“Stay in there, pal. It’s not time to come out yet,” Charlie whispered. She was answered with another contraction, ten minutes after the last.
She lay counting the contractions for an hour before she finally woke Waverly. At her explanation, a brief look of alarm flashed across her sister’s sleepy face. Waverly scrambled to sit up, but she schooled her features almost immediately. It was getting light outside. Artur would bring them breakfast soon. There was another day of taping planned, this one focused on cabbage leaves.
“What should we do?” Waverly asked, stumbling from the bed and hovering over Charlie.
“I don’t know,” Charlie admitted. “I think we need to tell Jetmir as soon as possible. Maybe they’ll let me go to a hospital. I need to get checked out.”
Waverly bit her lip, looking worried. “Okay, I’ll fetch him. You try to relax.”
Charlie snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m trying, but it’s not working.”
Waverly pounded on the locked bedroom door, calling loudly for Artur. A moment later he poked his head in, wearing his perpetual scowl. “Jetmir, Jetmir,” Waverly demanded, pointing to Charlie on the bed. “Baby. Emergency.”
Artur frowned and withdrew. They heard his heavy steps moving down the hall. A few moments later Jetmir appeared, yawning sleepily. A heavy stubble covered his normally clean-shaven face, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair, zipping the front of his tracksuit. He came fully awake when they explained the situation, however, and immediately called Erjon on his cell phone. He spoke in rapid Albanian for a moment, then listened carefully, nodding often.
When the call was finished he turned to Charlie. “We will bring someone to help you,” he said. “I will get her now.” He took leave of them, promising to return quickly.
Waverly perched on the edge of the bed beside Charlie, hands clasped between her knees. “Oh, I hope they hurry.” She glanced sideways at her twin. “This is not how I imagined it going at all.”
“You and me both,” Charlie said dryly, then winced as another contraction tightened her body. “Still ten minutes apart.” She tried to keep her voice even and calm, but panic was beginning to squeeze her heart. She had to protect this baby. She had to somehow make everything okay.
“Well, they’re not getting any closer together. That’s good, right?” Waverly said, smiling encouragingly.
“It shouldn’t be happening at all,” Charlie muttered. “It’s too soon.”
Waverly hesitated, her hands fluttering over her sister’s belly. “Do you mind?” she asked. Charlie inclined her head, an invitation. Waverly cupped her hands around Charlie’s stomach, fingers splayed over the round dome.
“Hello, baby,” she said softly. “We want to meet you but not just yet. You need to stay in there awhile longer. You’ll see the wide world soon enough, little one.” The baby pressed against Waverly’s palm, a hard knob of knee or elbow jutting under the dome of skin.
“Oh.” Waverly looked startled. “She’s really in there, isn’t she?”
Charlie grinned in spite of herself. “Yeah. Wild, isn’t it? You think it’s a girl?”
“Well, the doctor thinks so, and I keep having dreams about a little girl, so I think it might be.” Waverly cocked her head, looking a little wistful. “I envy you, you know.”
“For what?”
“Getting to carry her inside you for so many months. You’re making a human, every fingernail and tooth bud. It’s amazing.”
“But it’s your baby,” Charlie said gently. “I’m just the factory.”
“No.” Waverly shook her head. “You’re far more than that. You get to create a life. That’s a miracle.”
Charlie flinched as another contraction squeezed her. “Well, this miracle maker has to pee like a racehorse. Can you help me up?”
Charlie was just struggling to sit up, Waverly supporting her, when the door opened and Jetmir appeared, followed closely by a wizened, tiny woman. Charlie recognized her immediately—the cook from the kitchen. Her heart sank. This could not possibly be who they were bringing to help.
Jetmir smiled as he made the introductions. “This is Valbona. She don’t speak any English, but she has had twelve children, so she can help you.”
Charlie and Waverly stared at the toothless, wrinkled woman in horror. She scowled back at them, arms crossed over her sagging bosom, iron-gray wisps of hair straggling from beneath a head scarf.
“Oh dear Lord,” Waverly intoned under her breath.
