From Cradle to Grave (24 page)

‘From her own husband?’ said Morgan.

Lucy sat quietly for a moment. ‘Sometimes you have to. Although I’ll never know how Astrid did it all these years. How she kept it from my dad.’

Morgan frowned. ‘Kept what from your dad?’

‘What Guy did . . .’

It took Morgan a moment to understand. Then her eyes widened. ‘Wait a minute. Are you saying that it was Astrid that Guy . . .?’

Lucy nodded, frowning. ‘Yes.’

‘When did this happen?’ Morgan said.

‘A really long time ago,’ said Lucy. She hesitated, uncertain whether to elaborate, and then she seemed to make up her mind. ‘About a year after my dad and Astrid got married. Of course, I was . . . freaked out when they got married so fast. But Astrid was so good. She took care of me like my own mother. I started liking her, but not Guy. Guy hated them both.’

‘One day I skipped my swimming lesson and I was in my room. I heard somebody crying. So, I went to the door of my room and I looked out, and Guy was walking down the hall, tucking his shirt in his pants. He didn’t see me. I wanted to ask him who was crying but I knew he’d just make fun of me. I kept quiet and let him go.

‘But I could still hear the crying. I went down the hall to their room. My father and Astrid’s. Astrid was sitting alone on the floor and she was sobbing. It was like somebody died. Her clothes were all pulled down and messed up. She grabbed my father’s bathrobe and put it over her when she saw me in the doorway.’

Morgan recoiled from the image. Guy Bolton did that? She was overcome with the feeling that she had never known him at all. ‘She told you that Guy raped her?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘Not right away, but finally she admitted it. She was just worried about
me
being upset. I wasn’t upset. I was just so mad at Guy. I mean, next to my mother, and Julio, I love Astrid more than anyone.’

‘I wanted to call my father and tell him what Guy did. First she said, “Yes. Call him.” Then, just when I got him on the phone she shook her head. Told me to hang up. I didn’t understand it, but I hung up. She said we couldn’t tell. She made me promise. She said my father would kill Guy if he knew. I didn’t care ’cause I thought Guy should be punished, but she said, no, that my dad went through enough. My mother’s death and all. She said we had to protect my dad. So, we did.’

Despite the stuffiness of the house, Morgan was shivering. ‘God. What a terrible thing to live with,’ she said.

‘It was worse for Astrid. She did forgive him though. Somehow. So, about Claire’s baby – don’t go thinking that Astrid wanted some kind of revenge on Guy. That’s not the way she is. Lots of times after that I’d see him treat her bad or snap at her, and I’d get so mad I wanted to strangle him. But not Astrid. She turned the other cheek. Astrid isn’t like other people.’

‘And you never told.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘No. I never forgave him. But I never told. Not till I told Eden. I wouldn’t have told you, but you already knew . . .’

Morgan frowned. ‘Why tell Eden? Why now?’

When Lucy looked at Morgan her eyes were bitter. ‘She was so sad about missing all those years with Guy. I wanted her to know what he was really like. I wanted her to know that she was better off growing up without him.’

‘But weren’t you worried that, once you told her, it might get back to your father?’

‘No one’ll tell my father that,’ Lucy scoffed. ‘Who’s going to tell him that about his dead son? No. It’s too late for that.’

TWENTY-NINE

M
organ took the meandering coast road back in order to have a chance to clear her head. Her spirit was soothed by an occasional glimpse of the sea. But her heart was in a tumult, remembering the appalling story she had heard from Lucy. As she drove along, she realized that she was approaching the Lobster Shack. She had assumed it would be closed, due to the family’s traumatic bereavement, as well as the end of the tourist season, but she could see that there were several cars in the small parking lot, and her heart did a surprising flip when she realized that one of the cars belonged to Fitz. He was back, earlier than he had intended to be. She recognized the car, with its Seahawks Wrestling sticker, from the night he had driven her to Oliver Douglas’s house. She also remembered it from the night of Guy and Claire’s wedding, when they had fallen on one another, their formal wear unbuttoned and undone, in the back seat.

Morgan hesitated, and then impulsively pulled into the lot beside his car and parked. The Lobster Shack was an old craftsman’s cottage which had, long ago, been minimally renovated to accommodate the larger kitchen and tables necessary for a luncheonette. Now that she was in front of the funky old seaside spot, she suddenly realized how hungry she was. Ravenous, in fact.

Morgan got out of the car and went inside, pretending not to look for Fitz as she entered. She hoped that he would spot her. Call out to her. But no one called out, and she was forced to look up, to find herself a table. There were only a couple of tables in the tiny place, and two other customers. She did not see Fitz. Where is he, she wondered? She was certain that she had been right about his car. A young waitress in jeans and a T-shirt arrived promptly at her table and Morgan glanced at the menu, feeling foolish and let down. She decided to get something to go.

‘I’ll have a pint of that corn and lobster chowder,’ she said to the girl.

