From Cradle to Grave Read Online Free

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,’