Chapter 14
Marlowe
Some women like men with boyish curls and blue eyes. Marlowe preferred moody men in trench coats. She was propped up in bed watching Casablanca for the fifth time when she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Not normal footsteps. Not quiet I’m-just-grabbing-a-glass-of-water footsteps.
These were emotional, slow footsteps.
Angry or sad? Marlowe paused the movie, and Humphrey Bogart’s mouth froze mid-cigarette puff. She pushed back the royal-purple comforter she’d splurged on and tiptoed to her door.
Sam’s bedroom was right across the hall. Marlowe knew she’d gone out with Josh that night.
A door slammed.
That answered Marlowe’s question. Angry.
Marlowe counted to five and opened her door. Only the soft glow of the nightlight lit the hallway. Aunt Cate had gone to bed ages ago, probably with a book about herbal teas or some spicy memoir she’d never admit to owning.
Marlowe padded across the oriental runner everyone insisted was “too beautiful to pitch,” even though the edges curled and were a hazard.
A sound floated out from Sam’s room. A soft, ferocious kind of crying. Her stomach knotted, and Marlowe stopped, one hand on the doorknob.
Should she intrude?
Of course she should. This was her sister. And if your sister was crying, you didn’t do the polite thing. You did the messy, nosy, barging-in thing. That was the entire point of sisterhood. And possibly the entire reason they’d all moved to Charlevoix.
She knocked gently. “Sam?”
More sobbing. Marlowe could visualize her sister with blotchy cheeks and mascara leaking from her eyes. She knocked harder. “Sam, it’s me. Marlowe. Are you okay?” She didn’t wait for permission and nudged the door open.
Her sister sat hunched on the edge of her bed, a fistful of tissues in one hand. This sure wasn’t the same determined woman she’d had lunch with recently. “Marlowe?” she sniffled.
“Sorry, I heard you.” Marlowe stepped in and walked over to sit beside Sam. Her sister’s shoulders were having and she wrapped an arm around them. “What happened?”
Sam fell into her like she had no bones. “Well… that’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“Josh,” she wailed. “I ended it. Tonight.”
Marlowe pulled back, stunned. She’d thought Sam would do more evaluating. “You ended it?”
The tale spilled out. The sad story took awhile, slowed by sobbing, gasping for air, and interruptions for Marlowe’s questions. The best she could do was “Oh no” and “he said what?”
“I can never go to Marek’s again,” Sam groaned. “We didn’t even eat the food.”
“How did Josh take it?”
“I don’t think he got it. He kept saying that we had to compromise, that his kids might warm to me, that his mother might stop talking about Cynthia… who was so perfect.”
Marlowe blinked. “His mother is still talking about Cynthia? To you?”
Sam nodded miserably.
“I’m so sorry.” Marlowe squeezed her tighter. “I always thought you two would be together.”
“Maybe we idealize the ones who got away.” Sam dabbed her nose again. “The boy we left behind. That sort of thing.”
Marlowe thought through her own romantic history and came up empty. “I guess so. I never had a ‘one who got away.’ I had more of a ‘one who left without paying for the pizza.’”
Sam gave a wet, hiccupy laugh.
“But Skipper got over Izzy,” Marlowe said gently.
“Because he never stopped loving her!” Sam protested. “He’s adopting Holly. Skipper kept Izzy as his priority. He waited, even though she married again, for heaven’s sake.”
“That marriage only lasted three years and you can’t compare Josh to Skipper,” Marlowe said. “Skipper must be the gold standard of devoted ex-husbands. They should put him on a motivational poster.”
Sam sniffled, then grabbed Marlowe’s hands. “I’m sorry if I came on strong at the restaurant. We have to help Izzy, Marlowe. We have to make sure she can use those eggs.”
Marlowe blinked. “Well, sure.”
“I’m serious,” Sam said, wiping her eyes. “We have to do this.”
“We will,” Marlowe said. “I mean, one of us will.” Her head was spinning.
“Josh didn’t understand any of it,” Sam said. “He looked horrified that we’d consider becoming pregnant with Izzy’s baby.”
“But he’s a doctor!” Marlowe sputtered. “Isn’t he supposed to be enlightened? That’s like being shocked that your dentist knows what fluoride is.”
“He thinks I’m too old,” Sam said sadly.
Marlowe’s jaw dropped. “Too old? Seriously? Men have children when their AARP card arrives in the mail.”
“Exactly!”
“And did he ever even mention having a baby with you?” Marlowe asked.
“Nope,” Sam said bitterly. “Apparently that idea was filed under ‘Never happening.’”
“Oh my gosh.” Marlowe gaped. “I’m so sorry, Sam. He’s the worst.”
“Not the very worst,” Sam protested faintly. “Just not the best. And not for me.”
Silence stretched, thick and soft. Marlowe took a breath.
“Well, what did Brad say?” Sam asked suddenly. “You probably told him about the situation. What did he say?”
Marlowe recoiled like she’d been poked with a cattle prod. “I haven’t told him. That’s confidential. And anyway, this is our decision, and it’s between us.”
Sam wiped her eyes again. “Do you think we’re too old?”
Marlowe hesitated. “I think Dr. Fielding is going to tell us exactly how old she thinks we are.”
“Right,” Sam said. “Right, that’s the name Gabby gave Aunt Cate.”
“Have you called yet?”
“Heck no. Aunt Cate just got the information recently. And between us? Doesn’t Martha Fielding sound like someone who wears orthopedic sandals and tells you stories while doing your Pap smear?
She might have a plate of home baked cookies at the check out desk.
” Sam giggled. Marlowe took that as a good sign.
“Oh absolutely,” Marlowe said. “She’ll hand us chocolate chip cookies after the exam. Maybe with a pamphlet that says So You Think You’re Still Fertile.”
They dissolved into helpless, healing laughter.
Finally, Marlowe held out her pinkie. “Sister pinkie promise?” They hadn’t done this since they were kids.
Sam linked hers immediately. “What are we promising?”
“That whichever one of us ends up being the surrogate… the other won’t be sad or mad. No guilt. No resentment. No dramatic sighing at Thanksgiving.”
Sam squeezed gently. “I haven’t done a secret sister pinkie squeeze since grade school. But I agree.”
Marlowe squeezed back and tried to smile.
She just hoped that when the time came, they’d both still be okay with that pledge.