‘We don’t have the chowder,’ said the waitress. ‘That’s the weekend special.’

‘Oh,’ said Morgan, frowning. ‘Well, this sandwich plate. To go,’ she said.

‘You got it,’ said the girl, disappearing back into the kitchen. Morgan turned in her chair and gazed out the windows of the restaurant which gave out on to the ocean. There were a couple of tables beyond the windows, on the open-air patio beneath the now empty metal frame which supported a canvas awning in summer. Morgan saw two men huddled at one of the tables. It only took her a moment to recognize Fitz and Dick Bolton. They were both dressed in casual jackets, hands stuffed in their pockets, their backs to the shack, looking out to sea. Fitz would glance occasionally at the older man, uttering something, and then would go back to looking out across the sand to the waves. The breeze off the ocean had blown Fitz’s curls back from his face, and Morgan noticed, with a little flash of desire, the elegant curve of his cheekbone when he turned his face to talk to Dick. If Dick replied to him, she could not tell. The older man’s shoulders were hunched, as if against the chill. Maybe they would come in soon, and see her sitting there, she thought.

‘Hey, Morgan,’ said a gentle voice.

Morgan jumped and looked up as Astrid approached the table from behind the counter. Like the waitress, she was wearing a T-shirt and jeans which looked well on her slim figure, and her white-gold braids were pinned loosely to the top of her head. She might have passed for a young woman, but for the deep lines in her face, and the dark circles under her eyes. Looking at her, Morgan could not help thinking of what she had heard from Lucy. Astrid, concealing her stepson’s crime to save the family. Forgiving the unforgivable. Or had she forgiven him, Morgan wondered.

‘Astrid,’ Morgan said in surprise. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’

Astrid shrugged, and sat down in the chair opposite Morgan at the table. She looked at her husband sitting out on the patio. ‘I guess Dick and I felt the need to get back to where we started. This place . . .’ She gazed around at the yellowed walls, the red checkered oilcloth on the tables. ‘This is where we worked when we first got married. When the kids were young. Before Lobster Shack Seafood took off. I guess we needed to . . .’ Astrid raised one shoulder and her voice trailed off.

‘I understand,’ said Morgan. ‘Back to basics. Kind of a sentimental journey.’

‘Kind of,’ Astrid agreed. ‘Sorry about the chowder you wanted. I just put the pot on with the stock.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m sure everything here is good,’ said Morgan. A little silence fell between them. ‘I see Fitz is out there talking to Dick,’ Morgan said.

‘Yeah. Fitz is a good boy,’ said Astrid. ‘He was Guy’s best . . .’ her voice broke and she struggled to control her tears.

Morgan studied Astrid, puzzled by her grief. It was hard to imagine after what Guy had done to her. For one moment, Morgan wondered if Astrid’s grief was all for show, just a façade. But then she decided that it wasn’t possible. No one could fake that sort of misery. Perhaps this is just what people meant by a mother’s boundless love for her children?

Astrid glanced at Morgan. ‘You’re looking at me in a funny way,’ she said.

‘Oh, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,’ said Morgan. ‘I was just thinking that Lucy and Guy were . . . lucky to have a stepmother who cared so much for them.’

Astrid raised her small chin, and her pale lavender eyes glittered with tears. ‘I didn’t have any children of my own,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t that lucky. But I have loved the ones who were given to me.’

Morgan nodded, feeling uncomfortable. Had Guy begged her forgiveness somewhere along the line? Had he made amends, she wondered? Keeping an eye on the outside table, Morgan noticed, with relief, that the two men had stood up and were coming inside. Dick pulled the door open and entered the tiny restaurant. ‘It’s freezing out there,’ Dick said, shuddering.

Astrid stood up and wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. ‘Come back in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘That’s warm.’

Dick noticed Morgan sitting at the small table and frowned. Before he could say anything, Fitz also noticed her. ‘Morgan,’ he exclaimed. ‘Hey!’

Morgan smiled at his obvious pleasure. ‘You’re back,’ she said.

Astrid nudged Dick in the direction of the kitchen, and Dick, after a moment’s reluctance, followed his wife’s lead. Fitz came over to the small table, just as the waitress appeared, carrying a brown bag with Morgan’s sandwich.

‘What’s this?’ he said.

‘Take out,’ said Morgan.

‘Good! Take it outside to the patio. It’s not that cold. I swear. Dick’s just a little bit . . . susceptible, after all that’s happened.’

Morgan nodded, pretending to be torn, but actually she was delighted by his impromptu invitation. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Why not?’

Fitz asked the waitress to bring him some lunch as well, and then he held the door open for Morgan and followed her out to the patio. It was, indeed, a beautiful day, and the sun was warm on them, even though the air was chilly. From the patio, their view of the dunes and the ocean was unencumbered. The sky looked like a baffled quilt of smoky cotton wool, tossed out toward the horizon. The sunlight was diffused and shone, lacy and golden, through the clouds. Beyond the tall brown beach grass studded with persistent stalks of goldenrod she could see blue-gray water breaking on silver sand. Seabirds wheeled and dove into the waves, and salt spray flew up over the shiny, dark rocks which formed a jetty. Morgan took a seat and Fitz sat close beside her. Morgan could feel his gaze on her, and she tried not to blush.

