Last lullaby Page 2

  “We’re not here to judge you,” Lauren said quietly.

  Jade took a last drag from the cigarette then threw the butt onto the terrace. She closed the door and turned to face them. “I could’ve got a lot of money for Cara, you know.”

  “Money?” Lauren stared at her. Had she heard right? “Someone offered to buy your baby?”

  “They didn’t see it as a sale,” Jade said. “I was offered a few thousand, so I guess it amounts to the same thing.”

  “Was this before Cara was born?” Lauren had once worked for a firm that handled adoption cases. It was not uncommon for clients to pay the mother’s expenses while waiting for the baby’s arrival. Sometimes in their eagerness, clients offered extravagant fees. The firm had been careful not to let clients cross the line where an adoption became a sale.

  “It was a few months back,” Jade admitted. “Just think of what I could’ve done with that kind of money. But I could never part with Cara.”

  “Who offered you money?” Lauren couldn’t resist asking.

  “I’d rather not say.” Jade eyed the clock. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m expecting someone. Okay?”

  Chapter 2

  Lauren’s favourite part of the day was picking up her daughter at Kiddy Academy. Pulling into the preschool’s parking lot, she spotted Bailey in the schoolyard playing soccer with half a dozen other kids. Patrick Shaw and another young teacher were supervising them.

  Lauren parked the car and then stood for a few moments, watching.

  “Go get it, Tyler!” Patrick cheered. “Great shot, Bailey!”

  “Hey, Toots!” Lauren called as she opened the gate.

  “Momma!” Bailey ran toward her.

  Lauren embraced her in a hug.

  “Momma, I scored two goals,” Bailey said when Lauren released her.

  Patrick came to stand beside them. “She’s really a great soccer player,” he said, affectionately ruffling Bailey’s red curls. “Our girl here puts Beckham to shame.”

  “Why you come now, Momma?”

  “I thought I’d pick you up early.” Lauren smiled. It was as if Bailey had a built-in radar. Whenever Lauren was late, she’d find her waiting by the door, knapsack on her back, a worried frown on her elfin face.

  Lauren took Bailey’s hand and started toward the car. “How was your day?”

  “Ryan had to sit in time-out.”

  “Oh?” Lauren opened the door and lifted Bailey into her car seat. Bailey loved drama, and relished telling on kids who got in trouble.

  “Ryan bringed his mom’s nail polish to school. He painted David’s toenails.” Bailey giggled. “Colin spilled it, and Ryan got mad and bited him.”

  Lauren gave Bailey a smile. Would her daughter always be this carefree? Already, she was asking questions about why she didn’t have a daddy like the other kids at school. Was she wrong not to let Daniel know he had a daughter? Was she doing the right thing by keeping him out of Bailey’s life?

  Thinking of Daniel, Lauren had to blink back tears. They had been seeing each other for three years when she got pregnant. Knowing a baby wasn’t part of his plan, she’d left without telling him. It would have been too painful to have him reject her when she needed him most. But even now, a wound opened whenever she allowed herself to think of him. Don’t go there, she warned herself. You need to move forward.

  Half an hour later, Lauren was in her kitchen putting together lasagna, while Bailey watched cartoons in the living room. As she worked, Lauren thought again about Devon’s comment. All anyone had to do nowadays was google her and they’d find out the whole story. How had she gotten herself into such a mess? What the hell had she been thinking? It was bad enough she had breached attorney-client privilege, but the lies her client had told about her were even more damaging. Thank God she hadn’t been disbarred. But how would her new clients feel if they found out? She was just getting her practice up and running.

  You need to get in front of the story, Lauren told herself. Put it out there before anyone else gets a chance. Her friend Claire had warned her that the story might come to light someday. She would do that at the appropriate time. Thinking of Claire, Lauren realized she had promised to visit her. Claire had been suffering from postpartum depression since the birth of her baby six months before. It was so severe she couldn’t even make plans to go back to work. I’ve been neglecting her, Lauren thought guiltily as she reached for the telephone.