“Seven of her children are still alive,” Jetmir added helpfully.
Charlie blanched at his words. “We have to find a way out now,” she murmured to her sister, her face stricken. “We’re out of time.”
Waverly wrinkled her nose at the pungent vinegary brine as she lifted another pickled cabbage leaf from the large glass jar. Antigona’s eyes were watering as she expertly rolled a leaf around a small mound of minced meat and herbs. Waverly did the same, gingerly tucking the ends under, wrapping it as snug as a baby in a bunting. As she worked she kept up a seemingly effortless patter of conversation, narrating her actions, offering tips. She had been doing this sort of thing for so long that it came as second nature. Sometimes she could talk to the audience while thinking about something else entirely.
She glanced up at the red light of the camera, aware that every nuance and gesture would be plastered on YouTube before evening. Was there any way to get a message out? She had been horribly distracted all day. She’d burned her hand while frying the meat, and it throbbed, the bright red welt stinging from the salt and vinegar in the brine. All she could think about was Charlie and the baby. Charlie had been resting since early that morning when the contractions started, and so far there had been no change, but Waverly was petrified. So was Charlie, although she wouldn’t admit it. They were both trying to put on a brave face and be strong for each other. Valbona had brewed a foul-smelling concoction of herbs into a tea and pressed it upon Charlie. As soon as she was gone, Charlie had covertly dumped it out the window and gone back to bed to lie flat and count contractions.
Her sister was doing all she could at the moment. Now it was up to Waverly. She had to get them out somehow. But no grand escape plan had occurred to her. So she dutifully rolled cabbage leaves around the meat, filled the silence with cheery prattle, and tried desperately to concoct a strategy for rescue or escape.
She started from her thoughts when Antigona bumped her hand. Waverly moved a few inches away, giving the other woman more space. Antigona liked to be center stage. Waverly sighed and rolled another cabbage leaf. Antigona bumped her hand again. This time Waverly looked up. The young woman was looking at her with wide doe-eyes through a fan of fake eyelashes. She looked like a doll with perfectly painted lips and a glittering tiara.
“Baby need help?” Antigona asked in a low voice, keeping her eyes on the cabbage leaf in her hand.
Waverly stared at her. “What?”
With a loud clatter Antigona dropped a spoonful of meat filling on the floor behind the island. With an exclamation of dismay, she bent over, making a furtive gesture to Waverly to follow her. Waverly ducked down behind the island as well, confused.
“Baby need help?” Antigona asked again, quietly and insistently, meeting Waverly’s eyes.
Waverly nodded her head tentatively, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes, the baby needs help,” she whispered.
Erjon called to them from the front of the stage, demanding to know if everything was okay. Antigona answered in a flood of Albanian, waving him away over the top of the island. She hunkered down, balancing precariously on her absurdly high heels, and reached into the bodice of her dress, drawing a cell phone from the sweetheart neckline and pressing it into Waverly’s hands. Their eyes met for a brief moment, an understanding passing between them, bridging age and culture, the language of one woman helping another in need. Surprised, Waverly snatched the phone and stuffed it down the front of her sequined peach gown, the only hiding place she had on the sk
intight ensemble. The cell phone was still warm from Antigona’s skin.
“Thank you,” Waverly whispered in gratitude.
Antigona nodded, blinking once and again. Her eyes were moist. “I had baby,” she said sadly. “Three days.” She counted out the number on her pink manicured fingers. “He died.” She reached over and clasped Waverly’s wrist for a moment, her fingers strong and sure, then rose and straightened her dress, smoothing the wrinkles from the front. Then she picked up another cabbage leaf as though nothing were amiss. She did not look at Waverly again.
The taping dragged on interminably. Waverly finished rolling the cabbage leaves with shaking hands, stumbling through the prepared speech at the end, overwhelmed with the secret of the little cell phone lodged in her cleavage, a glimmer of hope, a chance of escape. At last the episode finished, and she asked for a toilet break. Erjon motioned her toward Artur.
“But then we make another show. This time dessert and good Albanian coffee.”
