Last lullaby

by Alice Walsh

  Lauren made Bailey a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured her a glass of milk. She read to her from books that belonged to Ariel. By six-thirty, Bailey had fallen asleep on the sofa. Lauren turned off the television and tucked an afghan around her.

  An hour later, she heard a car and went to the window. She watched as Bram pulled his Jeep Cherokee into the driveway. Snow was falling steadily now, slanting down through the glow of the headlights. It covered the street and driveway, clung to the branches of trees. Bram got out of the vehicle and started toward the house. Ariel wasn’t with him, Lauren realized, her stomach tightening. She hurried to the door just as Bram stumbled into the foyer, his expression dark. Lines of exhaustion were etched around his eyes.

  Lauren rushed to his side. “Bram!” she cried. “Where’s Ariel?”

  Chapter 5

  It was intermission and student waiters served dinner rolls and plates of tossed salad. Audience members had left their tables to order drinks at the bar. Emma leaned back in her chair. The play, a comedy titled My Son, Mac, was a promising success. It had been written and work-shopped by students in Emma’s playwriting class. Erika Jansen, the lead actress, was as skilled as any professional. In fact, all the students had done well. Too bad Lauren had missed it. I wonder what happened, Emma mused. Lauren hadn’t even called. Maybe the sitter didn’t show, she reasoned. Or maybe her car had broken down. Any number of things could have happened. Yet at the back of her mind was a nagging fear: Lauren always called if she couldn’t make it.

  About a dozen people were seated around the table, most of them from the drama department. Emma turned her attention to Frances Turple, who sat next to her partner, Annabelle Chandler. “Did you hear? Frances has just won an award for an article she published in Crime Scene,” Emma announced.

  “Impressive,” said Lester Perry, vice president of the college.

  Others around the table chimed in. “Good stuff, Frances,” said Lester’s wife, Charlotte. “I think a toast is in order.”

  Emma poured wine into glasses. “You must be proud, Frances.”

  “Well…I was surprised when they called me,” Frances said, looking somewhat embarrassed by all the attention.

  “She’s a great writer,” Annabelle said proudly.

  Emma raised her glass. “To Frances and her success.”

  Glasses were raised. More toasts followed.

  Emma sipped her wine, sneaking glances at Annabelle and Frances. Never had she met such an unlikely pair: Frances was at least sixty, her face lined. Her cropped iron-grey hair fell in uneven strands as if she’d hacked it off with a butcher knife. She had been an RCMP officer for twenty years, serving in various outposts across the country. She had a reputation for being tough on crime and had made a number of well-publicized drug busts. While working on the force, she had taken courses toward a Ph.D. in criminology and now taught at St. Bridget’s.

  Annabelle had long blond hair and eyes the colour of emeralds. Her smooth, delicate skin made her look much younger than her thirty-three years. Before she’d come to teach in the drama department she’d been a successful stage actress. She’d also had a part on a popular sitcom, Down East. Whereas Frances was gruff and crusty, Annabelle was quiet and soft-spoken. When they became a couple, people hadn’t known what to make of it. Emma shook her head, remembering. No wonder students dubbed them “Beauty and the Beast.” Despite their differences, however, it was obvious Annabelle and Frances were committed to each other.

  “We have another announcement,” Annabelle said. She laid a hand on Frances’s shoulder. “Should I tell them?”

  Frances smiled. “Go ahead.”

  “Well,” Annabelle began, “as many of you know, Frances and I have been wanting to adopt.” She looked around the table. “Today, we found out we will be getting a little girl.”

  There was more applause.

  “Are you adopting an infant?” Emma asked.

  “She’s five months old,” Annabelle said. “Her name is Dinah Marie.”

  At that moment, Mitch Cromwell dropped by their table holding a glass of wine. “May I?” he asked, indicating an empty chair.

  “Yes, my son,” Emma said. “We were toasting Frances and Annabelle. They just found out they’re going to adopt a baby.”

