Chapter 19
Samantha
Sam hated feeling this nervous, but here she was, checking her watch for the fifth time in an hour. She’d tabled all her work today because Marlowe had an appointment with Dr. Fielding. Sam had already gone to her second one earlier in the week.
Thank goodness Aunt Cate was out somewhere.
Sam had no desire to drag her aunt into the confusing world of surrogacy logistics.
The whole thing was maddeningly complicated: physical requirements, legal requirements, emotional requirements.
Possible barriers lurked everywhere. Most clinics preferred surrogates who had already delivered a baby, which neither she nor Marlowe had. Their ages weren’t ideal either.
Naturally their aunt was curious. Never prying, she asked careful questions.
Sam wondered if their aunt would take sides.
She had never done that in the past but this was different.
Would she secretly root for one niece over the other?
Sam doubted it. Her aunt had always been fair.
Well, unless the topic was Izzy. Izzy always got a slightly bigger share of affection.
Nobody could blame her for that. She’d been seven when their whole world fell apart.
Sam drifted into the pantry. Usually she wasn’t a sugar person, but the cookie jar was calling her name.
She grabbed four or five Oreos, dropped them into a paper towel, and headed outside.
The hammock’s fabric was cold against her back as she settled in.
Should’ve brought her navy sweater. The sun was slipping behind the trees, shadows swallowing the woods that edged their property.
She could hear the low shush of the waves on the beach below.
Lake Michigan sounded restless. Like her.
Why hadn’t she brought milk? Sam’s mouth felt dry but she was too tired to get up. So she nibbled the double-stuffed Oreos, one after another, ignoring the crumbs that dropped onto the paper towel.
This hammock always brought her mother back, and that was probably also true for her sisters.
Even though Gabby had swapped out the mildewed fabric, the hammock held a bit of magic for them all.
When Sam was little, she’d curl beside Mom on the hammock during her quick after-lunch naps.
Their dad had taken a picture of them one summer day.
Sam wondered where that picture had gone.
Later, when Marlowe was a baby, Sam would still crawl into the hammock, trying to reclaim a sliver of those quiet moments.
“Mom, if you’re looking down, please help us.”
The words slipped out, straight from her heart.
Competing with Marlowe felt uncomfortable. She’d spent most of her childhood protecting her. And now that they were both in Charlevoix for good, their friendship was finally blossoming. Sam loved their nighttime talks and private jokes. She cherished that sisterly love.
But she also wanted to have the baby. Needed it, for some reason.
Needed it for Izzy and for herself.
She was having trouble coming to terms with that fierce need.
Why had it become so important to her? This need felt like more than just wanting the baby for Izzy.
What piece had taken her down this road?
She’d never been needy. Sam was a woman who could face anything.
Her parents’ deaths had shown that. So what now?
Was it her age? Maybe. Wrinkles had started to appear in her cheeks. Working late into the night brought consequences. When she woke up with bags under her eyes, she was horrified. Cream didn’t help and neither did concealer. Forty-two and she was getting on. How did her customers see her?
And then there was Kurt and Chelsey. She couldn’t even look at her ex-husband’s family pictures on Facebook.
His new wife was so fresh-faced. So young.
Young enough to have a baby by accident, while that seemed to have been denied to the Quinn sisters.
Maybe Sam wasn’t ready to close the door on her girlhood.
Had she ever admitted to herself that children were out of the picture and that was fine?
Right now being childless didn’t feel fine.
This might be her last chance to experience pregnancy, to feel a baby move inside her, to know what other women learned about motherhood. Was she hoping that carrying Izzy’s baby would fix something? Or maybe fill in something that was missing?
What a shocking revelation.
Sure, if one of them did have Izzy’s baby, they would both babysit.
Izzy had already promised that. Was babysitting enough?
Right now it wasn’t feeling like it. Sam was used to calling the shots.
But they were all adult women now. The words echoed in her mind, blunting her surging need to be the decision maker, as she had been for years.
“Mom, let me be the one,” she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut. Sure Marlowe would be disappointed, but her sister was strong. She’d get over it. Right now, Sam wasn’t feeling strong about anything.
Then it hit her. What if neither of them was approved? Sam shut down that thought quickly. Izzy would be devastated. And so would they.
A familiar engine rumbled up the driveway.
Marlowe’s blue convertible was kept in the garage.
It was a show piece with a big engine and deserved special handling.
They’d all agreed. Now she was coming slowly up the driveway that took forever to shovel after a snowfall.
Seth had mentioned building a larger garage for them, but that would require digging into the dune.
And that could pose all kinds of problems. Their supposedly simpler life in Charlevoix sometimes felt more complex with every passing week.
Only one Oreo remained on her paper towel.
There were crumbs everywhere. She began finding them with a wet fingertip.
“Oh, Mom,” she murmured, pressing down on the crumbs.
“I hardly ever asked you for anything. Okay, a baby sister years ago, and you gave me two. But right now, I need this. After the divorce, after Josh…” The words stuck in her throat.
Her chest clenched. “Everything hurts.”
“What are you mumbling about out here?” Marlowe stepped onto the porch, unzipping her corduroy jacket. Her cheeks were rosy, her grin wide. Sam’s sister crackled with energy.
“Just thinking out loud,” Sam said quickly. She wasn’t about to admit she’d been pleading with their mother’s spirit like a desperate child.
Marlowe plucked the last cookie from the paper towel. “You going to eat this?”
