Page 51 of The Baby His Secretary Carries

“Your concerns don’t extend to...” He was distracted, still turning over “a relationship that was very important to her.” “Do you condone what she’s done? Offering to surrogate?”

“I’m also under an NDA,” she said with a pained smile. “But I can tell you that I counseled Molly exactly as I would anyone considering pregnancy. We talked extensively about the risks. Ultimately, the decision was hers. As a midwife and her mother, my role is to support her however I can. This wasn’t a decision she made lightly.”

“I should hope not,” he muttered, turning to pace again.

There were photos on the small space of wall that wasn’t taken up by bookshelves. One showed Molly as an infant in Patricia’s younger arms. Another showed Molly grinning widely, showing her missing front teeth. There she was winning an award at eleven or twelve, then dressed in a pretty gown for what he imagined was prom.

Here she was proudly feeding a bottle to Libby, he presumed. There she had the toddler in her lap while they read a book. There the two of them were asleep and there they were with Santa.

“How is your grandfather?” Patricia asked.

“Much better,” he said absently, still studying the photos.

“Was that why you wanted to see me?” Patricia asked, tugging at his attention. “To ask whether I approve of what Molly is doing?”

“Yes.” He turned in time to see her tense expression ease into an attentive smile.

“I didn’t quite approve of your engagement, given the circumstances, but Molly has a big heart. She wanted to ease your grandfather’s mind. It got out of hand.”

“I know. I backed her into a corner. And I understand that she couldn’t talk about the surrogacy. That part I can get over. What doesn’t make any sense to me iswhyshe’s doing it. She’s the least materialistic person I know, and this is not poverty.” He waved at the home. It was rustic, but cozy and in good repair. The laptop on the desk was a recent model. The car outside the window wasn’t sporty, but it was newish and a top brand for safety.

“She said she was doing it for Libby,” he said. “To pay for college and give her a strong start like you and her father were able to give her.”

Patricia’s face blanked, then she looked into her mug as she sipped.

“Is it not?” Gio asked with sharp suspicion.

“It’s true that I don’t have the same type of college fund set up for Libby as I had for Molly. As I said, Molly has a big heart. She would absolutely want Libby to have everything and more than she has been able to enjoy.”

That struck him as a prevarication, especially since she wasn’t meeting his eyes, leaving him at a loss. Suspicious.

“Did Molly give birth to her?”

“Who? Libby? No!” she said with genuine shock. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because this doesn’t make sense!” As he turned his head, he spotted a pin-and-thread craft like the one Molly had had in London. Two of them.

One was a turtle and quite clumsily done. The other was a hummingbird, made with beautiful finesse in the way the strings crossed to produce different intensities of color. The turtle was signed by Libby, the hummingbird by Molly.

Next to it hung a recent photo of the sisters. They sat on a rock overlooking a river.

The sunlight struck golden lights into Libby’s dirty blond hair. At eleven, her profile was only starting to hint at the mature features she would carry into womanhood, but it was obvious she would be beautiful. She was caught in a moment of solemn contemplation, looking toward the sky, but squinting against the reflection off the water.

A sense of recognition, almost déjà vu, accosted Gio. He heard a woman’s voice sayThese lights are giving me a headache.

That same voice had asked with profound shock last November,What are you doing here?He’d been so focused on Molly that day, he hadn’t heard the small, but significant inflection in Alexandra’s voice, the one that had stressed, “What areyoudoing here?”

Molly had been shaking. He’d put it down to nervousness at being the center of attention, but the women had recognized each other. That’s why Alexandra had invited Molly for breakfast. At the time, he’d dismissed it as the whim of a spoiled socialite.

As he put all of this together, the colored threads on the pin art were stretching like red yarn in a blockbuster mystery, joining to the photo of the women at the river, reaching across an ocean to connect to the butterfly he’d seen on Molly’s wall.

“Who is Sasha?” He turned slowly, but felt as though the floor was falling away beneath his feet. He had detached from earth and was drifting through space.

“I beg your pardon?” Patricia went ghostly white.

“It’s a sobriquet—” No, that wasn’t right. He searched for the English word and couldn’t find it. “Sasha is short for Alexandra, isn’t it?”

My wife hasn’t done anything except try to give us a baby the only way she can.Molly has a big heart.

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