The Secret Life of Ceecee Wilkes (26 page)

Cory closed the dishwasher and pushed the start button, then turned around and leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest. “I need to talk to you,” she said to them.

“Sure.” Jack put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “We miss talking to you, Cor.”

Cory gave him a weak smile, then broke away and sat down at the small kitchen table.

“Ken and I are going to move in together after I graduate next year,” she announced.

Eve sat down across the table from her and pressed her hands together in her lap. She would choose her words very carefully. “Ken seems very intelligent,” she said, “and I can see that he cares about you. But he’s so much older than you. Have you thought about—”

“Mom, listen to me,” Cory interrupted her. “You need to butt out of my life. Please. Let me make my own decisions for once.”

Eve fell silent.

“I still have fears, Mom. I’m afraid of…so many things. Even driving here. We left an hour early because I insisted we take the back roads. Ken is so tolerant and patient with me and I love him for it. And—” She looked down at the table, tears welling in her eyes. Eve reached over and rested her hand on Cory’s, but Cory drew hers away. She looked at Eve. “What I was going to say is that Ken’s helped me understand that
you’re
the reason I have so many fears,” she said.

“Cory.” Jack was pouring himself a cup of decaf, but he looked up to sound a warning.

“It’s true, Dad.” She looked at Eve again. “You never let me
do
anything when I was growing up. You smothered me. You made me feel like I couldn’t be trusted to figure out how to do things on my own. Ken’s…for the first time I’m doing something physical. We work out together.” She held up her arm, bending it to display the small bulge of biceps beneath the sleeve of her sweater.

“How did I hold you back from working out?” Eve felt defensive.

“By making me feel as though everything was dangerous.” Cory was not yelling. Not even impassioned or unkind. She was stating facts as she saw them—or as Ken saw them—by rote, much the way she’d read her lines in the audition years earlier. “You controlled so much of my life. One thing I’m
not
going to let you control is who I pick as a boyfriend. And
please
stop sending me articles, Mom. I don’t read them. I’m figuring things out for myself now. Finally. I need to build my own life…and that includes Ken.”

“Does it also include your family?” Eve asked. She felt wounded and raw from Cory’s words.

“You’ll always be a part of my life, but I need to focus on my future now,” Cory said. “And there’s one other thing that’s been bothering me.”

“Spill it.” Jack sat down at the table next to Eve. “That’s what this is all about, right? Dumping on Mom and Dad?”

“No, Dad, that’s not what this is all about.” Cory sounded annoyed. “I’ve just done a lot of thinking while I’ve been at school and so much has become clear to me.”

“What’s the other thing that’s been bothering you?” Eve asked.

Cory looked at her squarely. “I think you kept information from me about my biological father because you wanted to keep me close to you,” she said. “You wanted me to think of Dad as my father, and you didn’t want to allow me to have other relatives because you’d have to share me with them. I have a right to know who they are, Mom, in case I might have inherited health problems, if for no other reason. I don’t believe you’ve done everything you could to try to find them.”

“Did Ken tell you that, too?” Eve said, biting down both anger and guilt.

“You know, Cory, that’s really enough.” Jack looked tired. “Mom’s telling you the truth. Your father’s name was Smith. How’s she supposed to find your relatives with a last name like Smith? If she could help you, she would.”

“And you always stick up for her, Dad,” Cory said. “She’s got you under her thumb, too.”

Jack stared at Cory, who stood her ground, returning his steady gaze. Finally he spoke.

“I think you still have a lot of growing up to do, Cory,” he said.

It was the best insult he could have handed her.

“You just don’t get it,” she said, standing up. “I’m going to my room.”

Eve waited until she heard the door close at the top of the stairs. She looked at Jack. “Am I overreacting, or is she being brainwashed?”

“No, you’re not overreacting,” he said. “But it’s normal, I guess. You’re always telling me how rebellion is a developmental stage and if people don’t go through it when they’re teenagers, they have to go through it later. Maybe that’s all that’s happening.”

Eve offered that explanation whenever Jack complained about one of his students. Somehow, she couldn’t make it fit her daughter.

“I don’t like him,” she whispered.