“Nope. It has your name on it.”
Marlowe dropped into the rocking chair, munching happily.
“So,” Sam asked, bracing herself, “how did your appointment go?”
“Great. I’m on to the next specialist.” Marlowe stretched out like she owned the porch. In fact, she looked ready to lift her feet onto the coffee table, which Aunt Cate had expressly forbidden.
“So you’re going to the cardiologist? Dr. Huggins?”
Marlowe paused mid-crunch. “No, I’m going to a psychologist. He’s supposed to decide whether I can emotionally handle being a mother.” She laughed at the last part.
Sam didn’t. Her heart clenched hard.
“What’s wrong?” Marlowe asked, brushing crumbs off her lap and onto the sea grass rug. What did she care if someone else had to vacuum them up?
“My next appointment isn’t with a psychologist. It’s with the cardiologist. Dr. Fielding didn’t mention anything about that to you?”
“Nope.” Marlowe kicked off her flats. “Maybe that comes later?”
Silence pressed in, broken only by the wind in the trees and a distant bird call. Sam’s pulse fluttered anxiously. “I thought both of us would have a cardiac appointment, but you don’t?”
“No. Maybe that will come later for me. After the psychologist.”
The porch had become very cold and Sam shivered. Marlowe tipped her head. “Look, Sam… we agreed, right? Whoever’s chosen, the other one would be happy for her?”
Weeks ago, that promise had been easy. They’d both been hopeful, excited, na?ve.
“Of course.” Sam scrubbed her hands over her arms to warm up. “All that matters is Izzy and Skipper getting their baby.”
The words felt hollow. Marlowe nodded, content.
She didn’t seem to feel the same wrenching need twisting inside Sam.
For Marlowe, maybe the pregnancy would be another award, like all the running awards she was collecting in her room.
For Sam, it was fulfillment. Dramatic but tonight that’s how she felt.
“You had a doctor in Chicago, right?” Marlowe said. “I’m sure you kept up with your checkups.”
Guilt prickled hot in Sam’s stomach. “Actually, I didn’t. Work was crazy and then the divorce got so messy. I haven’t seen a doctor in years.”
“Dr. Fielding will probably help you catch up on your mammogram and all that.”
“I guess.” The years she’d let slip by suddenly felt heavy. “I see the cardiologist next week, I think.”
“Any word from Josh?” Marlowe asked softly.
“Oh, he called a couple times.” Sam’s throat tightened. “I’m not answering.”
Marlowe winced sympathetically. “His mom asked about you at bingo.”
“That’s surprising. Was she conducting a wellness check?”
Marlowe laughed. “I asked her the same question. She didn’t get the joke.”
“She never did. I’m glad I’m out of that.”
“You two seemed good together.” Her sister sounded regretful. Reuniting with Josh may have brought back a lot of summer memories for all of them.
“I tried, Marlowe. Really I tried. But I guess I wasn’t enough. Didn’t bake enough cookies for his kids.”
Marlowe leaned forward. “Sam, that’s not it. He needs to figure out what he wants. You know that, right? Patients and work won’t keep him warm after his kids go to college.”
How complicated her life had become.
“You know what?” Sam sighed. “He just became too much work. Isn’t a man supposed to court you?”
“In an ideal world, yes.” Marlowe lifted her shoulders as if to say she really didn’t know.
The front door slammed. Aunt Cate hummed cheerfully in the hallway.
“We’re on the porch!” Marlowe called out.
Bags crinkled as their aunt took them into the kitchen and set them down.
She stepped onto the porch moments later, cheeks rosy from the fall chill.
Sam was always struck by how pretty her aunt was.
The older they got, the more Sam noticed.
So, where were the wrinkles on Aunt Cate’s face?
New York probably had excellent plastic surgeons.
“Aunt Cate, have you ever had work done? You know, on your face.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” But their aunt was blushing.
Giving Sam a look as if she questioned her sanity, Marlowe said, “Of course she hasn’t. So, Aunt Cate, where have you been?”
“Lunch with Gabby.” Aunt Cate settled herself on the loveseat. “Then some shopping.”
“Where?” Sam asked.
“Here and there. Found some holiday things for Holly. Gabby had to hear all about my dinner with Winston.”
“I bet that was fun,” Sam said, though she already suspected it hadn’t been.
Aunt Cate made a face. “Not really. She agreed that he’s set in his ways.”
Marlowe smirked. “Any other bachelors lined up?”
“Good heavens, no.”
There would never be another Uncle Monty. In private conversations Sam and her sisters agreed that their uncle would be a hard guy to replace.
“I stopped at Little Bay Gourmet,” Cate added. “Picked up quinoa salads, along with chicken or salmon.”
“Healthy. I’m for it.” Marlowe gave Aunt Cate a thumbs up.
After Aunt Cate sat down and Sam had dashed inside to get a sweater, they settled into easy talk about Holly, the holidays, and the coming winter. But Sam’s mind drifted.
Why had she been sent to a cardiologist, while Marlowe was going to see a psychologist?
The question pressed into her chest, heavy as a stone.
When the conversation lagged, Sam slipped into the kitchen and began to empty the cabinets and drawers.
The new kitchen was a horrible mess. Glasses in with the plates and everyone knows that’s not how you do it.
No order to them at all. Aunt Cate had said she’d take care of organizing the kitchen.
But it never happened. Lately, their aunt seemed so preoccupied.
Sam took off her sweater and got to work.