  Mitch lowered himself into the chair. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice slurred. “I’m sure you’ll make great parents.”

  “Thank you, Mitch,” Frances said. “And congratulations to you on the success of the play. As usual, you did a marvellous job.”

  Mitch beamed. “It wasn’t all my effort,” he said. “The students were wonderful. And, of course, Emma’s students did an excellent job with the writing.” He leaned toward Emma and she had an urge to fan her face with her hands. She thought of a line from a poem by Theodore Roethke: The whiskey on your breath / Could make a small boy dizzy. So much for all the time Mitch had spent in rehab. He often showed up at performances drunk. On one occasion, he’d fired the leading actor in the middle of a performance of Hamlet and the play had to be cancelled. For days, students and parents had called the university to complain. An article in the Daily News had called him “a drunk and an embarrassment to the university.” But despite his behaviour, there was no doubting Mitch’s skill as a director. The plays he didn’t sabotage all got rave reviews. It was Mitch who had turned the drama department into the success it had become.

  Mitch looked from Annabelle to Frances. “Are you still considering leaving us?”

  “Leaving?” Emma asked.

  “We’ve been thinking about moving to Arizona for some time now,” said Annabelle. “A few days ago we sealed the deal.”

  There was a hum of excitement around the table, but before anyone could react to the big news, a cellphone jangled.

  “Excuse me,” Mitch said, pushing back his chair.

  Annabelle shook her head as she watched him walk across the room. “Such talent,” she said. “Too bad he’s a liability.”

  “Yes,” Emma agreed. “Looks like he’s off the wagon again.”

  Minutes later, Mitch returned to the table, his expression grim. “Bram just called.” He looked at Emma. “It’s Ariel.”

  Chapter 6

  “Bram, where’s Ariel?”

  Bram sank down on the sofa and covered his face with both hands.

  “Is she still at the hospital?” Lauren demanded.

  Bram looked up at her, his face pale. “She’s gone, Lauren. Ariel’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Surely he couldn’t mean….

  But Bram’s face told Lauren everything she needed to know. She felt the room swirling and gripped the arms of her chair for support. “What…happened?” she asked in a strangled voice.

  “I’m almost certain it was SIDS. But we won’t know for sure until the autopsy report is completed.” He shook his head. “Jesus…. How could this have happened?”

  Lauren stared at him, the weight of his words falling like blows. She knew sudden infant death syndrome was the most common cause of death in babies. But Ariel…no. She refused to accept it.

  “How’s Claire?” Bram asked.

  Claire.

  “Anya said she gave her a sedative.”

  “She’s still sleeping,” Lauren said.

  Bram nodded slowly, pulled out his cellphone, and stepped into the hallway. Lauren listened as he made one gut-wrenching call after another to family and friends. This can’t be happening, she told herself.

  When Bram finished his calls, he returned to the living room. “I appreciate you staying with Claire, Lauren,” he said as he collapsed onto the sofa. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call from the hospital.” He blew out a breath. “The medical examiner had questions. Then the police came and questioned me for nearly two hours. I thought it would never end.”

  Lauren nodded. “All
standard procedure when someone dies at home.”

  At a loss for what to do with herself, she decided to make Bram coffee. “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked as he accepted a mug from her.

  “I’ll be fine, Lauren. Emma and Mitch are on their way. Maybe you should get Bailey home.”

  Numbly, Lauren went to get her coat.

  Bram carried Bailey to the car and buckled her into her car seat. Snow now covered the streets and driveway. He kissed Lauren’s cheek. “Drive carefully,” he said. “It’s getting slippery out there.”

  Lauren slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. As she pulled out of the driveway, Bram lifted his hand, snow falling around him.

  Gripping the steering wheel, Lauren drove home, tears blurring her vision. Ariel was dead. Claire’s beautiful baby was in the cold morgue. It all seemed so unreal.

