The Secret Life of Ceecee Wilkes (12 page)

“W
ell, if you don’t have the look of a new mom,” Naomi said with a laugh when CeeCee walked into the kitchen Sunday morning. “Completely exhausted.”

CeeCee lowered herself into a chair at the table. Naomi had made her a sling like the one she used with Emmanuel, and she was carrying Sweet Pea in it. The sling had magical powers, she was convinced. After a night of changing wet diapers, cleaning spit up, stumbling to the kitchen to heat formula, and listening to that rhythmic crying that tore at CeeCee’s heart, she’d put the baby into the sling and was rewarded with utter silence and calm.

“There’s oatmeal on the stove,” Naomi said.

CeeCee got to her feet again and scooped some of the oatmeal into a bowl, leaning over so she wouldn’t spill any of the hot cereal into the sling.

“Before you sit, there’s something for you on the counter.” Naomi nodded toward the counter by the stove. CeeCee picked up the manila folder and carried it back to the table.

“What is it?” she asked, taking her seat again.

“Open it and see.”

She opened the folder and pulled out two birth certificates, a social security card and an Oregon driver’s license.

“The top birth certificate is yours,” Naomi said. “That’s your new name.”

CeeCee stared at the typewritten name. Eve Bailey, born in Portland, Oregon, on March 7, 1960. Her parents were Marjorie and Lester Bailey. She stared at those names, picturing the imaginary people to whom they belonged. Marjorie and Lester. They sounded so solid, the names of caring, attentive parents. She already loved them. Maybe she’d grown up in a middle-class neighborhood in a house with a swimming pool. Did people have swimming pools in Oregon? She doubted it, but the image was sharp in her mind.

“My name’s Eve?” She looked at Naomi.

“Now and forever more,” Naomi said. “What do you think?”

“Eve.” She repeated the name out loud. It made her feel older. Older, wiser, more sophisticated. “I don’t think it fits me.”

Naomi smiled. “That’s how I felt about Naomi at first.”

“I keep forgetting you’ve been through all of this yourself,” CeeCee said.

“Oh, yes. And I remember how hard it was to give up my old name and take on a name as oddball as Naomi. But you’ll be amazed how quickly you’ll adjust. I’ll start calling you Eve right now.”

CeeCee smiled slowly. There was safety in a new identity. She had to remember that. “There is no Eve Bailey, right?” She wanted to be sure she understood. “This is a made-up name?”

“That’s right.”

She looked at the birth certificate again. “She’s a year older than me.”

“That’s good. It won’t seem quite so weird that you’ve had a baby.” She leaned forward. “So remember now. You’re seventeen.”

CeeCee peeked inside the sling to make sure the baby was breathing, then picked up the social security card and driver’s license. The social security number was very different from hers and the card was made out, of course, to Eve Bailey. The license had no picture on it. The address was in Portland.

“I’ve never even been west of Chapel Hill,” she said. “Why Oregon? Because it’s as far from here as possible?”

“Oregon doesn’t have pictures on their drivers’ licenses, that’s why,” Naomi said. “When you get to Virginia, go to the Department of Motor Vehicles and get a Virginia license.”

“Virginia? Why am I going to Virginia?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, check out Sweet Pea’s birth certificate.”

She pulled the final document from the envelope. The certificate showed that Corinne Bailey had been born a week ago in Charleston, South Carolina. Eve Bailey was her mother. Her father’s name was blank.

“Who’s her father supposed to be?” CeeCee asked.

“You don’t know. That’s best in a situation like this. Just pretend you slept around and weren’t sure. Otherwise, you can have all sorts of problems later.”

“Like what kind of problems?”

Naomi shrugged. “Like, if you ever needed the father’s permission to do something, now you don’t. And if she finds her birth certificate when she gets older, she won’t go looking for some mythical man.”

“But she’ll think her mother was a tramp.” CeeCee almost laughed.

“Better a tramp than a felon,” Naomi said.

Felon.
The word was sobering. CeeCee Wilkes was a felon. Eve Bailey was a pure blank slate.

“So, why Virginia?” she asked again.

“There’s a woman in Charlottesville named Marian Kazan. You can stay with her while you get your feet on the ground. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard she’s really nice and she runs a day-care center, so she can take care of the baby—of Corinne—while you find a job. That’s got to be the first thing you do when you get up there. Look for work.”

“How do I…I mean I can’t tell them where I worked before.”

“That’s right, you sure can’t. What kind of work were you doing?”

“Waitressing.”

“Perfect. Start at a dive, something low-level where you can tell them you have experience but where they won’t care enough to check your references. If they ask where you worked, make up the name of a place and say it was in Charleston, since that’s where the baby was born. Get experience in your new name, then you can build up a work record and you’ll be home free.”

