I'm mad at Pam. She told me that leaving letters for you to open after I die is selfish. She said I'm dragging out my goodbye in a maudlin way, trying to stay a part of your life instead of letting you get over losing me. She doesn't understand what it's like to be dying at twenty-nine years old. She gets to be part of her son's life for many years to come. All I want is to be able to touch your life as you get older.Is writing letters a way to console you or myself? I could spend a few months pondering that question, but I don't have a few months. So I'll keep writing, doing what feels right to me and what I think is best for you. If it turns out to be a selfish thing, please forgive me.

She 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 pa.s.senger 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 pa.s.s, 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. 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." 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 b.u.t.tery light behind leaded gla.s.s. 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 ma.s.sive 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 pa.s.senger 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 h.e.l.l 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 G.o.d! Thank G.o.d! 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'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, 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. 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.

Chapter Eighteen.

It was nearly eleven by the time she reached Charlottesville. She drove through the downtown area and felt almost as if she'd been there before. Even though it was late, young people-students?-walked along the sidewalks, carrying books, talking and laughing with one another.

"Look at this, Sweet Pea," she said to the sleeping baby. "It's like Chapel Hill."

At a stoplight, she checked the directions Forrest had given her, then drove another half mile until she came upon an old, white two-story house. She checked the house number illuminated by the gas lantern near the front steps. One seventy-six. This was it. She parked directly in front of the building.

The house had a slightly lopsided look to it, but the light from the lantern bounced off clean white siding and black shutters, and above the railing of the wraparound porch, she could see the tops of four ladder-back rockers. Lights burned in all the downstairs windows.

She lifted the baby into her arms and got out of the car, inhaling the scent of burning wood. Heading up the sidewalk to the house, she suddenly stopped short, wondering if the police might be waiting inside for her. She searched the quiet street for police cars, but she was too tired to feed her paranoia anymore than that, and she started walking again.

Three pumpkins rested on the top step of the porch, and the front door was adorned with a wreath made from greenery and gold-painted gourds.

The baby stirred against her shoulder as she climbed the steps, and she rubbed her tiny back.

"We're here, Sweet Pea," she said. "I'm not exactly sure where 'here' is, but we're going to find out."

A bell hung from the center of the wreath and she pulled the short chain to ring it, the sound clanging in the still air. The door flew open almost instantly, and a woman stood in front of her wearing a welcoming smile.

"Eve?" she asked. She was sixtyish, give or take a few years, and she wore a denim jumper over a cream-colored jersey. Her nearly white pageboy haircut was unfussy, just shy of being severe, and her black wire-rimmed gla.s.ses reflected the light from the gas lamp.

"Yes," CeeCee said. "I'm Eve Bailey."

"And I'm Marian. Come in, come in." She took CeeCee's arm and drew her gently inside. "You must be so tired, driving with a baby all the way from Charleston! Do you believe how cold it is already?"

Momentarily confused, CeeCee started to tell her that she'd come from New Bern before realizing that Naomi had set a cover in place for her. She stepped into the warm foyer. On her right was the living room, awash with light from table lamps and a crackling fire. A sofa and chairs, all overstuffed and soft looking, filled the room, and she longed to sink into one of them.

"Let me hold the little one while you take off your coat, honey." Marian took the baby from her arms with a confident sort of force, while CeeCee removed her jacket and hung it in the foyer closet.

"Oh, your hair is divine!" Marian shook her head in amazement, reminding CeeCee of the way Tim reacted to her hair. He would look at it as if it were too wonderful to be believed.

"Thank you," she said.

"Sit by the fire." Marian nodded toward the living room.

CeeCee headed for the sofa and sat down, the cushions as soft and cradling as she'd imagined. There was a ba.s.sinet in the corner, made of white wicker and trimmed with pink ribbon. After a very difficult journey, she felt suddenly, unexpectedly, safe.

"Are you hungry?" Marian held the baby close to her chest, and CeeCee noticed that she was wearing black tights and red sneakers. "I have chicken soup I can heat up. Or if you're a vegetarian, I have some canned lentil soup."

She hadn't thought about food since leaving New Bern, but at the mention of it, she felt famished.

"I don't want to put you to any trouble," she said. She sounded like an adult, the words strange to her own ears.

"I've been waiting for you, honey," Marian said. "They told me you were coming sometime overnight, so I made plenty of soup. It's no trouble at all."

"I'd love some chicken soup, then," CeeCee said.

"First, though, I have to take a good look at this little dumpling." Marian sat down on the couch and rested the baby on her knees.

Don't wake her, CeeCee wanted to say. She'd only gotten the baby to sleep shortly before reaching Charlottesville. CeeCee wanted to say. She'd only gotten the baby to sleep shortly before reaching Charlottesville.

"Why she's brand-new, isn't she?" Marian gently pulled the blanket away from the infant's face. "And she's a beauty. When did you have her? Are you nursing her?"

Startled, CeeCee tried to think of a response. Marian thought the baby was hers! Along with surprise, she felt an undeserved rush of pride.

