From Cradle to Grave (2 page)

Morgan’s heart sank at the sight of her friend’s face. ‘Oh, Claire,’ Morgan said. ‘Not any better?’

‘It’s no use,’ said Claire.

‘Come on, now,’ said Morgan gently, giving Claire’s shoulders a brief squeeze. ‘It just takes some getting used to.’

Claire shook her head. ‘No, you don’t know,’ she insisted. ‘I’m a bad mother. Nothing I do is right. I feed him. I change him. He just keeps on crying.’

‘Here, let me hold him,’ said Morgan. She reached for the baby, and Claire released him without protest. Morgan pressed the trembling little body gently to her shoulder. The baby continued to cry and hiccup, but the force of his protests diminished.

‘Hey, little guy,’ she crooned.

‘You see,’ said Claire. ‘He’d rather be with you.’

Morgan frowned. ‘Don’t be silly. I’m just a novelty.’

Claire closed her eyes and slid back down under the covers. Morgan had known Claire since their first day of junior high school in a small farming community in upstate New York. Morgan, whose father was a diplomat, had been raised in Malaysia. Her parents died in a hotel bombing and Morgan was sent back to live with an aunt and uncle who clearly didn’t want her. On Morgan’s first day of school, so bewildering and alien after her years abroad, a skinny, acne-covered girl with glasses, who stood a head taller than anyone else in the class, sat down beside her in the lunchroom and asked her if she liked
Lord of the Rings
. Claire. It was a moment of relief that Morgan would never forget – the revelation of a kindred soul.

They had shared innumerable experiences in the years since then – from the triumphant to the devastating. But even when Claire’s mother, her only family, died during her senior year in college, Morgan thought, Claire had not seemed so hopeless.

‘Guy’s got everything ready,’ said Morgan.

‘I know. He’s been a saint,’ said Claire. ‘I don’t know how he stands it. I’m sure he wishes he’d never met me.’

‘How can you even say that?’ Morgan asked. ‘He adores you.’ As she spoke, she could hear the wistful pang in her own voice. When she had told Claire about her flirtation with Simon, Claire had said gently, ‘This doesn’t seem right to me. I mean, I don’t know of a guy who wouldn’t have made a move by now.’ Morgan had protested that Simon probably didn’t want to violate protocol, being a guest lecturer at the college and Morgan still a grad student. She proudly pointed out that they were going to be spending time together in England. Of course her flirtation with Simon would seem tepid compared to the dramatic passions of Claire’s life.

Claire and Guy had met when Guy catered Claire’s engagement party to another man – Sandy Raymond, a dot-com mogul who got rich from Workability, the internet employment site he founded. Sandy had hired Claire to do the graphics for his site, and he began to woo her soon thereafter, proposing during a vacation in Spain. Their engagement party took place at his summer home in West Briar. It had been a bittersweet occasion for Morgan. She and Claire shared an apartment, and she knew that this night marked the end of an era – their era as room-mates and travelers, sharing exotic adventures and late night ice cream runs, and building castles in the air. Claire was about to begin a very different kind of life as the wife of a dot-com millionaire. The event was glamorous. All the trees were lit with fairy lights, a jazz combo played, and the champagne flowed.

At some point in the evening, Morgan stepped out on to the patio behind Sandy’s beautiful house and saw Claire, in her blush pink silk party dress, standing on the stone steps, deep in earnest conversation with a gorgeous man in a food-stained chef’s jacket. The very next day, Claire told her that she was afraid it would be a mistake to marry Sandy, and she was going to give him his ring back. It had only taken her one night to realize that she had met the man she truly was meant to marry. Guy’s proposal, their wedding and Claire’s pregnancy had followed in a happy whirlwind. Morgan made no secret of it – she envied Claire that commitment, that certainty. ‘You’re the love of his life,’ said Morgan. ‘You and that baby.’

‘I know,’ said Claire in a small voice.

‘He wants this day to be perfect. Mainly for your sake. If it were up to Guy, I don’t think he’d care that much about having Drew christened.’

‘I know,’ said Claire wearily. ‘He avoids these family occasions. He’s done it all for me.’

‘I know it’s tough, but you’ve got to pull yourself together for this.’

‘Morgan, you just can’t imagine how . . . helpless I feel.’

