From Cradle to Grave (3 page)

Dick shook his head. ‘I’m not trying to be cruel. But you should go back to Kentucky . . . or wherever it is you come from.’

‘West Virginia,’ the girl said bitterly.

‘Dick, let’s be nice,’ Astrid pleaded in her charmingly accented voice. Looking pained, she offered the girl her hand. ‘I’m Astrid. It’s nice to meet you.’

Eden shook her hand briefly.

‘Astrid.’ Dick yelped. ‘This is ridiculous. This girl does not belong here. Can’t you make her leave?’ he said.

‘Darling, it’s not my place,’ Astrid murmured.

Lucy turned on her father. Her mild, almond-shaped eyes were uncharacteristically ablaze. ‘Dad. You act like she’s a criminal. She’s got a right to be here.’

Dick shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Not after all her grandparents put my son through. This is just wrong.’

Astrid, dressed in a sky-blue knit suit, was holding a beribboned package.

‘Astrid. Take the present inside,’ he said. ‘And meet me at the car,’ Dick turned away. Then, he made a detour over to where Morgan stood, holding the baby. He rubbed his index finger over the baby’s delicate head. ‘You be a good boy, Drew Richard Bolton. I’ll see you soon.’

Astrid, gripping the package, walked up the pathway and into the house.

Eden’s face was frozen into an expressionless mask. She did her best to avoid meeting the curious gazes of the guests.

‘Lucy, what is this all about?’ Morgan asked in a low voice. ‘Who is this girl?’

Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘You heard her. She’s Guy’s daughter.’

‘How come I’ve never heard of her before? Claire didn’t know anything about any daughter.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘He should have told her. That’s just like Guy. He doesn’t care about anyone else’s feelings.’

‘The girl said she was from West Virginia. Does her mother live in West Virginia . . .?’

‘No. Her grandparents. She was raised by her grandparents. Kimba died on their honeymoon.’

‘Their honeymoon!’ Morgan exclaimed. ‘Guy was married before?’

Lucy looked disgusted. ‘For about one week. They got married after Eden was born.’

The front door of the cottage opened, and Astrid came outside, minus her present.

She walked over to where Lucy stood with Morgan, the heels of her shoes sinking into the lawn. She opened her arms to Lucy and squeezed her in a brief embrace.

‘Poor Claire,’ said Lucy. ‘How’s she doing?’

Astrid shook her head and rubbed Lucy’s small fingers in her own, well-manicured hand. ‘I didn’t see Claire. I only spoke to your brother for a few seconds. He’s very . . . upset. He’s prepared a banquet in there. I wish your father would be reasonable . . .’ Astrid’s voice trailed away. She glanced back at the guests who were waiting by their cars, uncertain how to proceed.

‘Why is he being so horrible to Eden?’ Lucy asked her stepmother plaintively.

Astrid sighed. ‘He doesn’t mean to be horrible. He doesn’t know how to act. The situation is so . . . awkward.’

Fitz ambled up to where they were standing, his hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki pants. ‘Enter the bad fairy,’ he said in a low voice with a hint of a smile.

‘Not funny,’ said Morgan under her breath.

‘I’m sorry, Astrid, but I blame Guy for this. This is typical of him. You know he only thinks of himself. Maybe I should just go home to the dogs,’ said Lucy.

‘Please Lucy,’ said Astrid, wrapping an arm around her stepdaughter’s shoulders. ‘It’s Drew’s christening. Your brother had no way of knowing this would happen. You mustn’t be too hard on him. He needs our support. You know that. We’re a family. We help each other. Right?’

Lucy nodded reluctantly.

‘Anyway, darling, somebody had to stand by him. I can’t defy your father’s wishes. Won’t you go in there? For me? Please?’

Lucy sighed. ‘Oh, all right. But just because I feel sorry for Eden.’ Lucy turned to her newfound niece, who was standing helplessly by, her humiliation obvious from a slash of pink across each of her cheekbones. ‘Eden, why don’t you come on inside?’ she asked gruffly.

Eden shrugged without looking up. Lucy walked over and took her gently by the arm. ‘Come on. There’s food in there. You look like you need to eat. I’m your aunt by the way,’ she said. ‘I’m Lucy.’

‘That’s my girl,’ said Astrid to Lucy. She brushed the feathery white bangs off of Lucy’s forehead and leaned down to plant a kiss there. Morgan couldn’t help noticing that Lucy’s coloring was so similar to Astrid’s that they truly looked like mother and daughter. Then Astrid turned to Eden. ‘Your Aunt Lucy here will look after you.’

‘I’ll look after her,’ Lucy repeated grimly.

