Gradually, however, the nausea began to increase, each day worse than the one before. Jamie’s two main concerns were looking after her dog and not throwing up, and it was becoming difficult to do either. Being on her feet not only made her more nauseated, it made her dizzy. When she fell and hit her head on the corner of the coffee table, Freda stitched up her scalp and ordered her to bed. When Ralph was sent to stay in the security office, Jamie didn’t even protest.

In spite of the bed rest, the nausea increased. Just the act of lifting her head from the pillow made Jamie feel sick. She wished she had never heard of surrogate motherhood. She’d rather be homeless on the streets of Austin than enduring a continuous state of nausea. Her tortured stomach rejected even the tiniest sip of water and had her reaching for the basin on her bedside table.

Freda came twice a day to give her IV fluids. “This will pass, sugar,” the nurse assured Jamie. “I promise that it will. And don’t worry about your baby. Nature looks after babies first and mothers second.”

Jamie wanted to correct Freda. The baby in her womb was not her baby. It belonged to Amanda Hartmann. But talking took too much effort. And to think that she had willingly subjected herself to this torture! If she ever decided to have a child of her own, she would adopt one.

Once a day, Miss Montgomery and Freda would help Jamie to the shower, where she would sit on a metal stool and allow the hot water to stream over her body. Which was heaven. For a time she could almost forget about the nausea. Then her two keepers would decide she had been in heaven long enough and dry her off, then help her into a nightshirt and back into bed. She hated being so helpless, but she was grateful to them. “You’re very kind,” she would say. Of course, a little voice inside her head would remind her that it was not just kindness that motivated the two women. Caring for her was one more way they could serve Amanda Hartmann. When Miss Montgomery was alone with Jamie, she was less gentle as she helped her back and forth to the bathroom or lifted her head so she could take a sip of water. “One of the reasons Amanda selected you was because you seemed so strong and healthy,” the housekeeper mumbled on one occasion. “And just look at you. You have no idea what you are putting that dear woman through.”

Jamie now slept most of the time. Wakefulness meant the return of nausea. When she felt herself waking, she would concentrate on going back in the other direction. Often she would find herself stalled just on the edge. Not asleep. Not awake. Balancing there like a trapeze artist on a high wire.

She was seldom alone. If the nurse or Miss Montgomery wasn’t with her, one of the housemaids would watch over her. And even at night, she was aware of Miss Montgomery coming into her bedroom to check on her. Sometimes she would sit in the corner chair for a time. Or kneel beside the bed and pray that God would watch over the blessed baby in this young woman’s womb.

But sometimes it was Jamie’s grandmother sitting in the corner chair. At times, she could even feel her grandmother’s gentle hands placing a damp washcloth on her forehead.

When Jamie woke during the night, she would look to see if anyone was sitting in the chair, hoping that her grandmother would be there. Of course, she knew perfectly well that Granny was dead and that she was hallucinating because she was so weak. But she didn’t care about the reason why. She liked having her grandmother look after her.

One night Jamie felt well enough to speak to her. “Is it hard for you to come here, Granny? Do you have to ask permission?”

Granny cackled like an old hen laying an egg. Which seemed strange. Jamie couldn’t ever remember her grandmother laughing like that.

Jamie struggled to rise onto an elbow and gave the shadowy figure in the corner a better look. The woman had long white hair rather than her grandmother’s frizzy halo.

“You’re not my grandmother,” Jamie said accusingly.

“Never said I was,” the shadowy figure said.

“Who are you, then?” Jamie asked, allowing her head to sink back on the pillow. She felt light-headed. Maybe she was still asleep and having a strange dream. Then she realized the most incredible thing.

She wasn’t nauseated.

The figure in the corner rose from the chair and came closer to the bed. It was an old, disheveled woman who smelled bad. “I am Mary Millicent,” the woman said. “I can save your soul if you want me to.”

“Mary Millicent Tutt?” Jamie asked.

The old woman sat on the side of the bed. “Tutt? Yes, that’s my name. And there was another name, too.” She frowned and looked around the room as though searching for her other name. “Oh, dear, what was it?”

“Hartmann?” Jamie suggested.

“Yes. The man I married was named Hartmann. Jason Hartmann. He had a penis as long as a hammer handle.”

I must be dreaming, Jamie decided. She closed her eyes and eased her body back into a sleeping position. But the woman smelled, she reminded herself. She couldn’t remember ever smelling someone in a dream.

Maybe she should take a second look.

But when she opened her eyes, the malodorous old woman was gone.

First light was coming through the window when next she woke. Jamie lay very still and put her hands on her stomach, which was tender from all that retching. With great effort, she stretched her legs and lifted her arms over her head. Her muscles felt as though they were made of Jell-O. But the nausea had retreated.

She glanced at the corner of the room recalling her strange dream, which was already growing fuzzy. A dream about Amanda Hartmann’s mother? That was just too weird. If she was going to keep on having dreams about old dead women, she would much prefer limiting them to just her grandmother.

Jamie rolled onto her side and tentatively put one foot and then the other on the floor and pushed herself to a sitting position. She felt hollow and weak but not queasy. “Hot damn!” she said.

Very carefully, she made her way into the bathroom, where she used the toilet and brushed her teeth. Then, feeling stronger with each step, she went into the sitting room, where she got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. She inhaled several breaths of the clean morning air then sipped the deliciously cold water and watched as daylight crept across the sky, erasing the stars as it went.

“A new day,” she whispered, then turned to go inside and get on with her day-a day that would not be spent in bed.

As she closed the doors, she realized the holly bushes were dead. The inside plants were still alive but no one had thought to water the ones on the balcony. She wouldn’t bother to replace them, she decided.

She walked over to her desk and looked at the calendar. She wasn’t sure what day it was, but it must already be well into September. She had been sick for almost a month.

The first thing she was going to do was take a nice hot bath, she decided-all by herself!

That was where Miss Montgomery found her-in the bathtub. “What do you think you’re doing!” the housekeeper shrieked.

“I’m feeling better,” Jamie said, covering her breasts with her arms. “Thank you so much for all you have done to help me get through this, but I need to have my privacy back.”

The woman stood there for a time, glowering. “You don’t even have a bath mat on the floor. You could slip and fall.”

Jamie took the bath mat hanging on the side of the tub and dropped it to the floor. “Thank you,” she repeated. “I know this has been difficult for you, but I’m fine now. Really I am. I would appreciate it if you closed the bathroom door when you leave. It’s rather drafty with it open.”

With a huff, the housekeeper turned heel and left. She did not close the bathroom door.