Morgan looked down at the baby in her arms and realized that Drew had fallen asleep. Carefully, she placed him in his bassinet by Claire’s bed. Then she turned back to Claire. ‘Look, you and I are always honest with each other. And we’ve always tried to help each other through the tough times, right? Now, this one is tough. But when you put your mind to it, you can do anything. And I’m right here to back you up. You can do it,’ said Morgan firmly. ‘You have to do it. For Drew.’

Claire let out a sob. ‘Oh, Morgan,’ she wailed. ‘Oh, I love him so much.’

Morgan recognized this as capitulation. ‘Of course you do.’

‘I don’t want to fail him . . .’ she said, wiping away her tears.

‘And you won’t. You’ll see,’ said Morgan, although Claire’s helpless tears made her feel queasy with anxiety. ‘Now, come on,’ Morgan said, bending over the bedside table to switch on the lamp, ‘Get it together. I’ll run you a bath and you soak a little bit, while I’ll get into that closet and find you something beautiful to wear. You’re going to be the best-looking mom in all of West Briar. Trust me. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

TWO

M
organ sat in the back seat, beside the baby who was strapped into his car seat, while Claire, pale in the face and unsteady as a fawn, but clean, made-up, and wearing a short, navy silk sheath and a pair of pointy-toed, low-heeled pumps, sat beside her husband, who drove as if he had a car full of uncartoned eggs.

Morgan could see Claire’s delicate profile from where she sat, and she watched for changes that would indicate an imminent meltdown. But Claire was maintaining a shaky equilibrium, commenting on the beautiful autumn day and asking Guy questions about the baptism itself.

‘I talked to Father Lawrence about it. He promised me it would be short. No long service or anything,’ said Guy.

‘Good,’ Claire murmured, and then lapsed into silence.

They pulled up in front of the simple, white, wooden congregational church which stood beside a cemetery with a wrought-iron gate. Morgan recognized it. It reminded her of an old New England-style whaling church and it was the church where Claire and Guy’s wedding had taken place. They all got out of the car, and made their way slowly up the church steps and down the center aisle of the meeting house-style room. There were two banks of wooden pews, and a choir loft above. Today, there was no choir in the loft. The other guests were already assembled in two rows in the front.

Morgan recognized most of the people in the church from Claire’s wedding, and she remembered much that Claire had told her about them. She handed the baby to Guy and sat down beside Guy’s sister, Lucy, a short, pudgy woman with soft, white skin and flyaway blond hair and glasses. Lucy suffered from the genetic disorder Prader-Willi syndrome. In its extreme form, Prader-Willi led to obesity, mood disorders and retardation. Lucy, however, had a mild form of the condition and was of normal intelligence. She lived alone with two dogs and collected shells from the beach which she crafted into picture frames, boxes and other knick-knacks for a local store called Shellshack. Her love life, if she had one, was secretive, but there was speculation in the family that she might be asexual – another frequent complication of Prader-Willi.

Because the disorder was passed through paternal genes, Claire was advised by her obstetrician to go, early in her pregnancy, for genetic counseling. As she sat in the waiting room, reading a magazine, Lucy emerged from the counselor’s office and walked right by Claire without seeing her. Although Claire was very curious to see her sister-in-law there, among a group of expectant mothers, she never mentioned it to Lucy. Guy, who had little to do with his sister, could offer no explanation.

On the other side of Lucy, holding her hand, was Guy’s stepmother, Astrid. Beside Astrid was Guy’s father, Dick Bolton. Dick, though in his mid-fifties, still liked to surf in his free time, and had the tanned, fit look of a lifelong beach enthusiast. He was still handsome, and looked like a larger, more muscular version of his son. Soon after Dick was first married, in his early twenties, he had bought a run-down beachfront bungalow and turned it into a surfers’ lunch spot called the Lobster Shack. Over the years, the runaway success of the tiny, beachfront bar had spawned a retail business called Lobster Shack Seafoods. Dick affected a laid-back, ‘no worries’ persona, never wearing a tie, or foregoing a chance to stop and have a cocktail while the sun set. But, in truth, he was a demanding, impatient man whose short temper had made both his children wary of him. Astrid was Dick’s second wife whom he had met when he took Guy and Lucy to a tiny island in the Dutch Antilles to recuperate after their mother, his first wife, died after a short, fierce bout with cancer. Dick had picked the hotel out of a book about Caribbean trips on a shoestring. Astrid’s parents, Dutch nationals, owned and ran the small hotel and Astrid, a tanned, lissome blonde who wore her platinum hair, even then, in an old-fashioned crown of braids, worked for her parents as everything from receptionist to informal tour guide. While ten-year-old Lucy played alone on the beach and her teenaged brother, Guy, learned to dive, Dick courted the lovely Astrid with her tranquil, lilac-blue eyes. After an indecently short courtship – only the length of the vacation – Dick and Astrid were married and Astrid returned to West Briar, now a wife and the stepmother of two stunned, angry youngsters.

