Surrogate Redux

When firefighters were finally able to get to the car, it had been rendered an almost unrecognizable knot of smoldering metal. Unsafe and imprudent as it was to send a team one hundred feet down the shale gully with a hose when they first arrived on scene that night, first responders, firefighters, Sheriff’s deputies, and a small gathering of neighbors had watched the vehicle burn itself out for a full hour and a half from along the shoulder above.

“What do you make of this one, Mort?” The sheriff asked the fire marshal.

“Hey, Sunny. He had to have been pushing ninety to make it that far down.”

“These curves won’t hold much over sixty-five. At this hour, probably been drinking.”

Mort traced his light over the blacktop just uphill of them. “Didn’t even leave an inch of tire on the road.”

“We know if it was just the driver alone?”

“Hard to tell in that mess. Hell, the driver’s barely there. I bet pieces made it all the way down to the lake.”

Sunny ran his fingers into his hair. “Gonna be a bitch trying to identify anything.”

Mort gestured his flashlight at one of the pine trees just past the crushed guard rail. The full front cowling of the Audi hung from a broken branch.

“Is that the fucking bumper?!” Sunny said.

“Looks it.”

“I’ll be damned. If the plate’s still on it, I’m buying a lottery ticket.”

***

Lynn Fordice was in her kitchen pouring a second glass of pinot noir and starting to feel her anger wane when her cell rang and the sheriff, Sunny Burgess, informed her that there was a horrible accident and her husband, Martin, was dead.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Fordice,” Sheriff Burgess said. “I hate to ask at this time of night, but could you come down to the office to make an identification?”

“Of course. Give me about thirty minutes,” Lynn said. She hung up and raised her wine glass. “Of course I’ll come down and make sure that asshole’s dead.”

Sheriff Burgess told her the car and body were destroyed beyond recognition and not anything she was expected to look at, but Lynn was able to confirm that it was her husband Martin’s car from pictures of the bumper and his vanity plate, ap3x r3ltor. Lynn also informed the sheriff that Martin had left the hospital earlier that afternoon in a huge rush.

In the interview room, Lynn sat in a chair across from the sheriff and clutched a Kleenex. Her eyes were red from rubbing them with her fingers.

“Our surrogate was having our baby, a boy, I can’t have kids, you see, and he got a call that a two-million-dollar sale had fallen through, he’s in real estate, he was so upset, ughhh, I told him to go and now he’ll never meet his son.”

What she didn’t tell the sheriff was that their surrogate was her husband’s secretary. A strawberry blonde she first met at her husband’s annual client holiday party whose perky breasts gleefully bounced under a black shift dress every time she laughed a little too enthusiastically at Marty’s jokes.

What she didn’t tell the sheriff was that, that afternoon, a large baby boy with a shock of curly red hair had slipped into the doctor’s hands and wailed loudly before being whisked away in a blanket to the warming table to be cleaned up, given the requisite medical once-over, swaddled tightly, and placed in Julia’s arms.

What she didn’t tell the sheriff was that Lynn and Julia looked up at Martin in murderous unison, and Martin could not shrink small enough or retreat from the room fast enough to avoid the realization that he was fucked.

Sheriff Burgess cleared his throat and Lynn’s mind swung back to the small, bland interview room with its small table, one-way mirror, and uncomfortable molded plastic chair. She sat upright and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Again, I’m sorry, Mrs. Fordice…”

“Please, call me Lynn.”

“Okay…Lynn. Sorry, but I have to ask…did your husband drink?”

“Oh yes, but not to excess. He’s a pretty straight arrow.” She let her hands fall in her lap and her chin to her chest. Forlorn looks came easy to Lynn. It was genuine, but not for the reasons the sheriff likely assumed. “This is my fault. He wanted to stay. I shouldn’t have told him to go.”

Sheriff Burgess told her several times it wasn’t her fault and said it also didn’t look like there was any evidence of foul play. It was an unfortunate accident caused by excessive speed in a reduced speed zone. Lynn signed some paperwork, held the sheriff’s hand in both of hers as she thanked him for his condolences, and headed for the front doors.