“He’s hard to take,” Jack whispered back. “But our baby girl’s obsessed with him, so I guess we have to make the best of it.”

Eve nodded. She remembered her obsession with Tim. She could at least console herself that Cory had picked a newsman rather than a felon.

2004

E
ve came home from work at noon to find a letter she’d sent to Cory back in her own mailbox.
Refused: Return to Sender
was written across the front of it in what she was sure was Ken’s handwriting. Had Cory even gotten to look at the letter inviting her and Ken to the play at the Helms Theater? Dru was following in her father’s footsteps as a drama major, and the two of them had lead roles in a summer production of
Wait Until Dark.
Eve had welcomed a legitimate reason to write to Cory, who hadn’t been home in two years. She rarely answered her phone anymore, at least not when Eve called. Cory had caller ID, and Eve pictured her looking at the display, seeing that she was the caller, and going back to whatever she was doing without a second thought.

Cory and Ken had been living together and engaged for several years, with no wedding date in sight, at least as far as Eve knew. Cory didn’t let her or Jack in on their lives. “I turn to Ken with my problems now,” Cory had told her the year before, when Eve said she missed the relationship they used to have. Cory communicated with Dru, though, so at least they knew she was still alive, still teaching the fourth grade, and still afraid of far too much.

Eve turned on the TV to watch the news as she ate a turkey sandwich in the living room. The words
Breaking News
were across the bottom of the screen in red letters, and one of the familiar Channel 29 reporters faced the camera. “The remains were identified through dental records,” she said. “Irving Russell could not be reached for comment. Back to you, Stan.”

The news anchor returned to the screen. “Amazing,” he said. “Some of us have been in the news business long enough to remember when Genevieve Russell disappeared. Thanks for that story—”

Eve grabbed the remote and switched the channel.

“And this just in from our affiliate station in Raleigh,” a news anchor said. “While breaking ground for a new development along the Neuse River near New Bern, North Carolina, yesterday, a construction crew came across the remains of a woman. Dental records later showed the remains belonged to Genevieve Russell, wife of former North Carolina Governor Irving Russell, who was kidnapped twenty-eight years ago. Russell is now President of UVA. Let’s go to New Bern.”

“John,” a young male reporter said, “this cabin you can see behind me is the only building for miles around in this isolated area on the Neuse River.”

The camera showed the small deteriorating cabin, its windows boarded up. Eve’s heart pounded in her ears. That cabin still haunted her dreams.

“A construction crew was leveling the forest surrounding the cabin when they discovered the remains,” the reporter continued, “reopening the investigation into the 1977 kidnapping of the governor’s wife. This is the foreman of the crew, Bill Smart,” he said, as the camera panned to the man next to him. “Can you tell us what happened here?”

Bill Smart wore a baseball cap and a full, muddy-colored beard. “We cut down this here patch of woods.” He pointed off camera. “And we were digging up the earth where the development’s community center’s supposed to go, and one of my fellas called out he saw something in the pile of dirt. Turns out it was the skeletal remains of Mrs. Russell.”

“As you can see,” the reporter said, “the area is cordoned off while the authorities sift through the soil looking for more clues in the long-ago disappearance of Genevieve Russell. That’s all we have now. We’ll report again as soon as we get more information.”

The anchor was back on camera. “She was pregnant when she disappeared, wasn’t she, Chuck?” he asked.

“Yes, John, she was. I’m sure this is both a sad time as well as a relief for the Russell family.”

Eve sat stiffly in front of the TV, the bite of sandwich she’d eaten stuck in her throat. She flipped the channels again. Most stations had moved on to other news.

She hesitated only a moment before calling Lorraine at Channel 29. She wasn’t sure what she would ask her old friend, but she had to know more, and if anyone knew all there was to know at this point, it would be the producer of Channel 29 news.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Lorraine said when she picked up the phone. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Eve said. “But I just heard about President Russell’s wife being found. Her remains, I mean.”

“Yeah, isn’t that something? Juicy news day. I love it.”

If Lorraine thought it strange for Eve to call her about a news item, she didn’t let on.

“Has Russell said anything?” Eve asked. “And what about the baby his wife was carrying? Was she…was she still pregnant?”