According to Claire, everyone in West Briar was shocked by Dick’s hasty remarriage. But Astrid helped out in her husband’s business and treated the children, especially Lucy, with a motherly tenderness. She tirelessly provided the care Lucy needed for her condition, making sure the girl had the proper diet, physical therapy, and medication she required. Astrid also was an advocate and regular attendee at conferences devoted to Lucy’s disorder. Guy, at fifteen the older of the two children, remained diffident in the face of his stepmother’s kindness, but Lucy quickly grew devoted to her.

Morgan also recognized a few of Guy and Claire’s friends. Donna Riccio and her husband, a salesman who was often on the road, lived across the street from Guy and Claire. They had a one-year-old at home, and Donna had advised Claire often on what to expect in her first year of parenthood. But, after Drew was born, and Claire confessed her depression, Donna said, ‘I don’t know what you mean. I was happy when I had my baby.’ Claire had not confided in her since.

Morgan avoided the gaze of Earl Fitzhugh, universally known as Fitz, who was Guy’s longtime best friend, and soon to be Drew’s godfather. Even though she did not look at him, Morgan’s face flamed just to be in his company again. Fitz, a wrestling coach at the local high school, was tousle-headed, with boyish good looks. He had been best man at Claire and Guy’s wedding while Morgan was the maid of honor. He had looked handsome in his tuxedo that day, and Morgan felt seductive with her hair in a casual upsweep and her figure curvy in a low-cut satin gown. Thrown together by the events surrounding the wedding they had flirted for two days, drunk too much champagne at the reception and ended up in a feverish, awkward coupling in the back of Fitz’s car.

Afterwards, Morgan felt a little ashamed of herself to have acted so wantonly, especially with a friend of Guy’s. But she told herself that it was nothing to be ashamed of – these sorts of things happened at weddings all the time. She decided to regard it as a moment of spontaneity, apt for the occasion. She had not seen or spoken to Fitz since. Now, she had to share the godparent title with him. She planned to act like an adult, treat that encounter like the meaningless fling that it was, and avoid any mention of it. She could feel Fitz’s gaze on her but Morgan did not look back at him.

‘Good morning,’ said Father Lawrence, the bespectacled, gray-haired minister who had officiated at Claire and Guy’s wedding. ‘Good to have you all here today. Can I have the godparents come up to the font with the parents?’ he asked. Morgan realized that meant her and Fitz. She stood up and edged past Lucy out of the pew. As she mounted the step to the altar, she nearly bumped into Fitz, who winked at her lasciviously. How juvenile, Morgan thought, and then she tripped on the step, blushed, and joined the others at the font. Father Lawrence began the baptismal rite. As she listened and responded to the ritual questions, Morgan kept her eyes on the baby. When at last she looked up, she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a movement in the empty choir loft. She hadn’t seen anyone there when she came in. But there was definitely someone there now, seated in the shadows of the last row. Morgan peered, and then frowned in recognition.

Claire noticed the look on Morgan’s face. ‘What?’ she whispered.

Morgan shook her head, and looked down at Drew, who was yawning and clenching his little fists. Although she had only met him two or three times, she was certain she had correctly identified the man in the balcony. But if it
was
Sandy Raymond, Claire’s ex-fiancé, here at the christening, she did not want Claire to know it, or to look up and see him. At that moment, Father Lawrence told Claire to hold the baby and he began to pour the water over the child’s head. By some miracle, the baby did not cry, and Claire actually smiled, as the minister pronounced him baptized and the small group of well-wishers began to clap.

‘Guy and Claire and, of course, Drew, want to invite you all to their house for a small celebration,’ said the minister with a broad smile when the applause subsided. Everyone stood up, and Morgan glanced back up at the balcony, but Sandy Raymond, if indeed it had been Sandy Raymond, was nowhere to be seen.