Lynn got in her car and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. “Jesus Christ, I look like shit. Thanks a million, Marty.”

Once home, she poured another glass of wine, took a drink, and thought, therapy will fun this week. She carried her glass from the kitchen, turned out lights and armed the alarm system, and walked upstairs to take a shower. She got out of her clothes, turned on the water, and brushed out her hair in the bathroom mirror. She’d go to the hospital in the morning to break the news to Julia.

“That’s enough damn excitement for one day.”

***

Lynn woke more rested than she’d been in years. She slid from the bed, stretched toward the ceiling, and tugged her pajama pants back down on her waist before shuffling downstairs. A pot of coffee was halfway through brewing. She poured a cup, added sweet creamer, and went outside to sit in the sun on the patio. Julia was recovering in the hospital and had no idea the father of her baby was dead. Burned to an unrecognizable crisp, she thought.

Lynn was surprised she didn’t feel more anxious about having to tell her. Years of heartache and resentment and loneliness were suddenly, almost magically resolved. Abracadabra, she thought and sipped her coffee.

Lynn met Martin at a housewarming cocktail party. She attended at the behest of her best friend and college roommate from Wellesley, who had married a wine magnate, who had purchased Sydney the modest $1.5 million summer home on Canandaigua Lake where the women downed heavily poured pinot grigios, gin and tonics, dirty martinis, and the men smoked cigars on the boathouse dock with four fingers of Pappy Van Winkle or Belvedere.

Sydney led Lynn on a beeline to the front patio. “Aaand this gentleman is our realtor. Martin Fordice. Martin, this gorgeous thing is Lynn Foster.”

Lynn shot her friend the smiling I’m going to murder you look.

“Nice to meet you,” Lynn said.

“And you,” Martin smiled. Lynn liked his smile. Great teeth. “Sydney’s raved about you all week.”

“Sooo, I’m going to get a refill!” Sydney blurted. “Can I get you kids anything? No? Okay. Bye now.”

“Ahh, Syd,” Lynn said. “If I didn’t love her, I’d hate her.”

Martin offered a confused smile.

“Never mind. Long story,” she said. “So. How’d you get into real estate?”

Martin responded as if he’d been asked the question several hundred times and never tired of telling the story.

As a young and hungry agent, he caught a buyer from Connecticut who was interested in an almost inaccessible rustic lake house on a quarter-acre piece of property that narrowed at its lakefront to a laughable fifteen feet. Given his brutal roster of fixer-uppers, multi-family homes, and double-wide trailer park lots, the lake property was a bone thrown to the rookie by the owner of the agency, much to the enjoyment of Martin’s more seasoned colleagues.

“‘If someone’s looking for shitty lake access, you’ll be their man,’” Marty recounted his boss saying. “All the while his own prime lakefront listings sat dead on the water for months with unreasonable asking prices and not a single offer.”

The buyer paid asking price in cash and immediately contracted Martin to approach the adjacent property owners, all of whom enjoyed hundreds of feet of frontage and none of whom were in the market to sell and determine what they’d need to part with their cottages and lake homes.

“Within three months, I had brokered four more sales for the guy, almost six million dollars. That opened a door to a level of clientele that allowed me to tell my boss and the other brokers to go fuck themselves.”

At first blush, Martin gave Lynn some narcissist vibes, normally an immediate deal-breaker. But she talked herself into confident instead because, yes, he obviously was smart and successful, but she also didn’t want to stop checking out the way he held a rocks glass, or his chest filled his light cotton dress shirt, or his ass flexed when he’d turn even the slightest bit. She caught him scanning her cleavage, so she feigned interest in something behind her and turned to make sure her best asset was available for viewing as well.

Lynn made him nervous, which she liked. And he turned her on, which she also liked. She was able to poke playful holes in his big-business machismo and reduced him to a boyish, grinning blush in front of two other couples with a wink and well-placed innuendo. Lynn enjoyed him, and her with him, to the point where later that evening, she finally hit her limit, took Martin’s hand, and led him upstairs to have loud, aggressive sex in Sydney’s bed.