Naomi made it sound so simple, but CeeCee’s head spun.

“You’d better say your parents were from South Carolina or something, too, because I don’t think people from Oregon sound like you.”

CeeCee nodded.

“And we want you to leave tonight,” Naomi added.

“Tonight?”
CeeCee asked. “How am I going to find my way to Charlottesville at night? How far is it, anyway?”

“About four hours,” Naomi said.

“Don’t make me leave tonight,” CeeCee said. “Please. With the baby and everything.” How would she manage the baby on her own, without Naomi to turn to with every question and insecurity? She suddenly remembered, though, that her plan to leave the baby at the governor’s mansion required darkness. She could pass through Raleigh on her way to Charlottesville and leave the baby on his doorstep. “What about the formula?” she asked. “How will I heat it?”

“We’ll give you a big jug of water to mix the formula with. Put it inside the car instead of the trunk so it stays at room temperature. That car still has heat, doesn’t it?” Naomi looked momentarily worried, until CeeCee nodded. “Okay, then you’ll just give her room-temperature formula. It’ll be fine. Forrest is in town right now buying diapers and formula.”

“What if…what if she chokes or something? Do you know baby CPR?”

Naomi’s smile was patient. “I’ll give you a quick first-aid lesson before you take off,” she said. “You’re really good with her, Eve. You’re a natural mom. You just need to stop worrying so much about everything.”

“Let’s face it,” CeeCee said dryly. “I’ve got a lot to worry about.”

“Pretend you don’t. You’ll attract attention if you seem too paranoid.”

“This lady…Marian?”

“Kazan.”

“She knows I’m coming?”

“She’s expecting you and Sweet Pea late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Stop if you need to sleep, but do it in a parking lot somewhere with a lot of cars so you don’t attract attention. If a pig stops you, you’re on your way to stay with a friend in Charlottesville. You can give them Marian’s name and phone number.”

Marian Kazan would be expecting a girl and a baby. CeeCee would have some explaining to do when she showed up alone.

“The license plate on the car isn’t from South Carolina,” she said.

“We’re taking care of that this afternoon.”

“Man,” CeeCee said. “How do you do all this?” She lifted the birth certificates.

“There’s a good network,” Naomi said. “We haven’t had to use it in a long time and it frankly scares me to get involved with them again, but we have to. Everyone’s pitching in to help you, CeeCee. I mean,
Eve.
And by helping you, they’re helping us and Tim and themselves. We all protect each other.”

“Is Marian part of SCAPE?” CeeCee asked, and knew as soon as the words left her mouth that she shouldn’t have asked. Naomi raised her eyebrows, waiting for her to take the question back.

“Don’t ask, I know.” She was beginning to think half the people in the country were part of SCAPE.

Forrest arrived at two that afternoon, laden with supplies for CeeCee and a South Carolina plate for the car. He’d bought diapers, formula and a pacifier for the baby, who already had a complete wardrobe, thanks to Emmanuel’s hand-me-downs.

“This is your baby shower,” he joked. She’d never met a man more unpredictable than Forrest. Nice one minute, curt the next. He was anxious to have her leave, so he’d probably enjoyed buying her the things that would help her do that.

He’d also bought a flashlight, a laundry basket to serve as a car bed for the baby, and some clothing for CeeCee—jeans and two sweaters that were too large.

“It’s good they’re too big,” Naomi said, looking at the tags on the sweaters. “You’ll look like you recently had a baby.”

Forrest once again spread a map, this one of North Carolina and Virginia, on the kitchen table. He wrote directions for CeeCee and handed them to her. “Don’t forget you’re driving a stick,” he said. “Last thing you need is to screw up and get stopped by the fuzz.”

“Okay,” she said, glancing at the directions. “Would it be okay if I took that map with me, in case I take a wrong turn or something?” She’d need it for the side trip to Raleigh.

He looked at the map for a moment as though considering his answer. “Yeah, you can take it,” he said, folding it up.

“Y’all have been great to me,” she said.

“Like we had a friggin’ choice.” Forrest actually smiled at her. He reached into his shirt pocket and handed her five twenty-dollar bills. “For the road,” he said. “Just remember, you were never here. And you’re never coming back. This time for real, okay? I don’t want to see you on my doorstep again.”

“I know,” she said. She understood the rules now.

Since it was still light out, Forrest carried her things to the car for her. Then she fed the baby in the rocker in front of the fireplace. Naomi sat across from her, nursing Emmanuel. CeeCee was quiet, her fear mounting. Once she walked out the door of this safe haven, she could never come back.

She looked up to see Naomi smiling at her.

“That’s your baby.” Naomi nodded at the infant. “Look at her in your arms. Tell me she doesn’t feel like yours.”

