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Vada Faith wants to get ahead in life.
But will being a surrogate mother cost her the family she already has?
When Vada Faith decides to become the first surrogate mother in Shady Creek, West Virginia, she believes it will make her special. She’s always wanted to be known as “somebody.” Having been raised by her father on the outskirts of town in a run down trailer she’s always felt she had to prove herself.
She wants to be more than the wife of local football hero, John “Wasper” Waddell, more than the mother of twins. Certainly, more than the town’s most sought after hair stylist, in the shop she owns with her judgmental twin sister, Joy Ruth.
Vada Faith is tired of living in the old Victorian home her husband inherited from his Grandma Belle, even if it is rumored Eleanor Roosevelt once sat in one of the wicker chairs still on their front porch. Vada Faith yearns for a big house in the swanky new subdivision of Crystal Springs. Then, like an answer to a prayer, Roy and Dottie Kilgore swoop into town, wanting a child of their own and bringing money to burn.
But, in going after her own dream, will Vada Faith destroy the lives of those she loves?
From Chapter Two
My very first lesson in small town dynamics came the summer I met John Wasper Waddell.
It was hot that afternoon, the day he and his big brother Bruiser, and his younger brother Bobby Joe, rode up in front of our trailer on brand new bikes. Bruiser put down his shiny kick stand and yelled from the middle of the yard, "Hey, you twins. You wanna build a fort?"
John Wasper and Bobby Joe had hopped off their bikes and stood beside him staring across the yard at us.
It was almost too good to be true. There were no kids on our road and most days Joy Ruth and I were left to amuse ourselves.
"Yes,” Joy Ruth and I screamed in unison, “we wanna build a fort."
We jumped from the front porch steps where we'd been fighting over the comics and raced to meet them, tripping over our flip flops as we went. We showed the boys the creek that ran along the back of the property. They promptly jumped in and splashed us until our shorts and shirts clung to our skinny bodies like Saran Wrap and our blond hair hung in strings. We didn’t care.
When their backs were turned we pushed them into the creek and fell in behind them, laughing and splashing.
That was the beginning of our friendship. The boys came nearly every day after that and we spent hours hammering tree houses and forts and building dams in the creek to keep the turtles and frogs from escaping.
If only we’d kept to that simple routine.