“Still pregnant? Well, yeah. I guess. Why wouldn’t she be?”

Eve cringed at the slip. “They just didn’t mention anything about it, so I was wondering.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure,” Lorraine said. “And Russell’s not talking to anybody yet. Believe me, we’re trying, but not a peep out of him so far. I just heard a rumor that they found a gun buried with her, though. We’re trying to get confirmation on it.”

Eve remembered the feeling of the gun handle between her gloved hands. She’d worn the gloves the whole time, hadn’t she? The memories were blurred now, as if they belonged to someone else. She recalled holding that gun on Genevieve, telling her to shut up. And she remembered pulling the trigger, splintering the bathroom door.

She didn’t know what else to say to Lorraine. What would someone say who had no guilt?

“It’s sad,” she said. “The trail to whoever took her is probably ice-cold by now, too.”

“Oh, you never know,” Lorraine said. “The remains were found near a cabin, so that might provide some clues. I hope they get a bead on something. It’ll make for better news.”

It might have been the first time that she and Lorraine were on opposing teams.

“I wanted to make sure you know about Jack and Dru’s play on the—”

“
Wait Until Dark,
right?” Lorraine asked. “We’ll be there.”

“Great. Tell Bobbie I said hi.”

“Good to talk to you,” Lorraine said. “Let’s do lunch soon.”

“For sure,” Eve said.

She returned to the grounds and struggled through the afternoon with her clients, wishing she could get to a TV instead of being stuck in her office. By the time she got home, Jack was already making grilled-cheese sandwiches for dinner.

“Did you hear?” he asked, after greeting her with a kiss.

“About President Russell’s wife?” Eve asked.

“Uh-huh.” Jack pulled two plates down from the cabinet above the sink.

“I’m going to turn the TV on,” she said. “Is there anything new since this afternoon?”

“They can’t find the baby,” Jack called after her.

Oh, Lord.
“Do you mind if we eat in here?” She hit the remote button and sat down on the sofa. “The news should be on in about five minutes.”

“That’s fine,” Jack said. “It’s almost ready.”

She put on Channel 29 and watched commercials as she waited for the news to start.

“Good evening,” the anchor said. “The story out of New Bern, North Carolina, is getting more disturbing by the minute. According to sources in the New Bern sheriff’s office, although the skeletal remains of Genevieve Russell were found, the remains of the infant with whom she was eight months’ pregnant were
not
found with her. That’s left authorities scratching their heads. A search of the area is underway—”

“I’ve got grilled cheese.” Jack walked into the room, singing to the tune of “I’ve Got Rhythm.” “I’ve got—”

“Shh!” Eve held up a hand to hush him. She looked at him quickly. “Sorry,” she said. “I just want to hear this.” She’d missed whatever the anchor had said about a search.

Jack set the tray on the coffee table and sat next to her. The smell of the grilled cheese turned her stomach.

“Police have cordoned off the entire area until that’s completed,” the anchor said.

“Hmm, charming place,” Jack said, alluding to the run-down cabin on the screen.

She remembered the front door, the way it was set back from the wall of the house. She remembered the rushing sound of the river, the spray of water on her face when she and Tim stood on the overlook. Before everything happened. Before everything changed.

The reporter in the field held her microphone toward a police officer.

“Do you think this is where Genevieve Russell’s kidnappers held her hostage?” she asked.

“Well, that’s just speculation at this time,” the officer said, “and we’re not playing any guessing games until we’ve finished our investigation.”

“Have you found anything in the house?”

“We’re not at liberty to talk about that at this time.”

What?
What clues could they possibly find in the house after all these years? How many people had stayed in the cabin since then? She’d left nothing of herself behind. Not even a fingerprint. She was sure of it. She thought of the mask. Had Forrest buried it with Genevieve? Would they find it as they sifted through the soil? Would her skin cells be on it? And if they were, could that somehow lead them to Eve Elliott?

Irving Russell suddenly appeared on the screen. He stood next to his daughter, Vivian, in front of the Rotunda on the grounds.

“I saw the Channel 29 van on campus today,” Jack said. “I figured they were looking for—”

She rested her hand on his arm to shut him up. “Please,” she said.