  —

  Across town in Sycamore Heights, the telephone rang and rang. Claire Ste Denis struggled to open her eyes, but sleep dragged her down into a black well of oblivion. When she awoke some time later her baby was crying. Like a diver emerging from a murky lake, Claire fought her way to consciousness. She’d slept the afternoon away, she realized, feeling a stab of shame. How long had Ariel been crying? “I’m coming, baby,” she called.

  Groggy and disoriented, Claire stumbled into the nursery. She peeled off Ariel’s soaked sleeper. Even the crib pad was wet. Overwhelmed and bleary with sleep, she managed to warm a bottle of formula and carry the wailing infant to the rocking chair.

  As Ariel’s sobs subsided, Claire felt a rush of tenderness. She loved this child; there was no doubt about that. Ariel was a good baby. It wasn’t her fault that her mother was too tired to care for her. Kissing the sleeping infant’s head, Claire gently placed her back in her crib.

  In the full-length mirror at the bottom of the stairs, Claire winced at the sight of the exhausted-looking woman with deep lines of fatigue carved around her eyes. She hadn’t expected motherhood to be this trying. Most days, she moved through her tasks like a sleepwalker. A sense of failure hit her like a physical blow. Why does it have to be this difficult? Why do I feel so inadequate?

  On her way to the kitchen, Claire heard the doorbell ring and hurried to answer it. Mitch Cromwell, the university’s director of drama, stood on the doorstep holding a gift bag decorated with kittens.

  “Mitch!” Claire exclaimed. “Oh, dear, I forgot you were dropping by. Please come in.”

  Mitch stepped inside. His plaid jacket clashed badly with the pattern of yellow and purple owls on his tie. “I hope I’m not getting you at a bad time.”

  “Not at all,” Claire said, giving him a quick hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Is our girl around?” He held up the gift bag.

  “Ariel’s sleeping. More presents, Mitch? You’re spoiling her.”

  Mitch put the bag on a table in the foyer and shrugged off his jacket. “I’m her godparent,” he said. “It’s my job to indulge her.”

  Shaking her head, Claire took Mitch’s jacket. He doted on Ariel, always bringing her toys and books. He had even started a fund for her education.

  Mitch pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. “I brought something for you as well…for you and Bram, actually.”

  Claire took the envelope. Inside, she found tickets to the dinner theatre the drama department was putting on.

  “It starts next Thursday and runs for three weeks,” Mitch said. “I know Bram works most Thursdays so the tickets are for Saturday evening.”

  “Thanks, Mitch. That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again.”

  “They’ve been asking about you,” he said as he followed Claire to the sitting room.

  She gestured to a seat near the fireplace. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some tea?”

  “No, thanks.” Mitch lowered himself into the chair. “I just dropped by for a quick visit.”

  Claire took a seat across from him. “It’s good to see you. I don’t get out much.”

  “So I hear….” Mitch’s face wrinkled with concern. “How are you, my dear?”

  “Tired,” she admitted.

  Mitch nodded. “It can’t be easy. My niece suffered from postpartum depression. It to
ok her the best part of a year to recover.”

  Claire sighed. “My doctor tells me it will pass…I just wish she could put a time limit on it. God knows I’m taking enough drugs.”

  “You will get better again.”

  “I suppose I will.” Still, Claire wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t feel weary and strung out. A time when she didn’t move in a stupor through an endless routine of feedings and diapers. Sometimes even the smallest chore seemed impossible.

  “Are you getting enough help?”

  “The students still come in from time to time,” Claire said. “They run errands, help with the housework. They take Ariel for walks in her stroller. It helps. Bram is going to be at a medical conference in Ontario next week. I’m not looking forward to that, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Claire managed a weak smile, as if to demonstrate. “And how are you, Mitch? Still on the wagon?”

  He nodded. “Nearly seven weeks now.”

  “Well, congratulations. Let’s hope it’s longer this time.” The longest Mitch had been able to stay sober so far was three months.

