The Secret Life of Ceecee Wilkes (9 page)

“You probably pulled something when they nabbed you,” CeeCee said.

“It ached before that. It’s ached all day.”

“When is your baby due?”

“Three weeks from now.”

“Then it’s not the baby,” CeeCee said as if she knew about these things. Babies did come early, but a backache had nothing to do with labor. At least she hoped it didn’t. She walked over to the bookshelf. “You want a book to read?” she asked.

“I don’t want a book,” Genevieve said. “If you think I can concentrate on reading, you’re as crazy as your friends.”

CeeCee sat down in the chair by the window and folded her hands on her lap.

“What color’s your real hair?” Genevieve asked.

“None of your business.” She realized that she’d completely forgotten about disguising her voice. Too late now.

“I don’t think you’re as tough as you pretend.” Genevieve almost smiled. “You really should have gotten a tougher mask than that.”

CeeCee touched the thin plastic mask.

“Do you go to Carolina?” Genevieve asked. “You’re not one of my students, are you? You sound like one of them.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I were,” CeeCee said.

Genevieve looked annoyed. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

Damn. She’d hoped they could get through this entire fiasco without either of them needing to use the bathroom.

“I have to go with you,” CeeCee said.

“Are those your orders?” Genevieve moved forward on the couch as though preparing to stand up. “Don’t let her out of your sight?” She was talking to her like she might a child. It was irksome enough to be annoying, and CeeCee was glad. It made Genevieve less sympathetic.

“I think for myself,” CeeCee said.

“Fine,” Genevieve said. “I need to go to the bathroom.
Now.
”

“Stay here one minute.” CeeCee darted into the kitchen and grabbed the gun. Just touching it started her hands shaking again. She checked to be sure the safety was on, then carried it into the living room.

“Whoa!” Genevieve said. “You don’t need that!”

“You can get up now, and I’ll walk with you,” CeeCee said.

Genevieve struggled to her feet, giving CeeCee a wide berth as she walked toward the hallway. She held one arm out as if she could block a bullet with her hand. The other hand she held protectively over her belly.

“It’s that door on the left,” CeeCee said.

Genevieve walked into the bathroom and started to shut the door behind her, but CeeCee stuck out her foot to keep it open.

“Oh, come on,” Genevieve said. “What do you think I’m going to do in here?” She pointed to the small, square window above the toilet. “I’m hardly going to be able to get through that window.”

That was true. CeeCee didn’t want to watch her while she went to the bathroom, anyway.

“Okay.” She removed her foot from in front of the door. “You have to leave it open a crack, though.”

“Fine,” Genevieve said again.

CeeCee leaned against the wall, waiting, listening to the rustle of clothing on the other side of the door. Genevieve urinated for a long time, then flushed the toilet. CeeCee straightened, gun held in front of her, as she waited for her captive to walk into the hallway. Then suddenly, so quickly CeeCee had no time to react, the bathroom door slammed shut and the key clicked into place in the lock.

“O
pen up!” CeeCee pounded on the bathroom door.

“I just want to be by myself,” Genevieve said. “I told you. I can’t get out through the window, so just give me some space, all right?”

“No, it’s not all right.” CeeCee was frantic. She kicked at the door and rattled the knob. “Open it!” She heard the medicine-cabinet door squeak open and remembered the razor blades. The cookie she’d eaten rushed into her throat. Hands trembling, she aimed the gun at the doorjamb near the lock, released the safety and pulled the trigger.

The explosion nearly knocked her off her feet, and Genevieve screamed. The door and jamb were splintered and CeeCee reached for the knob. The damn thing was still locked. “Open the door!” Behind the mask, tears burned her eyes.

“All right, all right!” Genevieve pulled the door open and raised her hands in the air. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked. “Don’t shoot!”

Holding the gun on the woman, CeeCee checked the medicine cabinet and was relieved to see that the packet of razor blades was still there. “Get into the living room,” she said.

“Fine,” Genevieve said. “Just stop pointing that thing at me.”

CeeCee flipped the safety back on and lowered the gun to her side as they walked into the living room. Genevieve sat down on the sofa again, leaning forward and rubbing her back. “You’re a loose cannon, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Keep quiet,” CeeCee said. She was glad now of the mask. The plastic features would remain frozen no matter what emotions she felt behind them. Her trembling hands in their white gloves, though, were a giveaway.

“Put that gun away. Please,” Genevieve said.

She sat down in the chair by the window again and rested the gun in her lap, wondering what they would do now. Would they sit there facing each other for the entire night? Maybe all day tomorrow as well? Exactly how far was it to Jacksonville? She looked at her watch. Quarter past midnight! She’d had no idea it was that late. Were Tim and Marty in Jacksonville yet?

