The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes

by Diane Chamberlain

  From the bedroom, the baby started her rapid, rhythmic crying again. CeeCee poured boiling water over the tea bag, dunking the bag up and down a few times to hurry the steeping. As long as the baby was crying, she was alive and okay and that was all that mattered.

  She carried the mug down the hallway, but stopped short at the doorway to the bedroom. The blanket was above Genevieve’s wide-apart knees. Between her legs was a pool of blood. Was that the afterbirth? Should there be so much of it? The blood had completely saturated the towel she’d placed under her and was spilling onto the plastic shower curtain.

  Oh, God. There’d been nothing like this in the film she saw at school. The screaming baby had fallen from Genevieve’s arms to the bed and the woman’s eyes were closed. Something was terribly wrong.

  “Genevieve!” CeeCee dropped the full mug on the floor and picked up the bundled baby who continued to wail in her ear. Was this the hemorrhaging she’d talked about? She bent over to shake the woman by the shoulder. “Genevieve! Wake up!”

  Genevieve rolled her head toward her. She opened her eyes, but didn’t appear to be looking at CeeCee. She didn’t appear to be looking at anything at all.

  “There’s a lot of blood!” CeeCee said. “Is that the afterbirth or are you hemorrhaging?” Please say afterbirth.

  Genevieve’s eyes fixed on hers. “My baby,” she slurred. “Don’t let die.”

  “She’s fine,” CeeCee said. “Listen to her. She’s fine. But—” she looked at the widening pool of blood. “I think you’re hemorrhaging. How do I stop it?”

  Genevieve’s eyelids closed.

  “Genevieve!” CeeCee shook her shoulder again. “Stay awake! Please, Genevieve!”

  She climbed onto the other side of the bed, laying the baby down next to her, and put her hands on Genevieve’s belly. She rubbed it lightly, afraid of hurting more than helping. Everything felt loose and flabby beneath her hands. Where was the uterus? She moved her hands around. “Genevieve!” she yelled. “Am I massaging the right spot?”

  Genevieve’s chin rested against her chest. Her skin was white. Waxen. She was so still. CeeCee had seen that stillness only once before—the day her mother died.

  Abruptly she lifted her hands from Genevieve’s belly. “Genevieve?” she whispered. She couldn’t hear her own voice over the baby’s wails. “Oh, God, Genevieve?” She ripped off her glove and lowered her fingers to Genevieve’s wrist, knowing exactly where to touch. There was no pulse beneath her fingertips. “No!” she cried. “No, no, please!” She leaned forward to touch Genevieve’s throat, searching for the artery, but she touched only cool, lifeless skin.

  Paralyzed with terror, she stared at Genevieve’s body. Then she shifted her gaze from the woman to the baby who lay wailing and helpless at her mother’s side. She had to do something fast, and there was only one option she could think of.

  Grabbing the screaming baby, she ran into the living room. She lay the bundled infant on the sofa, then retrieved her jacket from the coat rack by the door and put it on. She was sobbing by the time she slipped the baby inside the jacket against her flannel shirt. She ran outside into the darkness and got into the driver’s seat of the car. Turning the key in the ignition, she reminded herself about the clutch. She found the knob for the headlights, and they illuminated the bleached cedar of the cabin. She managed to get the car into Reverse and backed it out onto the road. It stalled when she shifted to Drive, but she got it going again. The lights cut a path through the eerie trunks of the loblolly pines, and she drove slowly, crying and battling nausea as she searched the darkness for the roads that would lead her to Naomi and Forrest’s house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We’ve had to rely on welfare and food stamps and the kindness of others. I want so much better for you than that.

  The night was moonless. CeeCee was still sobbing when she reached the fork in the road, but she remembered to stay to the left. She drove slowly, afraid to take the potholes at anything more than a crawl. The baby grew so still and quiet inside her jacket that she stopped the car to make sure she was breathing. Slipping her hand beneath the blanket, she rested it on the newborn until she felt the rise and fall of the tiny chest.

  “Baby, live,” she pleaded. “Please live.”