"She was born-" she tried to remember the date on the birth certificate "-about a week ago, I think. The time's all run together. And I'm not nursing," she added quickly. "I have formula with me. It's in the car though. And diapers. I brought everything I need for a couple of days."

Marian's frown was full of sympathy. "You poor sweet girl," she said. "I can tell you've been through something rougher than words can say, haven't you?"

CeeCee felt tears burn her eyes and she blinked hard to hold them back.

"You can't even remember what day you had this little one," Marian said. "What's her name?"

"Corinne." CeeCee's voice came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat. "Corinne," she said with more confidence.

"Cory," Marian said. "Is it okay if I call her Cory?"

CeeCee nodded. She liked that better, actually. Corinne was too elaborate a name for a baby.

"She's going to be a redhead, I think." Marian ran a slightly crooked index finger over Cory's pink cheek. "Is her father a redhead?"

How was she supposed to answer that question? she wondered. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry," Marian said. "None of my business." She handed the baby back to her. "I'll go out to your car and get your formula and whatever else there is and-"

"No, I'll do it." She felt guilty for putting her out.

"Stay. That's an order. I'll put the soup on to heat, then go out and get your things. You had a baby a week ago and just drove for who knows how many hours. You sit."

"Okay," CeeCee said, relieved. It would feel good to be taken care of, if only for a few minutes.

She'd almost fallen asleep by the time Marian called her into the kitchen to eat. She lay the baby in the ba.s.sinet, then walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"Here you go." Marian put a bowl of soup in front of her, and CeeCee's mouth watered at the sight and smell of it. There were corn m.u.f.fins, too, and a little tub of b.u.t.ter.

"It's honey b.u.t.ter," Marian said. "And would you like juice or soda or-"

"Just water, please," CeeCee said. "You're not eating?"

Marian laughed. "I had my dinner about five hours ago," she said, setting a gla.s.s of water on the table.

Of course. It was nearing midnight. "I'm sorry to keep you up so late," she said.

"I'm a night owl." Marian sat down across from her with a cup of tea. "Also, a mourning dove. I'm one of those people who can get by on a few hours' sleep."

"This is so good," CeeCee said, swallowing a mouthful of the soup. "Thank you for getting a ba.s.sinet for me. For Cory."

Marian looked surprised, then laughed. "Oh, honey," she said. "Wait till you see upstairs. I have a little day-care center, so I not only have a ba.s.sinet down here, but one upstairs as well. Plus a crib and a changing table and toys galore. And another crib out in my garage, which I converted to a playroom." Marian's accent was impossible to place, but she was not Southern by birth, of that CeeCee was certain. She couldn't figure her out. She was not quite the grandmother type. Not even the kindly old aunt. She was maternal and soothing, yet there was a little bit of drill sergeant lurking beneath her calm blue eyes and denim jumper. "I don't do as much of it as I used to, though," Marian continued. "Right now, I take care of two-year-old twin boys. They're a handful, let me tell you. And I have a four-year-old girl who is my little helper. I've had them all since they were babies, so I always have baby stuff around."

"I guess I came to the right place." CeeCee tried to smile. "But the truth is...I don't really know what I'm doing here. I mean...I guess that sounds stupid. They...I was told to come here and that I could stay with you a little while, but I really don't know if that's okay with you or-"

"It's certainly okay." Marian folded her hands on the table and leaned forward as if sharing a confidence. "You're not the first person I've taken in, honey, believe me. Here's what would work out great, if it suits you. You stay here as long as you need to, and at least in the beginning, you can help me with the day-care kids."

"Yes," CeeCee said quickly, pleased to have a plan. "I...that would be great."

"Now." Marian sat back in her chair. "First things first. Has a doctor looked Cory over?" she asked. "Was she born in a hospital?"

"No, she...I had her..." She stammered and Marian held up her hand.

"It doesn't matter. Anything you think you'd better keep to yourself, you do that. I understand. Listen to me." She leaned forward again. "I understand your name is probably not really Eve. I understand the police or someone who'd like to do you harm is probably looking for you. This is a given, okay? I understand all that, but we don't talk about it. We move forward from today. You're Eve Bailey. I'm Marian Kazan. The baby in the living room is Cory...Bailey?"

CeeCee nodded.

"She has a birth certificate?"

She nodded again.

"Excellent. There's a clinic near here. You'll take her and get her a checkup, just to make sure everything's okay with her. You prepare some answers to that 'where was she born' question. Then we get an OB appointment for you."

"OB?" CeeCee asked.

"Obstetrician." Marian tipped her head to study her. "Honey, just tell me this, did a doctor deliver your baby?"

"No." She thought she was sounding very stupid. Marian probably thought she'd invited a half-wit into her home.

"Okay, we should get you checked out then. Make sure you're healing just fine. Are you having any problems?"

"No. None," CeeCee said. "I don't think I need to go to the doctor."

"You didn't tear or anything?"

CeeCee shook her head, more to clear away a sudden image of Genevieve than to answer the question.

Marian tipped her head again. "How old are you, honey?" she asked.

"Seventeen."