“Please take off that mask,” Genevieve said.

CeeCee shook her head. Her scalp was perspiring beneath the wig. It felt like worms crawling through her hair and she wondered who else might have worn the wig before her. She longed to rip it off and scratch her head.

“Why are you doing this, Sleeping Beauty?” Genevieve’s voice had softened, and with it, her features. She was very pretty. Maybe beautiful under other circumstances. Right now, her skin was a little too pale. Wan, even. Her blue eyes looked clouded and troubled in the overhead light, and there were two small, vertical lines between her eyebrows.

“I’m doing it because Tim’s sister is a victim of the system,” she said, parroting Naomi’s words. They sounded as inauthentic as they felt coming from her mouth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Genevieve asked. “‘A victim of the system’?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” CeeCee felt the tremor in her hands again. She clutched the handle of the gun between her hands to stop their shaking.

“Do you know her? The sister?”

“No, but I know Tim and I know he loves her and I love him so I want to help him.” The words spilled out before she could stop them.

Genevieve cocked her head, looking at her differently. “You’re in love with Tim?” she asked.

“Yes, but that’s not the only reason I’m—”

“There’s something you should know about your…boyfriend,” Genevieve said. “I taught him in my Spanish class, Sleeping Beauty. He’s a…a womanizer.”

“You taught him?” She remembered Tim saying that Genevieve was a Spanish professor, but not that he’d had her.

“He’s a lady-killer.” Genevieve sat as far forward on the couch as her belly would allow. “He played around with every woman in that class. He even had an affair with one who was married.”

CeeCee raised the gun and pointed it at her. “Shut up,” she said. “I don’t want to hear your lies. You may have taught him, although I’m not sure I believe that, but you don’t know him.”

“Please put the gun down.”

“You promise to shut up?” CeeCee asked.

“Not another word about your darling Casanova.”

“I said
shut up.
” CeeCee lifted the gun higher, the barrel jerking through the air in her uncertain hands. She had to be careful. The cotton fabric of her gloves was slippery.

“I’m sorry.” Genevieve leaned back on the sofa, clearly afraid of the gun. “Put it down, okay?”

CeeCee lowered the gun to her lap again.

Genevieve sighed and rubbed her forehead. “How long is this going to take?” she asked.

“That depends on your husband,” CeeCee said. “What’s he like? How do you think he’ll react?”

Genevieve shot her an angry look. “He’s a man of integrity,” she said. “He loves me tremendously, but he won’t do anything that would compromise his integrity.”

CeeCee squirmed. She loved Tim tremendously. Was she compromising her integrity for him? Holding a gun on a pregnant woman didn’t feel all that magnificent at the moment. It felt wrong.

Suddenly Genevieve started to cry, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I want to go
home.
” She looked at CeeCee. “I have a five-year-old daughter,” she said. “I was supposed to pick her up at the sitter’s after my class. She’s probably so scared.”

Was this her new tack, CeeCee wondered? She’d failed in her character assassination of Tim, so now she was trying to win sympathy for her daughter. At least that would give them something safe to talk about.

“What’s her name?” CeeCee asked.

“I truly don’t feel well.” Genevieve adjusted her girth on the sofa.

“It’s just nerves,” CeeCee said. She didn’t feel well either. “What’s your daughter’s name?” she repeated.

“Vivian. I dropped my purse when they grabbed me or I could show you her picture.”

“What does she look like?”

Genevieve closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “Strawberry-blond hair,” she said. “I’m glad she’s not a redhead, like me. I’m glad she was spared that.”

“Why?” CeeCee asked. “Your hair’s a beautiful color.” She felt her true personality slipping out and knew she’d better keep her guard up.

“Thanks, but I don’t like it.” Eyes still shut, Genevieve patted her hand on her belly. “I hope this one is a blonde or a brunette,” she said, her voice tired, as though she knew they were simply filling dead air with their conversation. “Anything but a redhead.”

CeeCee remembered being five or six, waiting for her mother to pick her up from school. She’d waited by the wide double doors for a long time, watching for her always-prompt mother, but she hadn’t been afraid at all. She’d played hopscotch with imaginary lines on the sidewalk, looking up only when a neighbor called to her from a car, saying that her mother had to work late and she would take her home. She hoped Vivian was similarly resilient and unafraid when her mother didn’t show up. She hoped that fervently.

“I guess we should try to sleep,” CeeCee suggested. “I made up a bed for you.” She glanced at the handcuffs Tim had put on the end table. With Genevieve’s pregnancy, the cuff-her-to-the-top-bunk plan wasn’t going to work, that much was clear.