Lynn and Martin were inseparable during the honeymoon phase of their marriage, never missing an opportunity to attend a party, fundraiser, or dinner with clients, and never missing an opportunity to feed their penchant for sex in risky places those venues provided. They lived in a whirlwind of indulgence and spontaneity.

In keeping with societal expectations, Lynn tutored for a local literacy organization, served on the boards of the United Way and Memorial Art Gallery, and mentored young women in a STEM program. She worked part-time happily surrounded by plants and flowers at a nursery, spent hours getting her hands dirty in her gardens, attended yoga retreats, and was part of a wine tasting group with Sydney and some other wealthy female friends affectionately called Vino Vixens.

At Martin’s urging, and unbeknownst to anyone but Sydney, she also spent one evening a week at a private gun range with a .38 caliber revolver her husband gave her shortly after they were married.

“You never know when you’ll have to defend yourself against crazy,” he had said when she opened the small gun case with wide eyes. “I want you to feel safe when I’m not around.”

Lynn had secretly dreamed of shooting guns since she first came across Annie Oakley: Little Sure Shot at a scholastic book fair in elementary school. Her dad didn’t own any guns, not even a BB or pellet rifle, just a lot of fishing gear and binders full of stamps and coins. He had tried to get her interested in all three pastimes but wanted so badly to learn how to shoot targets from a horse or coins out of the air. Lynn was embarrassed by his disinterest in hunting or target shooting, unlike some of her other friends’ cooler dads, and would avoid him like she’d see her mom often do.

Martin was the furthest thing from her father, which gave her an immense sense of relief.

Considering the tales of marital woe from other wives and the regular, you’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart, Lynn felt supremely lucky to have the life she had with Martin. She knew he was the exception, not the rule.

Soon enough, though, Lynn did find out. As the novelty of spontaneous sex, expensive dinners out, cocktail parties, and weekend escapes wore off, she felt a gauzy shadow creep between them and Martin grew increasingly distant.

“Sorry I didn’t call at lunch today,” he’d say while checking his phone during dinner. “It’s been ridiculously busy!”

“Headed to the gym,” he’d whisper if she managed to catch him in the kitchen on his way out at 5 am. “I’ll be late tonight. Dinner meeting with an out-of-town buyer.”

“I’m tacking a couple days on the end of the realtor conference to meet with the CEO of a private equity firm,” he’d say while he was packing to leave for the conference. “Possible new lending option. Sorry, it just came up today.”

Days without intimacy turned into weeks, which turned into months. Lynn thought maybe he’d respond if she instigated, but he consistently put her off, and she simply stopped trying. She let herself fantasize about taking another man to bed but knew she wouldn’t be able to do it if the opportunity arose. She settled for the short-lived, but always correctly done, release of self-gratification.

One afternoon, Marty had come home at a normal hour and was thumbing through the mail in the kitchen.

“Wasn’t expecting you home so early,” she said. “At all, for that matter.”

“Quiet week.” Martin went into the pantry and returned with Ritz crackers, then found cheese in the refrigerator. “Everyone’s on vacation.”

“From the office?” Lynn bet that Julia was out of town. No ass for you tonight.

“That and anyone who has a mil or two to spend on a house.”

Marty grabbed a cutting board and a knife for the cheese. Lynn walked into the living room, poured a glass of wine and Marty a bourbon, and returned to the kitchen.

“Been a while since we had a drink together.” Lynn felt a twinge of nerves in her belly. Not so much for her husband. He roused no feelings in her anymore, other than occasional disgust. The nerves had more to do with the intimacy of the situation. Quiet, unhurried human contact. A strange anticipation. Almost a nostalgia as she imagined this being the way it was supposed to be. That she still wished it could be, somehow, but knowing that deal was long done.

“It’s been an insane year,” Martin said. “Can’t close deals unless you’re at the table.”

“Or the bar.”