Morgan joined the other guests who, following Lucy’s lead, stepped uneasily into the house. Guy was taking the lids off of chafing dishes. ‘Please, eat,’ he said. Fitz did not hesitate. He walked over to the pile of plates, picked one up, and began to survey the buffet. Other guests followed suit. While Lucy filled two plates, Eden sat down stiffly on a chair by the door, watching Guy, who did not meet her gaze.

Morgan slipped out of the room and took the now-squirming baby down the hallway. Drew had begun to cry in earnest. ‘It’s all right, baby,’ she said. ‘It’s OK.’

She opened the door to the master bedroom. In the dim, gray light from the window she could see Claire, lying across the rumpled bed, still in her dress. Claire looked up and seemed almost frightened at the sight of her squalling baby.

‘Claire, I think he needs to nurse,’ said Morgan.

Claire sat up on the bed and unbuttoned the front of her dress listlessly, as if she were disrobing for a doctor’s exam. Morgan handed her the baby and Claire held him to her breast. Drew latched on greedily and was quiet.

Morgan sat down beside her friend. Claire looked stunned. Morgan rubbed her back awkwardly. ‘Claire, I am so sorry about all this. What a shock.’

Tears coursed down Claire’s cheeks as she looked at Drew’s head. ‘He’s a liar.’

‘You mean Guy? Well, I don’t blame you for feeling that way. Obviously, he should have told you,’ said Morgan.

‘He was married. He had a child,’ Claire exclaimed.

‘I know, I know. It’s a shock. But hey, it’ll be all right,’ said Morgan. ‘It’s not the end of the world. I mean, everybody’s got a past. And Eden’s just a kid. You can’t blame her . . .’ For one moment Morgan was glad that she was single and unencumbered by messy relationships. ‘This is just one of those bumps in the road.’

Claire gazed at her in disbelief. ‘Bumps in the road? He betrayed me. I can never trust him again.’

‘Now, don’t go ballistic . . . I mean, I’m sure Guy regrets not telling you. He should have told you, obviously. But think about it. If you’d known all this, I’m sure that wouldn’t have changed your feelings about him. This just seems worse than it is because you’re so down, emotionally and physically. It’s not that bad,’ Morgan insisted.

There was a murmur of voices, and the occasional sound of laughter from the living room. ‘They all knew about it,’ said Claire. ‘And nobody told me.’

Morgan sighed, knowing that she was right. ‘Well, I guess . . . they thought it wasn’t their place to say anything.’

‘They were laughing behind my back,’ said Claire bitterly.

‘Now, honey, that’s just not so,’ said Morgan. ‘Nobody’s laughing at you. If anything, they seemed almost as surprised as you were that Guy hadn’t told you. Now don’t start thinking this was some kind of conspiracy. Everybody came here today to celebrate. Really.’

Drew pushed away from his mother’s breast with his little fingers and began to fuss. Claire looked at him helplessly. She bent down to kiss his little round head, but he was fighting against her, flailing his tiny fists.

‘What?’ Claire cried to her baby. ‘Oh, Drew, what is it?’

Morgan lifted the baby from Claire’s arms. ‘Maybe he needs changing. I’ll do it.’ Morgan carried him to the changing table in the corner of the room. She marveled at how light, almost birdlike, he felt in her arms.

Claire murmured something, which Morgan didn’t hear.

‘What?’ Morgan asked, turning to look at her.

‘I said, I can’t do it,’ said Claire. ‘I can’t go on.’

Morgan felt as if a cold hand had clutched her heart. She held the baby close, her hand around his little round head, as if to shield his ears from his mother’s words. ‘Claire, don’t talk like that,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t even say such a thing.’

Claire turned her head, and gazed out the bedroom window. The afternoon sky had completely clouded over, and the breeze had stiffened. It blew the crisp, desiccated leaves away from the trees. Separated from their branches, they were lifted for a moment, and then, still tumbling helplessly in the wind, they drifted to the ground. She shook her head. ‘Fine,’ said Claire softly. ‘I won’t say it.’

THREE

M
organ rolled her suitcase into the waiting area of her departure gate. She set the bag beside a bank of battleship gray, molded plastic chairs, and sat down on the end seat. There were only a few other people scattered through the lounge. A middle-aged couple dressed in drab colors and sensible shoes sat a few seats down, facing her. Several rows behind them, a man was sleeping, slumped across two seats, his mouth open. The flight to Heathrow was not scheduled to depart for another three hours, but Morgan had arrived with time to spare. She liked to be early. Especially for an international flight.

She pulled the Sunday newspaper she had bought from her voluminous leather shoulder satchel, but though she unfolded it in front of her, she was too excited to read. She finally lowered the paper and just sat there with her eyes closed, imagining the month ahead, the gorgeous villages and countryside she would visit, the colleagues she would meet. Her doctoral thesis on Harriett Martineau’s life and work was outlined, and some of it was written, but this trip would provide the needed detail, the visual images she could keep in her head as she revised and polished. Simon had called earlier in the week to describe the manor house turned hotel which he had booked for them in the Lake District. Sometimes, after she talked on the phone to Simon she worried that she had little to say that was truly interesting. But this conversation was different. They had both been equally excited about the adventure which lay ahead. All week she could barely sleep, she was so giddy with excitement.