“She doesn’t,” CeeCee said. “She feels like something I stole.”

“No,” Naomi said. “She’s something you saved.”

S
he sat at the intersection of a country lane and Route 70, trying to get the courage to pull onto the wider road. For the past hour, she’d been creeping along the back roads from Naomi and Forrest’s house, wishing she could get to better, less rutted, less isolated streets. Now here she was, paralyzed at the Route 70 entrance. There were not many cars, but those that zipped by did so at a frightening speed. When Tim was teaching her to drive this car, she’d never made it out of third gear.

At least the baby was cooperating. Naomi had suggested keeping her in the sling as she drove, since the infant was sleeping so soundly by the time she left, but that seemed too dangerous. What if she crashed into a tree? So the baby—she refused to call her Corinne, since it wasn’t her place to give her a name—slept in the laundry basket on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Still not the best place in an accident, but she was near the heater and that seemed important.

A car pulled up behind her, honking impatiently. She stepped on the gas and let out the clutch, lurching forward, grinding gears, and her entire body tensed as she pulled onto the road and worked her way up to fourth gear. Then, suddenly, she was flying.

The baby woke up with a wail at seven o’clock. CeeCee pulled onto a quiet, tree-lined country road, and she left the engine running so the car would stay warm as she mixed the formula and fed the infant.

“This is the last time I’ll feed you, Sweet Pea,” she said, lowering her head to kiss the baby’s downy hair. “I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my little buddy the past few days.” She blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. How much loss could one person bear? Her mother. Tim. This beautiful baby. She refused to believe that Tim was lost to her, though. Once things settled down, he would find her. And she could read about the governor and his family in the news from time to time. She could follow this little baby as she grew up, watching her blossom, knowing she’d helped her come into the world. She’d feel proud, then, that she’d made the decision to get the baby to her father where she belonged. She felt proud already.

Traffic increased only slightly as she neared Raleigh. It was eight o’clock, and she was relieved when she spotted a sign for Garner. Finally, a place she’d heard of! She pulled off the road and, as quietly as she could, opened the map to study the small diagram of Raleigh in the upper right corner. She used the flashlight Forrest had given her, and the circle of light shivered on the paper: She was getting nervous.

It looked like 70 would turn into Wilmington Street and lead her to downtown Raleigh, but then what? How would she find the governor’s mansion? She decided she would turn right on Western—that looked like a major street. Then maybe she would recognize something.

With her itinerary firmly in mind, she got back on 70. She missed Western altogether, but turned right at the next corner. Suddenly, she saw the sign for Blount Street. That was it, wasn’t it? It sounded so familiar. She started to turn left onto Blount, but it was one-way. She made the next left, her stomach twisting with anxiety. Leaning forward and peering into the darkness, she clutched the steering wheel as she made a few more turns, trying to get to her destination. The moon lit the houses on either side of her as she hunted for the mansion. All she remembered from her middle-school tour of the building was that it had been big and imposing and, she thought, made of dark brick. She and her girlfriends had been more interested in the cute high-school senior who was acting as their chaperone than in anything having to do with the mansion.

There were not many cars on the street, which was good, because she was driving very slowly. A car pulled up behind her, though, nearly touching her fender. Cautiously she pulled over to the curb to let it pass, then decided to write the note she would leave with the baby. She propped the flashlight between her chin and shoulder and set a notepad on her leg. She ripped off the top sheet of the pad to get rid of her fingerprints, then slipped a diaper beneath her hand as she thought about what to write. In spite of her rehearsal of this moment, she still was not sure what to say.

Dear Governor, she printed in broad letters that looked nothing like her usual handwriting. This is your baby girl. I am sorry, but

But what? Genevieve died? She wasn’t even sure how to spell Genevieve. And what if the governor were deep in negotiations with Tim and Marty when he received this news of his wife’s death? She tore the page from the pad and started over.

Dear Governor. This is your baby girl. Period. Bending over, she fastened the note to the baby’s blanket with a diaper pin. What if he didn’t believe the note? What if he rejected this baby as not being his and she grew up in foster homes? He’d get a doctor to do a blood test or something, wouldn’t he? She held the beam of the flashlight on the note, using her hand to protect the baby’s eyes from the light.
This is your baby girl.
Shutting her own eyes, she rested her palm on the sleeping infant. “She really is yours,” she said out loud. “Please don’t reject her.”

Starting the car, she drove past huge Victorians, their windows filled with buttery light behind leaded glass. The houses with their enormous pillars, curly gingerbread and towering turrets were a little spooky. Suddenly the mansion came into view on the left, illuminated by spotlights on the ground.