“Oh.”
Genevieve screwed up her face, both hands on her belly.

“Are you okay?” CeeCee asked.

It was a moment before Genevieve seemed able to speak. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve had some Braxton Hicks…some false labor contractions…the past few weeks. That’s probably what this is. But maybe I’d better lie down.”

CeeCee didn’t trust her. “You walk ahead of me,” she said, getting to her feet.

It took Genevieve a moment to push herself up from the sofa. CeeCee thought of helping her but didn’t dare. In a heartbeat, Genevieve could tear off her mask or punch her in the face and grab the gun. She couldn’t get that close.

They reached the bedroom with the bunk beds. “Oh, no,” Genevieve said when she saw the beds. “I can’t fit on one of those. Is there a real bed I can lie down on?”

What the hell, CeeCee thought. “There’s a double bed in the other room. I haven’t made it, though.”

“I don’t care.” Genevieve left the room, her face still tight with pain, either real or affected, and crossed the hallway into the larger bedroom. CeeCee followed, the gun at her side, and watched Genevieve kick off her navy-blue pumps and slowly lower herself to the bed. She stretched out on her back, then winced with discomfort and rolled onto her side, one arm over her eyes. “Can you turn the light out?” she asked.

“No,” CeeCee said. There was a small, upholstered chair in the corner of the room and she sat down on it. “Not unless I cuff you to the headboard.”

“What?” Genevieve’s arm flew from her face. “Oh, give me a break, Sleeping Beauty. I’m eight months’ pregnant and feel like death warmed over. If you think I’m going to run off, you’re…” She shook her head. “Just turn it off. Please.”

CeeCee walked out of the room and turned on the hall light. Then she switched off the light above Genevieve’s bed and took her seat again. The room was bathed in shadow, but she could still see Genevieve clearly enough.

Now all she had to do was stay awake.

C
eeCee snapped awake with a start. Someone—or
something
—was moaning, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. In the dim light, she saw Genevieve on the bed, propped up on her elbows.

“Oh, no,” Genevieve said. “Oh, God, help me.”

CeeCee got to her feet. “What are you doing?” She walked across the room to turn on the light.

Genevieve was panting, gulping air. “I think these are real contractions,” she said. “I really do. This is how it felt with Vivvie.”

“People don’t go into labor that fast,” CeeCee said. She hadn’t been asleep all that long; it was still dark out. Genevieve
had
to be faking.

“You think you’re a doctor all of a sudden?” Genevieve flopped back on the bed, blinking at the overhead light. “Oh, my God,” she said, both hands covering her face. “You’ve got to get me to a hospital.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please.”
Genevieve looked at her. “You’ve
got
to believe me. I’m having contractions.”

“It’s too early. You said—”

“Don’t you think I know it’s too early?” Genevieve snapped. “Babies can come early, you stupid girl. And it’s not good when they do. They need to be someplace where they can get special care. And I almost bled to death after Vivian was born.”

“Why?” CeeCee asked.
She’s faking this,
she told herself.
Stay calm.

“They just said that redheads can bleed more. They can hemorrhage.”

“That’s crazy,” CeeCee said.

“Look!” Genevieve snapped as she struggled to sit up. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, but you’ve got to get me to a hospital. If anything happens to this baby…” She shook her head. “Do you want that on your conscience?”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” CeeCee asked. Even if Genevieve
was
telling the truth, what could she do? Where was a hospital? She had no idea. Nor could she imagine driving the car on the dark, rutted roads. She was once again glad that the mask hid her fear.

“Oh, no.” Genevieve spread her legs a little and looked down at the rapidly darkening crotch of her blue slacks.

“Are you…?” Was she urinating on herself?

“My water broke.” Genevieve locked eyes with hers. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I’m scared.” If the wet splotch on her pants wasn’t enough, there was something in her voice that told CeeCee she wasn’t faking. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“I don’t know.” CeeCee stood still, holding the gun at her side. She felt a tiny finger of panic run up her spine. How could she take her to a hospital? What about the plan? What about Andie? They’d all end up in jail.

“Is there a phone book here?” Genevieve asked.

“There’s no phone.”

“I mean for the address.”

“I’ll see.” CeeCee ran out of the room, knowing that she’d looked through every cupboard and closet before Genevieve’s arrival and she did not recall seeing a phone book. Maybe, though, she’d missed it.