“This is a difficult time for me and for my family,” Russell said. He looked weary, and she remembered seeing him on TV shortly after Genevieve’s disappearance. He’d been almost gaunt then. His build was stockier now. More robust. Yet the hollow look in his eyes was the same now as it had been then.

Two children, about five and eight, came into view as Vivian drew them close to her. Russell’s grandchildren, most likely. Vivian looked so much like Cory. Couldn’t Jack see the resemblance? She held her breath, waiting for him to mention it.

“I feel both deep sorrow and profound relief that Genevieve has at last been found,” Russell said. “Words can’t express, though, my…my horror at the fact that the baby she was carrying is missing. I don’t understand it and I’m afraid to think of what that might mean.”

Was his lower lip trembling? Eve watched while Vivian slipped her hand around her father’s arm and held it tight, as if trying to prevent him from falling.

“I only hope that Genevieve didn’t suffer too much,” he said. “And I’ll never rest until I find out what happened to that baby. To my son or daughter.”

“That poor guy,” Jack said, when the news team moved on to another story. “Can’t even imagine what this must be like for him.”

Eve struggled to find her voice. “I’m sorry I snapped at you to be quiet before,” she said. “I’ve just been…you know…I’ve heard rumors all day and wanted to find out what was really happening.”

“That’s okay. Eat your grilled cheese. Dru’ll be here soon.”

She’d forgotten that Dru was coming over to run through her lines with Jack. She looked down at the sandwich. Jack was great at grilled cheese. The bread was a rich brown, not too greasy. Melted white cheddar spilled onto the plate. She could see a sliver of red, the sliced tomato he’d put inside.

“I’m not very hungry,” she said, studying the sandwich, her stomach churning.

Jack looked concerned. “Are you in a lot of pain today or something?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s…stomach stuff, I think. Maybe Dru would like this when she comes.”

“Want me to wrap it up?”

“I’ll do it.” She got to her feet and carried the sandwich into the kitchen. She was wrapping it in plastic wrap when the nausea hit for real, and she just made it to the powder room off the hallway before throwing up. Her heart raced as she sank to the floor and leaned against the wall, eyes shut. She could see Russell’s trembling lip. Vivian’s pale and fragile face, so much like her sister’s.

“Evie?” Jack knocked on the door. “Are you sick?”

“Yes,” she said in a whisper.

“Evie?”

“Yes,” she said, louder this time.

“Can I come in?”

“No, honey. Thank you. I feel better. I just need to…to sit here for a while.”

“I’ll call Dru and cancel.”

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“I want to take care of you.”

“I’m all right,” she said. “I think I just ate something funky.” She didn’t want him to take care of her tonight. She needed to be alone with the only person who knew the cause of her distress: herself.

She rinsed out her mouth and left the bathroom.

“You can’t be pregnant, can you?” Jack asked.

“Lord, I hope not.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Fun, maybe.”

“Oh, Jack, you’re crazy. I’m going to take a bath and go to bed,” she said. “Give Dru a hug for me.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Thanks, no.” She walked past him toward the bedroom, closing the door behind her. In the bathroom, she turned on the water in the tub and sat on the edge, fighting the nausea that rose up inside her again. She undressed, dropping her clothes to the floor, then stepped into the tub, holding tight to the grab bars as she sank into the water. She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“I’m scared,” she whispered into the air. “I’m so scared.”

She woke up later that night around ten, her entire body aching. She’d always discounted the idea that stress could exacerbate her arthritis. In the decade she’d been struggling with RA, she could find no correlation between the pain and the events going on in her life. Some of her most painful and crippling times had been during the most placid periods in her marriage, and some of her best times had been during the stressful period when they were taking care of Jack’s ailing mother.

But right now, she couldn’t deny the mind-body connection. Her hands and feet had the viselike pain she remembered from the days before the new drug had come on the market. Was she going to have to dust off the scooter again? she wondered. She hadn’t needed it in a couple of years; it would be like going backwards, admitting defeat.
You’ve lived fifteen years longer than your mother did,
she told herself as she got out of bed.
Count your blessings.