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 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.