“That, too.”

Lynn took a sip of her wine, swallowed, let a heartbeat pass, and said, “I want to be a mom.”

Marty was three chews through a mouthful of cracker and cheese. “You goo?!”

“Yes, Marty. I do.”

The ice maker in the freezer door hummed and dropped a load of ice in the dispenser.

Lynn knew the marriage was dead. Having a baby was not a Hail Mary. The only thing she needed from Marty was his sperm and his continued ability to sell lavish homes. She wanted to have a child. A bundle of joy to fill the gaping, lonely hole in her heart and give her the chance to be the mother that her mom had never been capable of.

Marty finished his mouthful and chased it with his entire pour of bourbon. “Shit, Lynn. This is kind of out of left field, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s what I want.”

“Have you thought about what having a baby will change in our lives, er, our life?”

“Let’s be real, Marty, it won’t change a fucking thing for you.” Lynn sipped her wine. “You get to play dad once in a while and go do what you’ve always done, as long as we’re well taken care of.”

Marty leaned against the counter, folded his arms, and sighed. Lynn could sense his relief.

“If you’re sure,” he said.

Lynn crossed her arms while holding her wine glass. “I am.”

It would require something they hadn’t done in almost a year, but Lynn knew the whole thing would be over in minutes, and she could easily daydream for that long. Martin took her confirmation as a green light and headed for the stairs to their bedroom.

Lynn shook her head. I guess you do get some ass tonight.

Over the next few months, to the delight of her OBGYN, Lynn gave up wine, cleaned up her diet, started attending yoga three times a week, and had a regimented sleep schedule. She tracked her cycle religiously and had ovulation pinned down to the day, which meant Marty’s libido had to be available to her several days a month under the penalty of a messy and financially devastating divorce.

By the third negative pregnancy test, Lynn became furiously certain that Marty was shooting blanks or had secretly had a vasectomy and was happily fucking her for old times’ sake. She scheduled another OBGYN visit to make sure she had the ammunition to call him out.

“I wish I had better news, Lynn,” her doctor said. “You can’t conceive.”

“Can’t conceive?’ Lynn said. “Like, it would be a bad idea?”

“No, Marty’s sperm can’t get to your eggs, to put it simply.”

Lynn felt like her doctor was speaking another language. “What, are they bad swimmers? I don’t understand.”

“We missed the scar tissue in your fallopian tubes,” she said. “I have to ask, were you ever treated for an STD?”

The blood left Lynn’s face. The guy she dated from Babson. She had tested positive for chlamydia three weeks after she found him with his dick in a redhead’s mouth behind Biddy Early’s. She had completely blocked the whole thing. The surge of memory and irony stung her.

“Goddamn it!”

“You do have options,” her doctor said, but Lynn had stopped listening.

***

Lynn slipped into Julia’s room quietly. She and the baby were asleep. The space was bright with a typical maternity room picture window and walls painted in typical sweeps of maternity room pale green, white, tan, pink, and blue behind typical maternity room cartoon flowers, lambs, and tiger cubs.

She looked at the little boy in his bassinet, swaddled and wearing a little blue stocking cap. His cheeks a perfect cream. She could see small echoes of Martin in his nose and chin. She looked between the baby and Julia and decided he had her pout. He caught a tiny breath and grunt-sighed. Lynn put her purse on the window seat and settled into a rocking chair to wait.

She felt like it was just yesterday Marty had come home early, roared to a stop in the driveway and burst through the front door in a breathless hurry.

“Lynn?!”

“In here.”

She sat on an overstuffed sofa with a glass of wine and an open Cosmo magazine in her lap.

“What if we try surrogacy?”

She couldn’t have been any more stunned if he had walked in and slapped her. A fury started to rise in her at yet another example of her husband’s cavalier lack of empathy, which she dutifully tamped down, repeating in her head her grandmother’s old axiom, “You catch more flies with sugar.” Somehow, she knew this was not a suggestion made with consideration for anyone but himself.

“Oh?”