  Somehow, Lauren managed to get Bailey inside. Wearily, she climbed the stairs and put her daughter to bed. After slipping into a flannel nightgown, she went downstairs and took a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge. It was times like this when she most longed for Daniel, for the comfort of his arms around her.

  Lauren sipped her wine, the events of the last few hours whirling furiously through her mind. Poor Claire, she thought, how would she take the news? It was unlikely she could have more children. Ariel was her miracle baby, the baby she thought she could never carry to term after three miscarriages. Lauren remembered the day Claire had called with the news of her pregnancy. She had waited until the second trimester just in case. Lauren had felt her friend’s happiness as if it were her own. Why did this have to happen? What if—God forbid—something happened to Bailey? Could she go on with her life? Would she even want to? She shuddered, reaching for the half-empty bottle.

  —

  Lauren couldn’t remember falling asleep. She awoke with a dull throbbing at the base of her brain. The realization of Ariel’s death washed over her in a sickening wave. Dragging herself from bed, she pulled on her robe, went to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. She barely recognized herself in the mirror; her eyes were red, her hair limp around her pale face. In the medicine cabinet she found a bottle of Aspirin and swallowed two.

  She poured herself a cup of tea. For the best part of the next hour, she sat staring out the bay window that overlooked Paddy’s Arm. It had stopped snowing during the night, and now a cold rain fell in a slow, steady drizzle. The ocean usually had a soothing effect on her, but this morning its greyness only added to her despair.

  At seven-thirty, Bailey padded downstairs wearing a pink lace dress. “Good morning, Momma,” she called.

  Lauren held out her arms, and Bailey went to her. She held her daughter close, breathing in the sweet baby scent of shampoo and talc. How was she going to explain Ariel’s death to her?

  “Like my dress?” Bailey wiggled out of her mother’s grasp and twirled around the kitchen floor.

  Lauren smiled. Even at three and a half, Bailey was a diva when it came to fashion. They often had arguments about what outfits she would wear. The dress was entirely inappropriate for school. Today, however, it hardly seemed important.

  “Taylor got a puppy.” Bailey brushed tangled red curls away from her eyes. “Can we get a puppy, Momma?”

  “I told you when we got Regis there’d be no more puppies.”

  Bailey ran into the living room and came back carrying a stuffed dog. “Momma, Regis is not real,” she said, hugging the toy close.

  “Right.” Lauren set out cereal bowls and cut up fruit. She poured Bailey a glass of juice, all the while chatting with her daughter as if it were any ordinary day. Her thoughts kept drifting to Claire. She would have heard the news by now.

  Lauren wanted to stay home in the safety of her rented townhouse, watch television, and bake cookies with Bailey. That’s not an option, she told herself. She had a class at nine, a court appearance at eleven. Her afternoon calendar was heavy with appointments.

  “Eat up, Toots,” she told Bailey. “We don’t want to be late.”

  —

  After picking up her mail, Lauren grabbed a cup of tea from the faculty lounge and went to her office. Outside, the drizzle continued. She drew the curtains and switched on her reading lamp before logging onto her computer. There were twenty-six emails, the majority from students offering excuses for late term papers. There was a message from the president announcing Ariel’s death, expressing condolences to Claire and Bram. Lauren stared at it for a long time. Reading about it on her screen took it out of the abstract, made it real. She went back to her inbox. There was an email from Jade Roberts:

  Dear Professor LaVallee, I will not be returning to your class. I have been offered a job and the wages are too good to pass up. Cara and I will be moving away to make a new life. Sincerely, Jade Roberts.

  Lauren read the message twice. Was that why Jade had called her? To let her know she was leaving? But if that was the case, why would she have wanted to meet? And what kind of job had she been offered that would make it worth dropping out of school? Obviously, she had changed her plans about putting Cara in foster care. Maybe it was for the best. Still, Lauren wished Jade could have at least finished the term.

  Before Lauren could reply to the email, a knock came at her door.

  “Come in,” she called, getting up from her desk.