Giddy and, truth be told, a little guilty. She had left West Briar on Sunday, checking out of the Captain’s House early the day after the christening. When the innkeeper asked her how it went as she was checking out, Morgan pretended enthusiasm. In fact, the party had been a disaster. Claire refused to leave her room, and the guests left as soon as they could bolt down a plate of food. Morgan tried to bring a plate of food to her, but Claire refused to touch it. Morgan felt terrible for Claire, but she also knew that she couldn’t straighten out the problems in Claire’s marriage to Guy. ‘By the time I come back,’ she told her friend, ‘everything is going to seem much better. Eden will be gone, and life will be back to normal. You’ll see,’ she told the weeping Claire, who did not even beg her to stay as she had in the past. Claire let her go like an exhausted shipwreck survivor releasing her hold on a floating spar – numbly, hopelessly.

Thinking about it now, Morgan felt her spirits sinking, and she warned herself to stop. You’re bumming yourself out. Let it go. You can worry about all these problems when you get back. Right now, just enjoy the moment. Morgan’s smile returned. She deserved this happiness. She had earned it. She had applied for, and received, a grant to do her research in England. This wasn’t her first trip to England, but it would be the most special – this time she would be with Simon.

This grant was only the latest in a long string of scholarships and prizes she had won for her academic work. From the moment she had left the misery of her uncle’s house in upstate New York, she had found more than escape in university life. At her college, she found a place where she belonged, and a family in her fellow students. Once she had her doctorate, she would have the security she craved, and a chance at a faculty position. She wondered if Simon would ever consider seeking a position at a US university. He was well known for his poetry in academic circles. He could probably secure himself a place if he tried. Whoa, girl, she thought. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You haven’t even been to bed together yet. See how this trip goes. But she couldn’t help daydreaming about the life they might have together, if all went well.

Morgan’s contented musings were suddenly interrupted by a song by Alanis Morissette, which was the ringtone on her cellphone. She reached into the pocket at the front of her sack and pulled it out. She frowned at the unfamiliar number in the window, opened the phone and answered it. ‘Hello?’

There was no answer – just a cacophony of noise and muffled voices.

‘Hello?’ Morgan said again.

‘Morgan?’ said a familiar voice, softly.

Morgan frowned and sat up in her chair. ‘Claire? Is that you?’

‘Yes,’ said Claire. Her voice was flat.

‘How are you doing?’ Morgan said.

Claire did not answer. ‘Where are you?’ Claire asked.

‘You caught me at the airport,’ said Morgan, admittedly feeling worldly and sophisticated as she said it. ‘I’m waiting for my flight.’

‘Where are you going?’ Claire asked.

Morgan felt a moment of annoyance. She knew that Claire was overwhelmed by her new baby, by all that had happened, but Morgan had told her repeatedly how much she was looking forward to this trip. ‘I’m going to do my research. In England. I’m going to meet Simon. Remember I told you?’

There was a silence at the other end. ‘Right,’ said Claire at last. ‘That’s right. Never mind. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I’m glad you called,’ said Morgan. ‘I’m not leaving for hours. I have time to talk.’

There was silence at Claire’s end.

‘Claire? What’s going on?’ Morgan asked.

‘No. I shouldn’t have called you. I always call you.’ There was a note of real regret in Claire’s otherwise affectless tone.

‘That’s all right,’ said Morgan without conviction. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she felt slightly . . . nettled by the call. She didn’t want to think about Claire’s problems. She didn’t want anything to spoil this day. She had done her best for her friend, and now she just wanted to think about her own trip, and the glorious weeks ahead. But immediately she realized she was being petty, and was ashamed of her own impatience. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said warmly. ‘Of course you should call me. What’s up?’

‘Something has happened,’ said Claire.

It was an innocuous statement. But Morgan instantly felt alarm coursing through her veins, although she couldn’t say why. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked warily.

‘Guy,’ said Claire. ‘And . . .’ Claire’s voice cracked. ‘Drew.’

‘What about Guy and Drew?’ Morgan asked. Her heart was beating fast.

‘They’re . . . dead,’ said Claire.

‘THEY’RE DEAD!’ Morgan cried. Chills ran through her, criss-crossing her arms and legs. ‘Oh, my God. Claire . . . Oh, my God.’

The middle-aged couple across the way facing Morgan looked up at her, their eyes filled with concern.