  She came to another intersection. Tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t clear them away long enough to get her bearing. Sitting there in the dark, she began to wonder if Genevieve was truly dead. What if CeeCee had simply been unable to find her pulse?

  She was making herself crazy. Finally, she turned right, and the trees tightened around her, dark walls on either side of the car. It seemed as though she would come to a dead end at any moment with no room to turn the car around. Then suddenly, like magic, she came to a clearing. The moon slid out from beneath the clouds and illuminated the decrepit house and rusted cars. CeeCee cried harder, this time with relief.

  She barely remembered to turn off the ignition before jumping out of the car, her precious cargo cradled inside her jacket. The dogs started barking from somewhere behind the house, and she braced herself for their approach as she ran up the two front steps and pounded on the door.

  “Naomi!” she shouted. “Naomi!” She couldn’t hear her own voice over the din from the dogs. She guessed they were chained in the backyard, since they were nowhere to be seen. The house was dark, and she was about to go around to one of the windows when a light came on inside. She pounded again. “Hurry!” she called.

  Forrest opened the door a few inches. Naomi was close behind him, pulling a sweater on over her flannel pajama top.

  “CeeCee?” she said, stepping next to Forrest. “What are you doing here?”

  CeeCee pushed past them without waiting for an invitation.

  “She died!” she screamed as she raced into the living room. “She had a baby.”

  “What are you talking about?” Forrest asked.

  “Genevieve! The governor’s wife.”

  “She died?” Naomi said. “You mean while she was with you?”

  CeeCee opened her coat and held out the bundled newborn, whose face could barely be seen beneath the layers of blanket.

  “Holy shit!” Naomi’s hand flew to her mouth. Quickly she grabbed the baby from CeeCee’s arms. “Is it alive?” she asked, tugging the blanket away from the infant’s face.

  Forrest ran his hands through his hair. “Why the hell did you bring it here?” he asked.

  “Shut up, Forrest,” Naomi snapped. “Where else was she supposed to bring it?”

  “It’s alive,” CeeCee said. “It’s a girl. But Genevieve’s dead.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Naomi closed her eyes. She looked as though she might keel over as the realization of what CeeCee was telling her sank in. “This is a disaster,” she said.

  “You should have dropped her off at a hospital,” Forrest said.

  “I would have if I knew where one was.” CeeCee wiped the tears from her face with her hands.

  The baby opened her petal-like lips and let out a howl.

  “Thank God,” Naomi said. “She was too quiet.” She whisked the infant down the hallway and CeeCee followed her.

  Naomi and Forrest’s bedroom smelled of incense. Naomi laid the baby girl on the bed and carefully unwrapped her. “Get some towels out of that closet,” she said. “And get me a bowl—a big bowl—of warm water from the kitchen.”

  CeeCee quickly moved to the closet. She felt dizzy and disoriented, as if in a dream. Or a nightmare.

  Forrest must have heard Naomi’s request for water, because he appeared in the doorway with a green mixing bowl full to the brim. CeeCee took the water from him and rested it on her lap as she sat down next to the infant. She watched as Naomi gently cleaned the baby, who was now crying hard, barely stopping to take in a breath between each wail. Her pink arms were screwed up at her sides, hands in tight little fists. She looked furious.

  “We need to get both of them out of here,” Forrest said.

&nbs
p; “I know, I know.” Naomi brushed her husband’s words away with a wave of her hand. She looked from the infant to CeeCee. “How did she die?” she asked.

  “It was right after the baby was born,” CeeCee said. “There was tons and tons of blood. It was so awful.”

  “She bled to death?” Naomi frowned.

  She doesn’t believe me, CeeCee thought.

  “She said she had some kind of condition,” CeeCee said. “I didn’t believe her at first that the baby was coming or…” She started to cry again, or maybe she hadn’t yet stopped. “If I’d believed her, maybe I could have gotten her to a hospital somehow.”

  “You really screwed up.” Forrest pulled a cigarette from the pack on the dresser and lit it. “Just what we need is the governor’s dead wife’s kid here.”

  His words cut into her. He was right. Her presence was a danger to them. But what else could she have done?

