Free Vada Faith by Barbara A. Whittington Page B

counter. “Would you?” Her eyes narrowed accusingly.
    “No.” I’d say anything to get her to shut up. I put the broom away.
    “Good.” She dropped the card into the trash can.
    I puttered around while she gathered up her things. I intentionally let her leave ahead of me.
    When she was gone, I pulled Barry’s card out of the trash and pushed it into the side pocket of my purse. I was tired of her running my life.
    As I locked the shop, I noticed the baby store next door. From the window a baby boy stared up at me with solemn blue eyes. He wore a sailor suit and navy hat, his blonde hair curling around the edges of the hat. He reminded me of my own fair-haired girls when they were babies.
    Walking past the display, I felt the baby’s eyes following me. I looked back cautiously. Of course, his eyes hadn’t moved or had they? Was this a sign I was going to give birth to a son? What a silly thought. I was letting my nerves get the best of me.
    I was relieved when I finally turned the corner. Dottie Kilgore was beginning to rub off on me, thinking that the mannequin baby was watching me. Still, I hastened my footsteps and ran the last block home. The insemination was growing closer. Was I coming unglued at the thought?

Chapter Ten
    “I don’t know about this surrogacy,” John Wasper said, as he carried the wooden jelly cabinet into the kitchen from his workshop in the garage. It was late Sunday evening. He had worked on the piece all weekend. “I like it less since meeting the Kilgores.” The muscles in his arms rippled with the weight of the cabinet as he strained to move it himself.
    “Perfect,” I said indicating the corner of the big country kitchen where we’d placed the cabinet. “The light from the window falls on the cabinet here.” The double windows were long and lace covered. The sun dappled the cupboard as he put it in place.
    “I wish you’d move this rug,” he said, catching his foot on the red apple rug I’d placed by the back door. “Someone’s going to fall and get hurt. Probably you or one of the girls. You’re always falling.”
    “I love it.” I ran my hand down the beautiful cabinet, ignoring his remark about the surrogacy and the rug at the door. The surrogacy was still a sticking point and we’d been over the issue of the rug before. He didn’t like throw rugs. Period. The color scheme in my kitchen centered around red apples and the rug worked well. Besides it kept dirt from being tracked into the kitchen.
    Right then I was more interested in the placement of the jelly cabinet. The piece matched the oak farmhouse table and chairs he’d refinished a few months back. He bought all our stuff from garage and estate sales. He could take a piece of furniture and make it look new. Better than new, really. Everything in our house had been refinished or made by him. He was as good at making things from scratch as he was at refinishing old things. The house had the kind of interior that could be featured in Southern Living. Even the exterior of the old house, with its wraparound porch, would make a magazine cover with the lush flower beds he’d planted. We couldn’t afford to update everything. Not all at once and I was tired of piecemeal. The place needed serious repairs. John Wasper was doing it himself, and at the rate he was going the place wouldn’t be finished until our golden anniversary. I couldn’t wait that long.
    Since the days of trailer living, I’d looked forward to having a new home. I’d fallen in love with the beautiful homes out in Crystal Springs. I longed for French doors and a bath off the master bedroom.
    “Can we talk a minute?” He asked, pouring a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table.
    “Sure.” I opened the dishwasher and started loading dishes into it.
    “Have you thought about every angle of this surrogacy? How it will affect the girls? Your job? What about us, honey?” He gave me a serious look. “We still have a marriage here.” He