In the kitchen, she lay the gun on the counter and pulled out drawer after drawer. She opened cupboards she knew were empty, all the time wondering what she should do. On the refrigerator, there was a magnet advertising a restaurant in New Bern. It had a phone number and an address, and she realized that even if she had the address of a hospital in New Bern, she would have no idea how to get there. Could she possibly find her way back to Naomi and Forrest’s? She doubted it, and they would kill her if she showed up there, with or without the governor’s wife. She heard Genevieve scream and put her hands over her ears.
What do I do?

“Sleeping Beauty!” Genevieve called.

CeeCee ran back to the bedroom. Genevieve was propped up on two pillows, one tremulous hand at her throat. “Listen,” she said. “This is happening too fast. You might have to deliver the baby.”

“Oh, no!” CeeCee said. “Maybe we should just start driving. Try to get to New Bern.”

“Is that where we are? New Bern?”

“Near it.” She grimaced. Tim had gone to the trouble of blindfolding Genevieve so she wouldn’t know where she was being taken, and she’d just told her.

“There’s a hospital in New Bern,” Genevieve said.

“But I don’t know where it is. I don’t even know what direction to go. We’re way out in the woods.”

“Damn it.” Genevieve choked back a sob. “You are worse than useless!”

“We have to try,” CeeCee said. “We can’t stay here. I might be able to get us to…a friend’s house. They have a phone there. But I’m not sure I—”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Genevieve sat up and tried to get to her feet, but she doubled over, leaning hard against the night table and howling with pain. It was the sort of sound a wounded animal might make. CeeCee grabbed her arm to help her onto the bed, but let go suddenly, worried that she was being duped after all. Maybe Genevieve
had
urinated on herself to make it look as though her water had broken. She took a step backward and let the woman struggle, panting and perspiring, onto the bed alone.

“It’s too late to go anywhere,” Genevieve gasped. “The baby’s coming. It’s coming.”

To CeeCee’s horror, Genevieve started to pull off her slacks.

“You’re going to have to—” Genevieve stopped tugging at her slacks and held still on the bed, eyes closed, panting, concentrating hard on something CeeCee could only imagine.

“I don’t know what to do,” CeeCee admitted, more to herself than to Genevieve. She’d seen a film on childbirth in her senior health class, but that was hardly enough to prepare her to deliver a baby.

“Get these off me,” Genevieve said, nodding in the direction of her slacks. Her hair was pasted to her forehead with sweat.

CeeCee stood by the door, paralyzed.

“Listen to me!” Genevieve said sharply. “You need to help me. You chose to be part of this fiasco, now you have to see it through. I’ll tell you what to do. Help me get my pants off, damn it!”

CeeCee moved forward and tugged off Genevieve’s pants, dropping them behind her on the floor. Then, feeling squeamish, she pulled off her underpants, which were soaked with a pink-tinged liquid.

Genevieve’s eyes were closed, her head pressed into her pillow. “My poor baby,” she said. “My poor baby.”

“What do I do now?” CeeCee asked.

“Boil water.” Genevieve spoke without opening her eyes. “Get clean towels. It’s cold in here. We’ll have to keep the baby warm after it comes. Boil scissors and something to tie…
Oh.
” She screamed, then started panting again. “Go!” she shouted between breaths. “Do it!”

CeeCee ran back into the kitchen and pulled the huge spaghetti pot from one of the lower cabinets. She put it under the tap and started the water running. “Tim,” she said out loud. “Please come. Please come now. Please please please.”

She went through the utensils drawer, hunting for scissors, and found none. She foraged through the other drawers. Nothing. But there was a knife block on the counter and she pulled out the chef’s knife and examined the sleek blade. It looked sharp enough.
Something to tie…
Genevieve had said. CeeCee knew she meant the cord that ran from inside the mother to the baby’s navel. What part did you tie? What could she use?
My poor baby,
Genevieve had said. CeeCee choked back a sob. How would she get through this? And how would she keep a premature baby alive?

The pot was full of water and so heavy she could barely lift it onto one of the ancient electric burners. It would take forever to boil. She ran back to the bedroom.

Genevieve was propped up on the pillows, panting again, her knees bent and her legs spread wide open. CeeCee didn’t know where to look. “Are you okay?” she asked.

The woman didn’t answer. Her body relaxed momentarily and she shut her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her entire face was crimson. CeeCee went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the cloth over Genevieve’s face, the way she used to do with her mother. “The water’s heating up,” she said.

“Boil scissors,” Genevieve said.

“I can’t find scissors, but I have a knife.”

“And string. Is there string?”

“I couldn’t find any, but maybe I can—”

“Your shoelaces.”

CeeCee looked down at her tennis shoes. “Okay,” she said.

“Both of them. You need two.”

