Free Vada Faith by Barbara A. Whittington Page A

on television telling people what I planned to do. He didn’t like what I was doing and he wouldn’t want the world to know it.
    “Can you work me in on Tuesday?” He asked, louder now. “I’m desperate for a trim.”
    “Sure,” I said, and penciled him into the appointment book. “See you at 11:00.” I didn’t tell him I hoped by Tuesday he’d be completely bald and I’d have nothing to wash or comb but his shiny head.
    Wearily, I put away the appointment book and went to take my last customer.

Chapter Nine
    “Are you really going through with this?” Joy Ruth asked, as she swept up hair around her chair. It had been a long day and we were both ready to go home.
    “Yes.” I stifled a yawn.
    After spending the day on my feet and listening to customers complain about the ills of the world the thought of being a surrogate mother seemed like a breeze. How hard could having this baby be, anyway? I emptied the small trash can from the shampoo area into the large one by the back door.
    “Women are surrogates because they like being pregnant.” My sister’s voice took on a school teacher tone. “Have you forgotten that you didn’t especially like being pregnant?”
    “How could I forget anything when you’re here to remind me? Seven days a week. You’re like mama’s warped Elvis record that keeps repeating hound dog. Only you like to repeat all my faults.”
    “Not your faults. I wouldn’t need to remind you of anything if you’d just listen the first time around.”
    “You’ve been wanting to talk all day. So, go ahead,” I said, wearily, “talk.”
    “Authentic surrogates are selfless women who really want to help a childless couple. You don’t want to do that. You just want the glory or the money. I never knew you to be so mercenary. How could you do this for, for pocket change?”
    “Oh, give it up,” I snapped, wondering if some of what she said was true. “It’s been a long day. I want to help Roy and Dottie. Can’t you understand? Besides in a few years this will be a common practice. It’s in the Bible.”
    “Are you telling me surrogacy is sanctioned by God?”
    “Don’t you remember the story about Abraham and Sarah. She was infertile. Her maid, Hagar, bore them a child. And,” I said with emphasis, “Abraham and Hagar had to get intimate to do this. Do you see me being intimate with anyone? No, this is strictly clinical. Now, I’m not going to discuss it any further.”
    “Clinical, crap,” she said, emptying the dust pan into the big trash can.
    “It’s just another way to build a family,” I said. “Roy Kilgore wants a child. Is that so wrong? He wants a biological link to his family. He’s older than his wife. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll die and he wants to leave an heir. Besides, I want a new house out in Crystal Springs while I’m young enough to enjoy it.”
    “Do you have to have a baby and give it away, Vada Faith? I’d never do that.”
    “That’s your problem.”
    “How can we be so different? We shared the same space in mama’s womb.”
    “Don’t remind me. I’m tired already.”
    “You’re doing this to hurt me. Admit it.”
    “Why do you personalize everything? Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with you, Joy Ruth. It’s about me. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help me. There’s a difference. According to you, everything I do has a negative affect on you. Get over it. Get a life of your own and stay out of mine.”
    I was sweeping now, pushing the broom back and forth with more energy than I’d had all day. She hurried about picking up magazines that were scattered all around the shop. People could be so messy when they were using someone else’s stuff. I was glad the next day was Sunday and we were closed. I intended to sleep all day with the phone unplugged. I didn’t want to talk to my sister or anyone else.
    “Surely you wouldn’t go on television and talk about this?” She picked up Barry’s card from the