  “As you know, I’m retiring at the end of term.” Frowning, he rubbed his chin with his thumb. “I’m pushing sixty-five. Don’t know what I did to deserve that, but it happens. And,” he added, “I’m beginning to feel my age.”

  Claire studied him silently, taking in his lined face, his shoulder-length hair as thin and wispy as cotton candy. She felt a surge of affection. They’d been friends for a long time. Mitch had taken her under his wing when she started working at the Shaw Theatre Festival. They sometimes acted opposite each other on stage—King Lear and Cordelia, Miranda and Prospero. After Mitch had come to St. Bridget’s to set up the drama department, he’d sent Claire a brochure of the campus. Come any time to visit, he’d written. She had been busy writing her Ph.D. thesis at the time; however, the following year she took him up on his offer, and fell in love with the town. It was here she had met her husband, Bram Warren, a surgeon from Boston.

  “I recommended that you be my replacement when I retire,” Mitch said, bringing Claire out of her musings. “If anyone can make the department a success, it’s you.”

  “Mitch, thank you,” Claire said. “I’m so sorry but…right now, though, I just don’t feel up to it.”

  “September is still months away,” Mitch said, undeterred. “We can hire an acting director to take on your duties until you’re ready.” He glanced at his watch and rose from his seat. “Give it some thought.”

  Claire brightened. Maybe she could really make a difference in the future of the theatre, she thought as she followed Mitch to the door, build up its reputation.

  Once she walked back into the kitchen, she noticed the blinking red light on her phone. She pressed the button.

  “You have two new messages,” a mechanical voice informed her. Claire punched in her password. The first call was from her mother. “’Allo, kids,” she said in her broken English. “Papa and me…we leave to go home tomorrow. We will come visit you in Newfoundland soon. Is what…three months since we last see Ariel?”

  Closer to four, Claire thought, but she smiled in spite of everything. After her father retired, her parents had gone to India on a spiritual retreat. They lived in an ashram, practicing hours of silent meditation. There was no access to television, radio, newspaper, or the internet. Claire had missed them terribly.

  The other message was from Lauren. “Claire? I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you. I can come to see you next Thursday around three if that’s a good time. Let me know if that works.”

  “Anytime is good for me,” Claire muttered. “I hardly leave the house anymore.” But the thought of seeing Lauren brightened her mood. They’d been friends since their undergraduate days at McGill. Even after Lauren went on to law school and Claire to the National Theatre School, they’d kept in touch. Claire was eager to tell her about Mitch’s proposal. He believes in me, she thought. She imagined herself carrying out plans, making decisions about plays. She already had a vision for the future of the theatre. She and Mitch had discussed offering a master’s degree. There was so much that could be done.

  But will I be well enough? Claire wondered, reality hitting her like a splash of cold water.

  Chapter 3

  Jade frowned at herself in the bathroom mirror as she applied her makeup. No amount of concealer could hide the bags under her eyes. Only a good night’s sleep could fix that. Her face was pale, her hair dull and lifeless. She swallowed back a wave of resentment. Who the hell did Professor LaVallee think she was? How dare she come here threatening to take away her bursary? Didn’t she realize how difficult it was raising a baby while trying to get a degree?

  Jade trembled with anger. She couldn’t wait to graduate and get the hell away from this hick town. She glanced at her watch. And where was Patrick? He’d promised to babysit Cara this afternoon. Jade had an interview at the law firm of Bell Clarke; they were looking for a research assistant. Patrick knew how important the interview was. If she didn’t leave now she’d be late. For a moment, she thought of taking Cara with her. No, she decided. Patrick would be here any minute now. Cara was sleeping; she would be okay until he arrived.

  She worried that her clothes might not be suitable for the interview. Her one good blouse didn’t look too bad with a pair of black jeans. It would have to do, Jade told herself as she grabbed the worn leather jacket she’d bought at Frenchy’s. Minutes later she left the apartment, her résumé tucked inside a large shoulder bag.