  “Look at her,” Naomi said, moving the washcloth over the baby’s head. Her voice was calm, but her trembling hands gave her away. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

  CeeCee looked at the baby’s features, really seeing them for the first time. Her head was round, not like the elongated or misshapened heads of some babies she’d seen. Her mouth was a perfect 0 when she cried, and now that Naomi had washed her head, it was clear she had inherited Genevieve’s red hair.

  “She should go to the hospital, shouldn’t she?” CeeCee asked. “She’s three weeks early. Will she live?”

  “No way we’re taking her to a hospital.” Forrest blew a stream of smoke into the air.

  “Listen to her.” Naomi nodded toward the wailing baby. “Does she sound like she’s dying to you? She’s not all that small, actually. Bigger than Dahlia was.” Naomi held the end of the umbilical cord between her thumb and forefinger. “Did you do this?” she asked.

  CeeCee nodded. “I used a knife. Boiled. Did I do it okay?”

  “Yeah, you did great,” Naomi said. “You’re a tough cookie, CeeCee. There’s some alcohol and Q-tips in the bathroom under the sink. Get them, please.”

  She found the supplies and brought them back to the bedroom, where Naomi showed her how to clean the umbilical cord. “It’ll fall off naturally in a couple of weeks,” she said.

  CeeCee sat down on the bed again, her legs too shaky to keep her upright. “Do you think there was something I could have done to keep her from dying?” she asked. “She said to massage her uterus, and I tried, but I wasn’t sure what I was doing.”

  “They might not have been able to save her even if she’d been in a hospital,” Naomi reassured her.

  “How do we get them out of here?” Forrest asked.

  “Forrest.” Naomi sat back on her heels, annoyed. “It was your big idea to help them in the first place,” she said. “Now we have to deal with the fallout. Get some of Emmanuel’s newborn clothes from the bag in the hall closet, please. And then start a fire. The baby’s freezing.”

  Forrest shook his head, mumbling to himself as he walked out of the room.

  “I’m sorry,” CeeCee said, after he left the room.

  “As soon as we get her dressed and warmed up, we’ll feed her,” Naomi said. “I have formula I use to supplement my breast milk.” She patted the baby dry with one of the towels CeeCee had handed her, then wrapped her tightly in another and lifted her up. “Hush, little one,” she said, rocking her back and forth. “Shh.” She looked at CeeCee. “Do you know what’s happening with Tim and Marty?” she asked.

  CeeCee shook her head. “There was no phone in the cabin and I don’t know where they are, except someplace in Jacksonville. I don’t know what’s going on with them and the governor or even if they’re still there or on their way back or…” Her voice trailed off as she imagined Tim and Marty walking in on the horrific scene in the cabin. “How do I let them know what happened?”

  “I think I know how to reach them, if they’re still there,” Naomi said. She pressed her lips to the baby’s temple. “Shh, Sweet Pea.”

  “You know where they are?”

  “I’m guessing,” Naomi said. “I don’t know for sure, but there are some SCAPE people in Jacksonville. They might be there. I don’t like using our phone, but I guess I’ll have to. I’ll call after we get the baby taken care of.”

  CeeCee let her breath out in relief. She needed to talk to Tim. She needed him to tell her that none of this was her fault and that he still loved her.

  “What about Genevieve?” CeeCee said. “I just left her lying there on the bed. Blood was everywhere.”

  Naomi squeezed her eyes shut with a sigh. “Did you touch anything?” she asked.

  “I wore gloves the whole time except when the baby was born and when I took Genevieve’s pulse. I left one of them on the bed and the other is in the car. And the mask, too. The mask is at the cabin. I…I guess I touched the door knob getting out of the house.”

  “Did you touch anything else without the gloves?” Naomi asked.

  “The knife,” she said. “And maybe the closet door.” She couldn’t remember if she’d opened the closet door before or after she’d removed the glove. “The gun!” she said. “I didn’t touch it, but I left it there, too.”

  “Okay.” Naomi seemed exhausted by the list. “I’ll ask Forrest to take care of all of it.”

  “Take care of it? What will he do?”

  “It won’t be the first grave he’s dug,” she said.

  CeeCee stood up. “Oh no!” she said, horrified.