Mistaking her internal existential battle for lack of enthusiasm, Martin grossly overcompensated.

“I found someone. A woman. Julia. She works for me. She said she’d love to be our surrogate. And I know a doctor, remember Fred Donohue from the Wine and Watercolor fundraiser last year? He and Marge bought the Seneca Point property two summers ago? Well, Fred specializes in IVF, and I know he’d help us out. Plus, Julia’s already on the company health insurance and it’s easy enough to roll support payments for office visits and pregnancy clothes and whatever else she’d need right into her paycheck. The whole thing is one hundred percent doable.”

The holiday party vision of Julia popped into her mind, and Lynn imagined the bubbly pick-me carrying about fifty more pounds in places far less attractive than her chest. A flash of panic struck her that maybe the girl was already pregnant. She laughed to herself. He’s not crazy enough to cook up a scheme that absurd.

“You already asked your secretary if she’d be ok with carrying our baby?”

“Well, yeah. I wanted to make sure I had something lined up before I pitched you the idea. I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then have her say no.”

“But it’s not like she’s the only woman who could be a surrogate. Marty, there’s a whole application and screening process and…”

“Doc Donohue will take care of all the screening. I mean, Lynn, he’s a specialist in this field. Pretty sure we can trust him to make sure everything’s kosher.”

Lynn knew Martin wouldn’t be swayed to take a step back and do some actual research into the best approach to such a profound life choice. But once he had something in his head, he was a dog on a bone. Tenacity was part of why he was successful. Even when he was wrong, he’d still find a way to be right.

The one and only meeting Martin and Lynn had at their home with the surrogate mother-to-be was also carefully scripted by Martin and practiced by Julia.

“What a beautiful home!” Julia gushed as she took off her jacket.

Lynn smiled and led her to the living room, while Martin hovered nearby.

“It’s so admirable that you’re willing to have our child,” Lynn said. “I’m not sure I’d be able to do it. Carry a child for nine months only to let it go. Are you certain you’re ok with this?”

“Oh, yes! I mean, since you’re not able to, and I can always have another of my own, I’m so happy to help.”

Lynn sat as stunned as she had been when Martin first came to her with the proposition. Realizing how tone-deaf Julia’s response was, Martin suddenly came to life.

“How about some charcuterie and sparkling water! I’ll just grab it from the kitchen.”

For nine months, Martin orchestrated the logistics for Lynn’s IVF treatments with Fred Donohue and every routine check-up and ultrasound for Julia as if he were closing on another lucrative sale.

The pregnancy passed uneventfully, with Lynn calling Julia now and then to check in, see how she was feeling, and make sure she didn’t need anything, and Julia offering glowing confirmations of Martin’s updates from visits with her doctor.

The baby began to fuss and mewled a soft cry. Julia woke.

“Hey there,” Lynn said and walked to the bassinet. She scooped the baby carefully and placed him in Julia’s arms after she had raised the back of the bed to sit up.

“How long have you been here?”

“Just got here. How are you feeling?

“Not bad. Tired.” Julia pulled down the neck of her gown, and the baby found her nipple immediately. “Typical boy.”

Lynn smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “I have some bad news.”

Julia looked up.

“Martin’s dead.”

The only sound was the hungry baby sucking. Julia looked down at him.

“He was in a bad car crash. Last night.”

Julia watched the baby catch breaths through his nose between mouthfuls.

“He’s…he’s dead,” Julia said softly and then looked back up to Lynn. “He’s dead?”

Tears ran down her cheeks and dropped from her chin to her breast and ran to the corner of the baby’s mouth. She started to wipe them away but began sobbing.

“I’m so sorry, Julia.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Julia’s nose started to run with her tears and drool that dripped as she spoke.

“I wanted to keep the baby, but Marty told me you can’t have kids, like, ever, and how much it would mean to you and that we could always have another one and he promised he’d take care of me and made sure I had money every month and would have money every month and that everything would work out and you’d have your baby and we’d be together but now…” She paused to take a breath. “But now he’s gone and you’re going to take Luke and I’m gonna have nothing and nobody and I’ll wind up old and probably die childless.”