Waverly quickly agreed, anything to give her a few minutes of privacy. Artur accompanied her to the toilet. She made herself walk sedately to the outside squatty-potty, although her insides were quivering with fear and anticipation. So close. They were so close . . . She paused, pretending to adjust her shoe, and quickly memorized the license plate number of Erjon’s Mercedes. At this point anything was better than nothing. Maybe the information would help.
In the dank confines of the toilet she pulled the cell phone from her bodice. It had a jeweled case covered in glittery fake gemstones. She checked the time. Just after four p.m. In the dim light she almost missed it, but then she stopped and squinted. A tiny slip of paper was protruding from the edge of the case. She pulled it out gently so as not to tear it and stared at the single word of Albanian written in a feminine, looping scrawl. Waverly frowned, puzzled. Was it the name of a town? Their location? She had no way of knowing. Other than the license plate number it was all she had to go on. She would send it in the hope that it would help someone find them. With shaking hands Waverly sent the first text to Beau.
CHAPTER 27
Early the next afternoon Charlie was dreaming of Africa. She was sitting in front of the medical clinic, a squat building painted a cheerful yellow. There was grit between her teeth and between her toes. A long line of mothers holding babies snaked around the building, waiting for her to weigh the infants and measure their heads. Although she had not been back to Africa since the terrible incident, she returned often in her dreams. Her heart was still there, in the shantytown clinic where she had spent so many strenuous, bittersweet hours, in the empty field where her parents had lost their lives, their plane falling from the clouds in a streak of smoke beneath a wide-open sky.
She was reaching for the first baby, a fat, gurgling child with dimples at his knees, when someone grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her firmly. She opened her eyes and squinted at the figure looming above her head, disoriented. All of a sudden she was not in Africa at all. She was lying in a bed in a dim room, early-afternoon sunlight slanting across the floor. And Johan Kruger was standing beside her, his strong hand on her shoulder. He bent over her, his expression concerned.
“Charlie? Charlie, are you okay?” Behind him two policemen stood in the doorway, armed with rifles and stern expressions. She struggled to sit up, trying to orient herself. Kosovo. She was in Kosovo, and the baby . . .
“You,” she exclaimed, thinking for a moment she was imagining him rescuing her again, and then astounded to see him in the flesh. “I’m having contractions,” she blurted out. “And I’m not far enough along to have this baby. I’m only twenty-nine weeks. Can you help me?”
Johan frowned. “How long have you been having the contractions, and how far apart are they?”
“About thirty-six hours. They’re twenty minutes apart now, but they were ten to start with.” She looked around, still a bit groggy and confused. “Where’s Waverly?”
“Don’t worry, she’s fine. She’s in good hands. The police and her producer are with her. They’ve rounded up all the people on the property and she’s identifying them. She’ll be back any minute. Just lie still.” Johan gently pushed her back into a prone position.
Charlie lay down, feeling almost giddy with relief. They were rescued. The reality dawned on her slowly. It was going to be okay. “How did you find us?” she asked again. “Did you get Waverly’s texts?” She felt like laughing and crying both.
“Yes,” Johan confirmed. “She was able to give us the name of the nearest town and a license plate number. It took a bit of time to get here, and we had to coordinate with the local police, but they tracked down the owner of the car and finally we located you. There are a lot of people who have been wondering where you are. Do you mind if I examine you?” Johan gestured to her stomach and Charlie nodded.
Johan dismissed the police officers in the doorway, washing his hands in the bathroom and locking the door when he came back in. He placed his hands on her belly and pressed gently. He asked her a few questions and observed her through a contraction. He was all business, courteous and professional, but Charlie felt herself blushing furiously as he performed his examination. Usually very little about the human body embarrassed her, but then, she had to admit, she’d never had a raging crush on her doctor before.
She focused on the ceiling, on a water stain in one corner, trying not to feel self-conscious. A dozen times since their abduction she’d imagined Johan rescuing her, breaking down the door with his beefy shoulders. She’d never imagined him doing this, however. His warm hands on her skin felt strangely intimate. He finished his examination and pulled the blanket up over her belly again, then stood back and met her eyes.