“Oh, no,” she said to herself, as she realized the building was surrounded by a massive brick-and-wrought-iron fence. Why hadn’t she remembered that? She drove very slowly in order to peer through the slim black iron posts. The mansion was an eerie, bulky monster rising up from the broad lawn and greenery. Only a downstairs light burned inside, and she pictured the governor sitting at a desk, talking with Tim on the phone as he desperately plead for the return of his wife.

Someone was in the wide, circular driveway and she was so surprised at seeing a person outside the mansion that she stalled the car. She fought with the clutch and got back in gear, then quickly turned the corner, pulled over and shut off her lights.

Her heart pounded as though she had run a mile. She could see now that there were several people in the driveway, and with a sinking heart, she realized that they were police officers. Even if she could find a way inside that intimidating fence, there were cops everywhere. Of course. The governor’s wife had been kidnapped. What had she expected?

She slumped low in the driver’s seat, afraid to attract attention as she tried to figure out what to do. Ahead of her on the left was a police car parked in the darkness. If it was unlocked, maybe she could put the baby inside it and let the policeman find her when he got in. What if he didn’t return to the car for hours, though? The baby would wake up alone and cold and hungry. Maybe the cop had the night shift and wouldn’t return to the car until morning.

She couldn’t think of anything else to do, though. The street was dark, the police car protected from the street-lights by the trees and shrubs at the edge of the mansion property. If the car was unlocked, she would put the baby on the seat. Then, when she got about an hour away, she’d call the Raleigh police from a pay phone and tell them to look in the police cars near the mansion.

Naomi would be furious if she knew what CeeCee was contemplating. How, though, could this implicate Naomi? She lifted the laundry basket to the passenger seat, then carefully unsnapped the legs of the baby’s sleeper and wiped off any fingerprints that might have been on the plastic, duck-shaped heads of the diaper pins. She didn’t dare leave the basket in the police car, though; it was covered with fingerprints from all of them.

She gave her car enough gas to roll along the curb in the direction of the police car, stopping across the street from it. The car looked empty. Better yet, it was out of sight from the front of the mansion. She lifted the baby from the seat and held her against her chest, breathing in her scent for the last time. The baby whimpered but didn’t cry. “I’ll miss you,” CeeCee whispered. “I’ll check on you somehow. I’ll make sure you’re doing all right.”

She visualized what she had to do. She’d leave her car idling, quickly cross the street and put the baby on the seat of the police car. What if the officer returned before she had a chance to call, though, and sat on her in the dark? The thought made her shudder. She’d put her on the back seat, then, closing the car door very quietly. Then she’d get the hell out of Raleigh.

Drawing in a deep breath, she held the baby close and slowly opened her car door. She walked quickly across the street and, without giving herself a chance to change her mind, grasped the handle of the rear door and pulled it toward her.

An alarm cut through the air. Gasping, she let go of the door handle, but the alarm didn’t stop. She heard a shout from the front of the mansion. CeeCee raced across the street and dove into her own car, the baby wailing in her ear. She nearly tossed her into the laundry basket, then put the car in gear and took off. She was blocks away before she heard the sirens above the baby’s crying. She made a few turns, driving as fast as she dared, relieved by the lack of traffic on the roads. The sirens faded behind her as she came to a major intersection. She turned left and immediately saw a sign for the Beltline.
Thank God!
She’d never driven on the Beltline and had always felt a little terrified of it, but now she welcomed the anonymity the highway would offer her. She merged into the safety of the traffic and began to cry, her own sobs joining the baby’s. The muscles in her arms and legs quivered so hard they hurt, and she could feel her heart bouncing around in her chest like a water-filled balloon. If something happened to her right now—did sixteen-year-olds have heart attacks?—what would become of the baby?

She reached over, resting her hand on top of the infant in the basket. “Hang on, Sweet Pea,” she said. “I’m so sorry about this. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

When she felt safe, she pulled off the highway and into a parking lot. She changed the screaming infant, then mixed the formula and fed her. Even then, it took the baby a while to calm down, and CeeCee worried that the trauma she’d just put her through—sirens blaring in her ears, being tossed into a basket, the crazy drive through dark streets—might scar her forever. There would be no more police cars tonight. No more thoughts of dropping the baby off at a police station. Maybe she would try again once she was in Charlottesville and had a chance to catch her breath and think clearly. But not tonight.

When she finished feeding the baby, she held her on her shoulder, rubbing her back, nuzzling the silky skin of her neck.
She’s something you saved,
Naomi had said. CeeCee pressed her cheek against the sleeping infant’s temple. She cried a little, guilty that she’d failed to leave her with the governor, but she would be crying much harder if she’d succeeded. She was deeply in love with the baby in her arms. It was different from the love she felt for Tim. More like the love she’d had for her mother—pure and bottomless and open as the sea.