Luke? Lynn thought. She grabbed a baby blanket and gave it to Julia as she continued to sob and douse the nursing baby with tears, snot, and drool.

“It’s okay,” Lynn turned and sat further up the bed and rubbed Julia’s shoulder and neck. “It’ll be okay. Shhh. I know. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

Julia’s crying started to slow. She sniffed and cleared her throat and wiped her breast and the side of the baby’s face with the blanket before drying her own. The baby let go of her nipple, and milk ran down his chin and into her gown.

“Ugh. What a mess,” Julia said.

“I know,” Lynn said. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Yeah, that, too,” Julia said as she dabbed the towel at the baby and rocked him into her lap to get under her gown.

Lynn watched her for a few seconds. “Here, let me take him for you.” She cradled the baby and placed him back in the bassinet.

“Oh, thanks.” Julia finished cleaning herself, threw the blanket toward the laundry hamper, and pulled her gown back over her shoulder.

“Look, I’ll do my best to help you and Luke out as much as Martin’s life insurance will allow. This whole deal was shitty…for you, for me. I’m sorry he put you through this.”

“That would mean so much. I literally have nothing without him.”

“You mean, we.”

“Huh?”

“You and Luke.”

Julia shot a look at the bassinet and tried to sit up more. “Right. Yes. We’d be in rough shape without the help. Seriously, thank you.”

***

In the weeks that followed, Lynn felt as though she slept better each night and woke up lighter each morning. She had figured the well-rested feeling she had the morning after she learned about Marty’s death was an anomaly, and had steeled herself for years of grief and, likely, significantly more therapy. Instead, she felt an increasing relief. Lynn knew she’d be ok financially. She still had her yoga, gardening, her Vino Vixens, and she felt good about being able to help Julia.

Sydney called and caught Lynn in the middle of deadheading her black-eyed Susan.

“We’re going out for dinner and drinks tonight.”

“What time?” Lynn wiped sweat from her forehead and looked at her watch. “I’ve been in the garden all afternoon. I’m a wreck.”

“Ugh. Okay Grandma. Go get in the shower. I’ll be over in an hour.”

Sydney picked an Italian place that had a bolognese that was, according to her, better than sex.

“I came here last month when Victor was in New Zealand buying another damn winery.” Sydney grabbed a piece of focaccia from the basket and swirled it in a thin drizzle of olive oil.

“My waiter was this hot 20-something that flirted shamelessly and didn’t charge me for dessert.” She looked around. “I don’t see him, though. Maybe he’s off tonight.”

“What’s wrong with the one we have?”

“Really? If you think he’s hot, you’ve definitely been out of the game too long.”

“God, I’ve missed this,” Lynn said and grabbed a piece of bread. “Us. Out.”

“I know.” Sydney raised her wine glass. “Here’s to us doing this more.”

Lynn raised her glass. “God, yes.”

“I’m really sorry, Lynn. I mean, I know he’s dead, and that sucks and all, but I honestly had no idea he’d turn out to be such a douchebag.”

“It’s not your fault. I made the choice to screw him in your bed.”

“You guys were so loud,” Sydney laughed.

“We had a good run,” Lynn shrugged. “Just not a long one.”

“So, what are you doing about the secretary?”

“Julia? I feel bad for her. Raising Luke alone won’t be easy.”

“But you would’ve had to do it if everything went as planned.”

“But I don’t.” Lynn finished her wine. “And I wouldn’t have had to worry about money.”

“She knew you were married and still screwed him. You don’t owe her a damn thing. I don’t trust her. Lynn.”

“I’m not sure I do either, but at least that boy isn’t getting screwed, too.”

The waiter returned. “Your dinners will be out shortly, ladies. More wine?”

‘Yes.” Lynn looked up and gave him a coy smile. “Please.”

Later that night, Lynn lay in bed enjoying the satisfying effects of a perfect bolognese and red wine. She started to drift into a soft sense of drifting from one unidentifiable, familiar place with unidentifiable, familiar people to another. Moving between completely disparate surroundings as naturally as mingling at a party. Like water in a river.