“Okay,” she repeated, trying to sound calm. Genevieve’s sweater was pulled up nearly to her breasts, and the huge perfect orb of her belly was exposed. CeeCee felt nauseous at the thought of the baby trying to push its way out of that snug enclosure.

“Put a clean towel under me,” Genevieve said. “There’s going to be some blood. Listen, Sleeping Beauty. If I hemorrhage, and we’d better pray that I don’t, you’re supposed to massage my uterus. That’s what the nurses did the last time.”

“How do I do that?” Was Genevieve telling her to reach inside her to find her uterus?

“On my belly. Here.” Genevieve rested her hand on her massive belly. “Massage here to make the uterus contract after the baby is born.”

“All right,” she said, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. She got a stack of clean towels from the hallway closet. Slipping one of them under Genevieve’s bottom, she got an idea. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. In the bathroom, she pulled down the plastic shower curtain and carried it back into the bedroom. Genevieve was screaming again. Writhing. CeeCee vowed she would never have a baby. She wouldn’t have the strength to go through this. She managed to get the shower curtain under the towel, then went back to see if the water was boiling.

It was. She dropped the knife into the pot, then sat down on the floor and unlaced her shoes, slowly, taking her time, because she was afraid to go back in the bedroom. Standing up, she dropped her laces into the boiling water.

“Help!” Genevieve cried.

CeeCee had no choice but to return to the bedroom.

“You’ve got to catch it,” Genevieve said as soon as CeeCee entered the room. “I need to push. I don’t know if I’m supposed to yet, though. I don’t know when. I don’t know
when.
”

“Let me get the knife and laces,” CeeCee said, anxious to leave the room again. In the kitchen, she poured most of the water into the sink, then carried the pot into the bedroom, where she set it on the rug near the bed.

“Can you see it?” Genevieve asked.

CeeCee looked between her legs. “Oh, my
God,
” she said, both awed and horrified by the sight of the baby’s scalp stretching Genevieve’s taut pink skin. “
Yes.
Doesn’t it hurt?”

Genevieve panted. “What…do…you…think?” she asked. “I’ve got to
push!
Hold your hand under its head.”

CeeCee rested her gloved hand on the bed between Genevieve’s legs. The circle of bloodstained hair grew larger with each push. “It’s coming!” CeeCee said, ripping off her mask so she could see better.

Genevieve tightened her face up as she pushed again. CeeCee felt the light weight of the baby’s head in her hands. She saw the crown of its head, then its small ears, but its face was pointed toward the mattress. How would its shoulders get out? Then, as if reading her thoughts, the baby turned its head in her hands, the tiny nose resting in profile on her palm. Its neck felt strange, as if something was bulging out of it, pressing against her fingers. She leaned over for a better look and it took her a moment to realize that the umbilical cord was wrapped twice around the baby’s neck. She started to tell Genevieve but didn’t want to alarm her any more than she already was. She pulled off her right glove, then hooked her finger beneath the cord and slipped the loops around the baby’s head. Suddenly, one shoulder, then another, popped into her hands and the baby slid out onto the towel and into the world.

“It’s a girl!” CeeCee announced. So tiny, she thought.
Too
tiny. And too quiet. “I’m supposed to hold it upside down now, aren’t I?”

“Rub her.” Genevieve could barely get the words out. “Clean out her mouth.”

Before CeeCee could do either, the baby let out a mewing sound like a kitten, followed by a loud and forceful cry.

Genevieve laughed with relief and held her arms out for the baby.

“Should I clean her first or do something with the cord?”

“Give her to me,” Genevieve demanded.

The baby was so slippery. CeeCee wiped her off as best she could with one of the towels, then carefully lifted her into Genevieve’s arms. The baby’s cry was lusty and rhythmic, and Genevieve began sobbing.

“I want Russ here!” she said. “I need Russ.”

“Who?” CeeCee asked.

“Cut the cord so I can hold her closer,” Genevieve said.

CeeCee pulled one of the shoelaces out of the water. “Where do I tie it?” she asked.

“Tie one close…a couple inches from the baby. And one farther up. Then cut in between them.”

CeeCee tied the laces around the cream-colored cord and pulled them as tight as she could. Then she sliced through the cord with the knife, and Genevieve drew the baby up to her lips to kiss her.

“The afterbirth has to come out, right?” CeeCee looked at the long cord coming from inside Genevieve.

“It’ll come out on its own,” Genevieve said. Her voice was slow, almost slurred. She had to be exhausted. “Get me a blanket…cover her,” she said. “I need…try to nurse. Never could with Vivvie.” She shut her eyes, pressing her head into the pillows. “The room is spinning,” she said.