  “Do you have another suggestion?”

  “Her family needs to…” Her voice trailed off. Needs to what? Know what happened? Pick up her body? What? She closed her eyes. “This is terrible,” she said.

  “It’s a mess, all right,” Naomi said.

  “Are you sure Forrest will do it? He’s so mad at me.”

  “He’ll do it,” she said. “He’ll do it to protect us as well as you. You get caught, we all get caught. Can you tell him how to get there?”

  “I…maybe. I’ll try.”

  “You’re a mess.” Naomi eyed her clothes. “You need to clean up.”

  CeeCee looked down at her flannel shirt, growing stiff with blood. Her jeans were cold and wet against her thighs, and her laceless shoes were splattered with red. She sat down on the bed again. Seeing Genevieve’s blood on her made her dizzy.

  “Take a shower,” Naomi said. “Put your clothes and that wig in a bag and we’ll burn them along with Forrest’s when he gets back.”

  CeeCee touched her head. She still had on the blond wig.

  “Then help yourself to some of my clothes.” Naomi sounded as though she’d done this many times before. “Go ahead.” She nudged her with an elbow when CeeCee didn’t move. “I’ll take care of the baby.”

  She took a bath instead of a shower because she didn’t trust her legs to support her. She leaned back to wet her hair, washing it with Naomi’s shampoo. Then she scrubbed herself hard with soap that smelled like lemons, and she cried the whole time. Images of Genevieve ran through her mind. Genevieve reaching for the baby. Asking CeeCee to keep her alive. Genevieve had known how much trouble she was in, CeeCee thought. She’d known.

  She got out of the tub and pressed a towel to her eyes, picturing Genevieve’s five-year-old daughter, Vivian, left motherless. Don’t think, she told herself. Dropping the towel, she shook away the image. The time for crying was over. Now she needed to figure out how to get the baby to the governor. And she needed to talk to Tim. As much as she’d wanted him to rush back to the cabin when she was there, now she hoped he had not yet left Jacksonville. She didn’t want him to discover Genevieve as she’d left her.

  She dressed in a pair of Naomi’s jeans that were too long for her, a red-and-white checked flannel shirt, and moccasins that fit perfectly, and by the time she walked out of Naomi and Forrest’s bedroom, two babies were crying. She found Naomi in the kitchen, heating a bottle of formula in a pan on the stove. Emmanuel’s sling was over her shoulder, and C
eeCee could tell from the size of the infant that she had placed Genevieve’s crying baby in it. Emmanuel cried from his cradle in the corner, as if he knew he’d been displaced.

  “Can she breathe in there?” CeeCee tried to peer inside the sling.

  “Does it sound like she’s breathing?” Naomi lifted the baby out of the sling and handed her to CeeCee.

  When CeeCee’d held her before, the baby had been a bulky little package wrapped in a blanket made for a double bed. Now she felt so light. So tiny. She was dressed in a blue terry-cloth sleeper and wrapped in a green baby blanket and she smelled powdery clean.

  CeeCee rocked her back and forth the way Naomi had done earlier, trying unsuccessfully to still her wailing. The baby had been crying for so long. Could she be injuring herself? She sounded as if she were in terrible pain, a little catch in the intake of breath between each cry.

  “Is she hurting herself with all this crying?” CeeCee asked.

  “She’s fine. Just hungry, and we’ll take care of that soon enough.”

  “Can we try to call Tim while we’re feeding her?” she asked.

  “Sit in the rocking chair by the fireplace,” Naomi said. “I’ll bring you the bottle and you can feed her while I’m nursing Emmanuel. Forrest’s gone to the cabin. He said he thinks he knows how to get there from looking at the map with Tim and Marty.” She peered out the window. The sky was beginning to grow light. “He wanted to do it before it got too light out,” she added wearily.

  CeeCee had turned this family’s world upside down. “I’m sorry, Naomi,” she said.

  “It will all work out okay,” Naomi said. “Go on. Go in the living room.”

  CeeCee sat down in the rocker by the fireplace. Naomi came into the room carrying both Emmanuel and the bottle, which she handed to CeeCee. “Do you know how to feed a baby?” she asked.