She had just dipped into the velvet when she experienced a sound that came from her dream but that she heard in the vast distance of her waking mind. Lynn sat up and held her breath. The sound of a closing door snapped her to her feet. Lynn opened the small safe under her bed, grabbed her .38, and made her way silently downstairs.

She padded barefoot from the foyer, past the living room, to the short hall that led to a study. As she slid into the partially open doorway, gun aimed into the dark, she saw a shadow freeze across the room. Lynn flipped the light switch, and there stood her husband, a brick of cash in one hand, bound for an open backpack, his passport on the desk.

“Lynn. It isn’t…I was going to…”

“Sit.”

Martin dropped into the office chair and slid the cash to one side of the desk.

“Lynn, I swear, I was going to…”

“Oh, my god. Shut up!

Martin stopped talking. Lynn walked over and sat in the chair opposite Martin, the gun still leveled at him.

“I knew you weren’t fucking dead. You drive like an old lady, and the accident was too convenient.” Darcy sat back and crossed her legs.

Martin swallowed hard. There was no blood in his face.

“How’d you do it? How’d you fake your death?” Darcy waved the gun to say let’s speed this up. “Short story. I don’t want to listen to you ramble like you normally do.”

“One of my clients knew a guy who offers…services. I told him what I wanted, and he told me to leave the keys in the car. The money was in a backpack in the back seat.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

Lynn uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “That’s it?! What, did he give you a friends and family discount?!”

“I didn’t ask, Lynn.” Martin folded his arms and moped. “I just said okay and he said he’d take care of it. I didn’t have much time or choice.”

“Does Julia know?”

Martin sat silently until Lynn raised the gun. “Okay! I called her last night. We were going to leave tonight. I have a charter booked. Costa Rica.”

“Costa Rica,” Lynn nodded.

Martin leaned forward, and she could tell he was now attempting to make a deal.

“I know you hate me, and you have every right to. But you’d have the life insurance and the money in savings and investments. You’d be set for the rest of your life.”

“And what do you get? Aside from a young mother with huge tits? And Jack. What about that little boy?”

“I have an account. Offshore. We’d be set. And Jack will be loved and taken care of.”

Lynn knew Julia gave less than a damn about Jack. He would be a thorn in her side up to the day she’d leave and leave him with Martin.

“Sounds like you have everything planned to a T.”

“I do. It’ll work. All of it. Just call Cal tomorrow and he’ll take care of all the finances.”

“Cal knows where everything is? Does he even know you’re dead…or now not dead?”

“I was going to call him tomorrow and explain everything. Listen, all you need to do is tell him the accounts you need access to.”

Lynn nodded and sat back in her chair.

Martin exhaled and leaned an elbow on the armrest with a relieved smile. “Okay. Good.”

Lynn fired one shot, and the back of Martin’s head sprayed the wall behind him. His chair turned from the force of the shot and his side-leaning weight, and his body slumped and disappeared behind the desk.

Lynn stood and walked to the door. She turned off the light and stood in the ringing darkness for a few moments, then went upstairs to grab her cell phone from her nightstand.

Lynn put the .38 on the bed and dialed her cell.

“Hey, sweetie. I’m sorry it’s so late. I hope I didn’t wake the baby…”

She took off her pajama bottoms and grabbed a pair of jeans from the high-back chair by the window.

“Oh good. Look, I know it’s out of the blue, but I was wondering if I could come by. I had a tough day and could use the company…”

She grabbed a sweatshirt from her closet and pulled it over her head.

“Oh, of course. I’ll stop by tomorrow, if that’s okay…”

Lynn picked up the .38 and walked downstairs.

“Great…Okay, bye now.”

She grabbed her keys from a bowl on the hallway table and put the gun in her purse. Martin’s cell rang from the office. That was fast. Dumbass didn’t even turn off the ringer.

Lynn closed the front door and walked to her car.