils, a pair of worn scissors, and a candy cane that I’d considered throwing away a few times. Even if I sat at my desk, I knew the weight of my bills wouldn’t get easier to carry. I was already pushing the limits of my money via my crammed studio apartment in downtown Beaufort.

Nothing said lavish living quite like the pipe décor coming through the east wall, the white-painted brick, and the rusty flakes on the window latches. Only two of the three windows opened. The one that didn’t open was the one that led to the fire escape.

Surelythatwasn’t a fire hazard.

Wet towels hung from a rack near the second window which stood open, allowing the frigid air into the poorly heated studio. Next to that was a litter box, a gorgeous cream-white cat tree with orange fur covering it, and a neat dresser that held every single piece of my overworn clothing.

My desk faced the failed-to-open window that sat to the right of a makeshift kitchen, complete with a small nook that held a toilet and a shower. Ugh, this place drove me nuts sometimes. Mostly because the hot water ran out too quick and it didn’t make sense that a toilet would be in a shower.

But given the square footage of the place—a whopping four hundred square feet with no separate rooms—it just had to do for now. My bed sat behind me with its lovely pillar bedposts made of rich chocolate brown wood and satin purple sheets that reminded me of sweet winter nights.

The only thing I could manage to hang in the place was a portrait of me with my orange tabby—the same orange tabby who was regally lounging on top of my clean purple comforter with the floral stitching. Strands of orange decorated the space around his pudgy form, telling me precisely how he felt about the sheets I’d just put through the laundry mat dryer earlier this morning.

I propped my hands on my hips. “Memphis?”

One eye cracked a sliver, so tiny that I could barely see the white of his eye.

“What did I tell you about jumping on the bed before you’re brushed?”

His tail flickered once. Twice. He stretched his rear legs out and expanded his toe beans, showing off the white tufts of fluff hidden in his paws.

I shook my head and sighed. “You’re the only legacy I’ll ever have.”

Sadness took me suddenly as I turned back to my desk and reached for a card I’d been saving for several weeks.Stork’s Elite Circleneeded surrogates—and I was ticking on a biological clock with perfect eggs that somebody else could be using. I sure wasn’t using them. And the pay for being a surrogate was pretty incredible. It would be enough to wipe out most of my debt.

I frowned at the pretty pink and blue card, the glossy sheen reflecting the sun spots from the shop across from me,Penny’s Hardware. Patricia had interviewed me for about two hours. My labs were great. My health came back ultimately clear. I was of sound mind and body. Those things had been done two weeks ago.

I just needed somebody to pick me out of a card stack. That was the dreadful part of it all, the waiting part. It made the days feel too long at the vet clinic. Seeing those kids come in with their parents didn’t help either. As much as I wanted to be a mother, I knew I couldn’t afford to do it on my own.

Why not give that gift to someone else?

The world might be bleak occasionally, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be a small beacon of hope. I was blessed with great equipment. I wanted to use it.

My phone rang distantly in the apartment. Like I could really keep up with that thing. Much of my life was spent at this desk sorting through client paperwork or ignoring my increasingly tall stack of unopened bills. Memphis helped—and his helping usually meant knocking something over with his gigantic tail or digging his paws into my glass of water.

I shot him an annoyed yet affectionate grin.Weird-o.

Today was my only day off, and it was a day I had set aside for bills. And yet despite how much I’d told myself I would get things sorted, like making the necessary phone calls or filling out those financial aid forms, I just couldn’t get myself to do it. I couldn’t make myself move.

This wasn’t like me. I always had a plan, and I always executed that plan even if it wasn’t perfect. One foot in front of the other. That was how my parents had raised me before they gave me up. It wasn’t their fault things hadn’t worked out. They just couldn’t afford to have me.

My phone chimed. That sounded like I had a voicemail. It was probably Sterling from the clinic going on about Mrs. Drake’s cat again.

I shook my head.That woman feeds her cat way too many treats. We keep telling her to stop, but…

I stared at Memphis for a second as he lifted his head and observed me with a practiced detachment. After a few seconds, he yawned, spreading his maw wide and exposing his pink tongue and gums. Perfect little white teeth appeared and then disappeared. Two fangs poked out from his orange mouth.

That meant he was judging me.

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