‘So what have you been up to while I was away?’ he asked.

Morgan said, ‘I’ve been busy. I took your advice and asked Noreen Quick to intervene on testing the evidence.’

‘Really?’ he said, clearly pleased by this. ‘How did it work out?’

‘Good,’ said Morgan. ‘Great, really. She listened to me, and she agreed to file some kind of petition about testing the evidence.’

‘Great. That’s great,’ said Fitz.

‘Thanks to you, and Professor Douglas, I think there’s some hope for Claire.’

‘I still can’t imagine who would want to drown a baby,’ Fitz said, shaking his head.

Morgan jammed her hands in her coat pockets to keep them warm and felt the outline of the scissors she had taken from Claire’s house. ‘That’s the million dollar question,’ Morgan said. ‘I was remembering that those balloons from the christening were still on the mailbox. They as much as announced that there was a baby in the house. It could have been . . . some weirdo. A stranger.’

Fitz shook his head. ‘That doesn’t seem very likely.’

‘Well, we don’t know yet,’ said Morgan.

‘Do you still think it might have been Eden?’ he asked.

Morgan shook her head. ‘No. I really don’t.’

‘I’d still like to know,’ he said, ‘why she was so mad at Guy.’

The waitress emerged, carrying Fitz’s lunch and set it down in front of him. She was shivering without any jacket. Her nipples, erect from the chill, showed through the thin T-shirt. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

Fitz gave her his winning smile and pressed a bill into her hand. ‘No, we’re good. This is for both of us. Keep the change. You better get back inside. You’ll catch a cold in that.’ Morgan felt a completely inappropriate stab of jealousy. The girl thanked him and gladly headed back in. Morgan opened her take-out bag, and the two ate in silence for a moment. Morgan wanted to tell him what she had learned about Guy. But it was difficult to find a way to say it. Suddenly he said, in a tone that was playfully chiding, ‘You should have called me while I was at the camp. You knew I was interested.’

Morgan put down her sandwich and wiped her fingers. ‘I . . . didn’t have your number.’

‘Where’s your phone?’ he demanded.

Morgan smiled. ‘In my pocket.’

‘Give it to me,’ he insisted.

‘Why?’ she said. But she reached into her pocket and handed it over to him.

Fitz took the phone from her and began to fiddle with the keypad. ‘Because I am going to take care of that. There. Now I’m number one on your speed-dial.’

‘What?’ Morgan demanded, not wanting to admit that she was flattered.

Fitz handed the phone back to her. ‘I was thinking a lot about you while I was gone.’

Morgan had not expected such an unguarded admission. ‘You were?’ she said.

Fitz wolfed his sandwich down, and brushed the crumbs off his hands. ‘Yup.’

‘What were you thinking?’ Morgan asked. She suddenly felt unable to eat another bite. She stuffed the remains of the sandwich back into the brown bag.

‘You done with that?’ Fitz asked.

Morgan nodded.

‘Here, give it to me,’ he said. He took the bag and tossed it into the trash receptacle on the patio. ‘Let’s take a little walk,’ he said.

‘OK,’ said Morgan.

Fitz jumped off the edge of the patio into the sand below and he held up a hand to Morgan. She took it, and he helped her down. When she was beside him in the sand, he kept a hold on her hand. She thought of pulling it away, but she didn’t. They began to walk down toward the jetty, their hands linked. She was hyperaware of his warm fingers, dry and rough, entwined with her own. She wondered what he had been intending to say, when he mentioned thinking about her. He did not keep her guessing.

‘I was thinking that you and I kind of . . . got things backwards.’

Morgan’s cheeks flamed. She knew he was referring to their wedding-day tryst in the car. ‘I guess we did,’ she said.

‘I was thinking I’d like to get to know you now,’ he said. He looked at her, waiting for her to meet his gaze.

She met it for a second and looked away. She knew she wasn’t as brave as he was. ‘That’s an idea,’ she mumbled.

‘Hey, come on. Don’t look surprised. You’re beautiful and you’re smart. And sexy. And I admire you. For the kind of friend you are.’

She knew that she should probably tell him all about her thoughts and theories, but all she wanted, suddenly, was to hear him say more about her, about them.

‘Thanks,’ she said. She felt tongue-tied, as if she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. ‘Really. That’s . . . really good to hear.’

Fitz squeezed her hand in his. ‘Now that Guy’s gone,’ he said, ‘I don’t have a friend I could count on like that.’

‘About Guy . . .’ she said.

Fitz frowned at her. ‘What about him?’

‘Well, I found out why Eden was so angry with him,’ she said.