Morgan hunched over in her seat, turning a shoulder to them, and gripping the phone with both hands. ‘What do you mean? What happened? Were they in an accident? Oh Claire, I can’t believe this.’ Guy and Drew both dead? For one brief, selfish moment, Morgan thought again about herself. Her trip would have to be postponed. She thought of Simon describing the romantic old hotel, and then she was instantly ashamed of herself for even thinking about such a thing when Drew . . . Morgan pictured her godchild, the tiny, innocent baby, resting in her arms only days ago. Tears filled her eyes and she felt an actual stabbing pain in her heart. ‘Oh, my God. Nooo . . .’

‘It wasn’t an accident,’ Claire said in a dull voice.

Through her confusion, through her own shock, Morgan suddenly realized that Claire was not crying. Not screaming. And then, simultaneously, she registered what Claire had said. ‘It wasn’t an accident? What do you mean? What was it then? What happened?’

‘Morgan, I need you here,’ said Claire.

Morgan sighed and released the handle on her carry-on luggage. ‘Of course, Claire. I’ll come right away. But how . . . What happened?’

‘They were . . . killed,’ said Claire. ‘Murdered.’

Morgan put a hand to her chest. She could feel a pulse beating beneath her clavicle. ‘Oh, my God. It can’t be. Who? Where did this happen . . .?’

‘At our house,’ said Claire.

‘Jesus, Claire. I don’t understand. Were you there when it happened? Oh, I can’t believe this. Are you all right?’

Once again there was silence at Claire’s end. Morgan realized that she needed to get a hold of herself. Claire was obviously in desperate need of someone to lean on. She was not helping Claire by being hysterical. She needed to take charge. She forced herself to think, to speak calmly. ‘Claire, are you hurt? Where are you right now?’

‘I’m at the police station,’ said Claire.

‘OK, good,’ said Morgan. ‘At least you’re safe.’

‘They’ve been asking me questions,’ said Claire.

‘Questions? My God. What’s wrong with those people?’ Morgan cried. ‘You should be at the hospital. You’re probably in shock. Look, you tell the cops that you will answer their questions later. Or let me talk to them. I’ll tell them. Is anyone with you? Astrid? Or Lucy? Anyone who could take you to the hospital?’

‘No,’ said Claire.

‘All right, look. Call someone to come and take you to the hospital or at least a doctor’s office.’

‘I can’t call them,’ said Claire softly.

‘Why not?’ Morgan demanded.

‘The police told me I only get one call,’ said Claire.

‘One call? That’s ridiculous . . .’ Morgan began to protest. And then, in the next moment, the enormity of what Claire was saying registered in Morgan’s mind. ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute . . .’ Morgan pleaded.

‘I called you,’ said Claire simply.

Morgan felt dizzy, as if the airport lounge was tilting. ‘What . . . are you talking about? Are you saying that they’re questioning you because . . . they think that you . . .?’

‘They’ve arrested me,’ said Claire.

For a moment it was Morgan who was silent. Like everyone else, she’d heard of innocent people being arrested, convicted. But that was an aberration. Normally if you were arrested, it was because the police had reason to believe you were guilty. Or she had always believed that until this moment. But Claire . . .? No. Claire kill her husband and her baby? It was . . . impossible. Almost . . . laughable. For a moment, Morgan felt as if she was in some bizarre dream, that this call wasn’t even real. But it was real. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how this has happened, but I do know that it’s some awful mistake. Oh, my God . . .’ Morgan glanced at the clock on the wall facing her. How long will it take me to get there, she thought? She had taken the airport shuttle to get to Kennedy. She would have to go back to Brooklyn, and get her car. She was calculating hours. It would take too long. Claire needed help right away. ‘Look,’ said Morgan. ‘You need to have someone with you. Do you and Guy have an attorney that you use . . .?’

‘No,’ said Claire. ‘Not really.’

‘Well, listen. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you shouldn’t say another word to the police until you have an attorney with you. It doesn’t matter if you’re innocent. We’ve all seen enough TV shows about this sort of thing to know. This is how innocent people get into trouble. You just tell the police you can’t say anything more to them until an attorney gets there, OK? Then when the attorney arrives, you explain everything to him. He will tell you what to do.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Claire.

Morgan could picture her friend, her eyes vacant, shaking her head. Morgan wished she could reach through the phone and shake her by the shoulders. ‘It definitely does matter,’ said Morgan. ‘Claire, you have to listen to me now. That’s why you called me, right? You called me so I could help you. So, listen. You tell them to get you an attorney. If you ask them to do that, they have to do it.’

‘It’s too late,’ said Claire.

‘It’s not too late,’ said Morgan. ‘You just tell them that. Say you want an attorney and then don’t answer any more questions or say another word. I will be there as soon as I can.’

‘I already told them,’ said Claire.

Morgan’s heart skipped a sickening beat. ‘Told them what?’

‘That I did it,’ said Claire. ‘I killed them.’