  At the end of the street, Jade saw Patrick approaching. “Hi,” she called.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Patrick said, looking at his watch. “I would’ve called but your phone’s disconnected.”

  “I left the apartment door open.”

  Patrick stared at her. “You left Cara alone? Christ, Jade.”

  “She’s sound asleep.” Jade checked her watch. “Look, if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for my interview. Afterwards, I need to go to the library to get books for assignments I have due.” She pursed her lips. “Buckle and LaVallee came here yesterday threatening to take away my damn bursary.”

  Patrick frowned. “You shouldn’t go out and leave Cara alone, Jade. Anything could happen. What if I didn’t show?”

  “Whatever,” Jade said dismissively. “I have to run.”

  “Good luck,” Patrick said as he headed toward the apartment building.

  “I’ll be home around five,” Jade called over her shoulder. “When Cara wakes up, give her the jar of food I left on the counter.”

  —

  “Jesus,” Patrick muttered as he walked up the two flights of steps to the apartment. He did what he could for Jade because she was on her own. Still, he didn’t like some of the things he’d been witnessing lately. Jade’s patience with Cara was starting to run thin. What if she snapped someday and hurt her? It happened all the time.

  Cara was asleep in her infant carrier and didn’t even stir when Patrick opened the door. Poor baby, he thought, tucking her blanket around her small shoulders.

  He made himself a cup of tea and looked in the fridge for milk. Christ, what does the woman live on? There were a couple of wilted carrots, mustard, a few eggs, and a jar of pickles. He couldn’t find any milk, but there were about half a dozen little packets of sugar—the kind you get in restaurants.

  Patrick settled himself on the sofa and opened his textbook. For homework he had to read and summarize an essay on the stages of Freud’s psychosexual theory of development. After reading the second paragraph, he put down the book and groaned. When he’d enrolled in the Early Childhood Development program, he hadn’t expected to be studying all this theory crap. At least he was getting real experience at Kiddy Academy.

  Patrick was the only male in the program, and only the third to enroll since it had begun five years ago. His father, an account
ant who expected his sons to follow in his footsteps, wasn’t happy about this career choice. Patrick could still hear his taunting: You’re borrowing thousands of dollars to learn how to babysit kids? Miserable prick. No wonder his mother walked out on the son of a bitch. I’m happy with what I’m doing with my life, Patrick told himself. Someday he planned to open his own preschool. Screw the old man and his goddamn accounting. Patrick banged his fist down hard on the coffee table. The baby awoke with a start and let out a wail.

  Patrick picked her up. “Hi, Cara,” he crooned. “Mommy had to go out, but Uncle Patrick is here to take care of you.”

  She stopped crying and stared at him with wide, dark eyes.

  “Poor baby,” Patrick muttered. “You deserve better. You deserve a father. What’s going to become of you?” He knew Jade was doing her best, but it seemed to him she still made some very bad choices. It broke his heart that Cara was being neglected.

  —

  Jade watched uneasily as a middle-aged woman—her nameplate read Amy—scanned her résumé. “Why do you want this job?” she asked without looking up at Jade.

  Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jade thought. What kind of a stunned arse was she dealing with here? She’d just finished telling Amy she was a single parent going to school full-time. Jade forced a tight smile. She needed this job. The landlord had already given her a second notice. Her mother had promised to send her a hundred dollars, but she still needed forty more. If she didn’t come up with the full amount soon, she’d be evicted.

  Amy glanced up at Jade, her eyes narrowed.

  Jade took a deep breath. “I’m in the criminology program at St. Bridget’s,” she said. “I plan to go to law school when my daughter’s a little older. I’ve been looking into the program at Dalhousie. This job will give me valuable work experience.”

  “You want to be a lawyer?”

  Jade nodded. Well, duh. That’s usually why people go to law school. Truth was, she had no intention to study law. But it sounded good coming from a single mother. “It’s always been my dream,” she said.