They made the short drive back to the cottage. It had been Guy’s house when Claire met him. Dick Bolton had given the cottage to his son, and a similar house, half a mile away, to his daughter, Lucy, some years earlier. His gifts showed foresight. Property in the Briars was now too expensive for young people to afford. Morgan watched as the houses of West Briar flashed by, each one more charming than the last, with expensive cars in the driveways, and swimming pools tucked discreetly in verdant backyards.

As they pulled past the balloon-decorated mailbox into the driveway, the first car to arrive, Morgan noticed a black motorcycle parked behind her car in front of the house. Claire said, ‘Honey, who’s that?’

A pale, thin girl with a stud in her nose, her dyed black hair streaked pink and secured in a messy twist in a hairclip, sat on the front steps of the cottage. She was wearing a leather jacket, filthy jeans, and heavy black boots. Her hands were festooned with rings, including a large, black onyx ring on her forefinger. An overstuffed backpack was slumped on the steps beside her as well as a black motorcycle helmet with a red rose painted across the visor.

Guy stopped the car, and stared across the lawn at her.

‘Who is that girl? What is she doing on our steps?’ said Claire. She opened the car door and got out. Slowly, Guy got out of the driver’s side. Morgan unhooked the baby from his car seat, lifted him up to her shoulder, and emerged awkwardly from the back seat.

The girl on the front steps stood up, wiped her hands nervously on her jeans. She ambled toward Guy, clearly trying to look nonchalant, but her gaze was shy and hopeful.

‘Guy?’ she asked.

Claire looked in bewilderment from the scruffy girl to her husband.

Guy’s face was ashen. He shook his head, as if he could somehow ward the girl off by denying her presence.

‘It’s me. It’s Eden,’ the girl said, her voice catching slightly. She had a soft, Southern accent.

‘Eden. What . . . What are you doing here?’ said Guy.

The girl affected a bright smile which looked strained. ‘I heard I had a brother,’ she said. ‘I came to see him.’ The girl was standing close to Morgan. Morgan could see that she had flawless skin the color of parchment, and small, slightly yellowed teeth. She turned to Morgan and she had the foul breath of someone who hadn’t eaten in too long a time. She pointed to the bundle in Morgan’s arms. ‘Can I hold the baby?’

Morgan instinctively cupped her hand around the back of the baby’s head. ‘I’m not his mother,’ she said apologetically. She glanced at Claire, who seemed to be teetering on her low heels. ‘Claire is his mother.’ The girl turned and looked questioningly at Claire.

Behind her, Morgan could hear car doors slamming as the other guests arrived, parked on the street and began to walk toward the house. Claire’s eyes widened, and she looked helplessly from the girl to her husband.

‘Who told you about the baby?’ Guy demanded.

The girl looked confused. ‘A . . . friend saw the birth announcement. She thought I’d want to know so she sent it to me.’ Eden’s voice sounded high and anxious. ‘Why?’

‘You shouldn’t be here, Eden,’ Guy said. ‘I’m sorry, but this is a very bad time.’

Claire began to sway slightly. ‘Guy?’ she said. ‘Who is this?’

The girl looked directly at Claire. She shook her head in disbelief, and her voice was plaintive. ‘Doesn’t she know about me?’ Eden asked.

Guy avoided Claire’s panic-filled eyes. ‘Claire,’ he said grimly. ‘This is Eden Summers. She’s . . . my daughter.’

Claire looked from Guy’s face back to the teenager. Then she let out a little cry of anguish. She looked as if she was about to collapse. Morgan wanted to help her, but she was still holding the baby. Without another word, Claire turned and fled into the house.

For a moment, Guy seemed to be torn between speaking to this teenaged intruder or following his wife. Then, Guy made up his mind and rushed into the house after Claire as the arriving guests watched, mouths agape.

‘Who is this?’ Dick Bolton asked, confused. He looked casually elegant in a black turtleneck and a tweed jacket.

Astrid murmured into her husband’s ear.

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Dick angrily. He turned on the girl. ‘Look sweetie, if you’re trying to get to know this family, this is not the way to do it – showing up here out of the blue.’

‘It’s not her fault,’ Lucy protested indignantly. Guy should have said something.’

Eden’s chin trembled, but her gaze had grown steely. ‘It’s my brother’s baptism,’ she insisted, her voice shaking.