  Erika Jansen, a student from the drama department, opened the door. “Am I getting you at a bad time, Professor LaVallee?”

  “Come in, Erika. I have a few minutes before class.” Lauren cleared a mound of papers from a chair and motioned for her to sit.

  “I heard the awful news,” Erika said. Nervously, she raked her fingers through her blond curls.

  “Yes, a terrible tragedy.” Lauren went back to her desk.

  “I can’t believe it,” Erika said, brokenly.

  “I’m having difficulty believing it myself.” Lauren stared at Erika for a long moment, surprised she had come to her. Erika wasn’t one of her students. Lauren knew her enough to exchange greetings, but that was it. Everything she knew about Erika she had learned from Claire, who hired her to help out after Ariel’s birth. Claire had described Erika as a natural when it came to children. She was also a very talented drama student; Mitch had called her his most promising actress.

  “I figured something was wrong when Professor Cromwell and Professor Buckle left the dinner theatre early.” Erika turned to Lauren, her eyes troubled. “It wasn’t until this morning that I heard. What happened?”

  “Bram thinks it was SIDS—crib death. It sometimes happens with infants.”

  “She was such a beautiful baby,” Erika said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “She really was.”

  Erika swiped at her eyes. “Professor Ste Denis must be devastated.”

  “I’m sure she must be. I was at her house last evening, but she was sleeping. I didn’t get a chance to speak with her.”

  “Professor Ste Denis sleeps a lot,” Erika said. “One day while I was taking care of Ariel, she slept for four hours. I tried to wake her before I left, but she was out like a light. I stayed until Dr. Warren got home that time.” Erika stopped talking suddenly, as if afraid she’d said too much.

  “I received an email from Jade Roberts this morning,” Lauren said, steering the conversation away from Claire. “She won’t be returning to my class. Have you heard from her?”

  Erika frowned. “She just took Cara and left. I heard she left behind her furniture, dishes, everything.”

  “She told me she found a good job,” Lauren said. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “No, but she sent me a really strange email.”

  “Strange?” Lauren glanced up at her.

  “The email…I mean, it didn’t sound like Jade at all.”

  “How so?”

  “Well…it was
very formal for one thing: Dear Erika.” She gave a short laugh. “Whenever I get a message from Jade it’s like, How ya doin’. In this email, she thanked me for being her friend, thanked me for the times I took care of Cara.”

  “Well, it was an important message.” Lauren folded her hands on her desk. “Jade probably wanted to sound sincere.”

  “I suppose so,” Erika said, but Lauren could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Chapter 7

  The following afternoon, Lauren stood outside Bram and Claire’s house holding a chocolate cake she’d picked up at the bakery. Her stomach tightened as she rang the doorbell. What could she possibly say to Claire?

  Emma answered the door wearing the vacant look of someone in shock. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  Lauren hugged her. “I’m sorry, Emma. It must be a terrible blow.”

  Emma nodded. She accepted the cake and placed it on a nearby table that held platters of sandwiches, cookies, and squares. Another table had been set up with juice, pop, water, and bottles of wine.

  Lauren shrugged off her coat and hung it in the hall closet. “How’s Claire?”

  “Still sedated.” Emma lowered her voice. “I don’t think she even realizes what’s going on.” She led Lauren into the living room where a dozen or more people were sitting on sofas and chairs, sipping drinks. A number of Claire’s students were there, including Erika Jansen. There were professors from the university, as well as doctors from Bram’s practice. Claire was sitting near the fireplace, staring blankly into space. Bram sat next to her, his face ashen.

  Lauren approached them. “How are you, Claire?” she asked, kissing her cheek.

  Claire gave her an empty stare.

  Does she even realize I’m here? Lauren wondered, taking in Claire’s glazed eyes and pale, drawn face.

  Bram stood up. “Thank you for coming, Lauren. Can I get you something? Wine? Beer? Brandy?”

  “I’ll have a brandy,” Lauren said.