“I think it’s safe to move you, but you need to be checked out by an obstetrician,” he said. “The baby seems to be okay, but we should get an ultrasound to make sure.” He paused and looked down at her.
“What’s the date today?” Charlie asked.
“The fourteenth of April.”
Charlie nodded, calculating in her head. “First let’s make sure the baby really is okay. That’s the most important thing, but if he is, I have to get to Belgrade as soon as possible.”
Johan fixed her with a curious look. “Why? What’s in Belgrade?”
“I have to testify in a trial.” When she told him the details, he listened intently, looking grave. “So you have to be there on the seventeenth?”
Charlie nodded.
“Sounds like we need to get you to Belgrade, then,” Johan said briskly. “It’s probably the closest place to get you and the baby checked anyway.”
Charlie cocked her head, listening for any noise outside. “Is everything really okay out there?” she asked.
Johan stuck his head out the door and asked a question to the police officer. He came back a moment later. “They’ve detained all the suspects now. Your sister is just fine. She’ll be here soon.”
He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and handed it to Charlie. She took it, surprised. It touched her, that simple gesture of care. It had been so many years since a man had taken care of her. Shane had tried, but he had not really known what she needed, and truthfully, she had not let him. She had been impatient with his attempts, fumbling and misguided. But with Johan it felt different. He was capable of caring for her, of giving something she could accept, that she needed. She guzzled the water greedily, suddenly parched.
“Is there anyone you want to call to let them know you’re all right?” he asked.
Charlie thought about it for a moment. “Is Andrew with you? Has he contacted you?” It had just occurred to her to wonder where he was. Surely he was somewhere close by. It was, after all, his wife and his unborn child who had been kidnapped, not to mention his sister-in-law.
“Andrew?” Johan raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled.
“Waverly’s husband.”
“I don’t think so, no.” Johan looked apologetic. “I’m sure we can contact him.
Is there anyone else you want to contact about what is happening with the baby? The father maybe?”
“Just Andrew,” Charlie said. “He’s the baby’s father.”
Johan looked startled. “Does your sister know?” he asked cautiously.
Realizing how the statement sounded, Charlie laughed. “Waverly knows. It’s their baby. I’m carrying it for them. Well, technically it’s a sperm donor’s baby. Waverly can’t get pregnant, and I’ve got a good set of ovaries I wasn’t using, so . . .”
Johan stared at her for a moment, processing her words. She thought he looked a little relieved.
“That’s very noble of you,” he said finally.
“Yeah, well . . .” Charlie shrugged.
Johan studied her, his eyes serious. “It’s a selfless act, Charlie. The Maasai do something similar. No woman is barren. If she can’t have children naturally, another woman will offer to bear a child for her. That child will be the barren woman’s. A bit more earthy than your process, I’d imagine, but the same result. Everyone who longs to be a mother gets to be one.”
Charlie brushed away the compliment, embarrassed. She handed the glass to him, and he refilled it, drinking the second glass himself. She watched his throat move as he drank. The gesture was strangely intimate, his mouth where hers had just been. She looked down at her hands, willing herself not to blush. This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, pregnant with her sister’s baby. And mooning over a handsome doctor like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl.
She distracted herself, placing her hands over the baby. He shifted under her skin, stretching and wiggling his tiny fingers. She laughed from the fluttering movement but also with the sweet sensation of relief. They were rescued. For now the baby seemed to be staying inside. “Everything’s going to be okay, pal,” she murmured, reassuring herself as much as the baby.
She heard voices in the hall and recognized her sister’s. The door flung open with a crash and then Waverly was there, falling to her knees beside the bed in her sequined evening dress the color of an eggplant, half crying and babbling about the rescue, almost hysterical with relief. She smelled of frying oil and hair spray, and she hugged Charlie and the baby so hard the baby kicked at the restraint. Charlie patted her sister’s stiff hair, reassuring her that all was well, while Beau and Johan watched the happy reunion.
Becoming the Talbot Sisters Page 26
