Forgotten Lullaby
(#3 in the Lost Joy series)
by Jennifer Feith


Early 1946


Ken Daily had been sixteen when World War Two started. He had spent
the first part of the war working as an errand boy for New York radio
station WSTN, until he graduated and enlisted. Now he was home, having
aged much more than four years, and working a "real" job as he tried to
decide whether to go to college in the fall.


He had left early that day, though, and decided to pay a visit to WSTN.
Most of his friends at the station were still there and glad to see
him. Those not on the air or otherwise occupied with work drifted in
and out of the impromptu mini-party in the station's green room. It
was almost an altogether satisfactory reunion.


He was confused by the reaction of one person, though. The man who had
been hired in 1942 to read the war news and fill in for one of WSTN's
departing actors had quickly become one of Ken's favorites. Jeff
Singer had always been friendly to him, never treating him like "just a
kid." Today, though, Jeff had barely acknowledged him when they passed
in the hall, and he hadn't come in to join the others once. Ken had
walked by the studio at one point and seen Jeff stalk abruptly out of
the room after a broadcast without a word to the actress he was working
with, almost bumping into Ken as he went by silently.


Ken was still thinking about this as he talked with George Stein, one
of the other actors. Finally, he decided to ask the older man. "Is
there something wrong with Mr. Singer?"


George's expression saddened. "I don't think there's been anything
right for the past few months. His little girl was killed last
October--some kind of car accident. He doesn't talk about it."


"Carolyn?" Ken asked, dismayed. George nodded.


"I can only imagine how his wife's taking it," George continued.
"Hilary hasn't done any acting for us in over a year, and Jeff doesn't
talk about her, either. She was doing a few off-Broadway shows before,
but I don't know if she's done anything since the accident."


Ken had seen men die in Europe, over and over again. Still, the idea
of the baby he had seen from time to time at the station, dead...it
didn't make sense. He swallowed and opened his mouth to ask another
question. At that moment, though, one of the actresses entered and
started to greet Ken cheerfully. Glancing at George before turning to
her, he let the subject drop for the time being.



Hilary was waiting for Jeff when he got home that day. There was a
light in her eyes that he hadn't seen since October, and he wondered
what was going on. He didn't think he would have to wait long to find
out.


He was right. He had barely sat down when Hilary began. "I talked to
Pete Russell today," she told him, naming the director of a show she
had starred in the previous year. "He's been chosen to direct a new
play to open at the Broadhurst in March. And, Jeff--he wants me for
his lead."


So. Hilary Booth was returning to Broadway at last. Jeff stared at
her, wondering how she could still care enough to be so happy.
"Congratulations," he said flatly. "I'm glad you've finally gotten the
one thing you've always wanted."


The spark faded, and for a moment Jeff regretted it. "I need to do
something," Hilary said, very quietly. "I thought you'd understand
that."


Despite the fact that he'd been comfortably numb for a long time now,
he almost could. "I'm sorry, Hilary," he said, sounding sincere.
"What's the play?"


It didn't take much coaxing for Hilary to go on. Jeff watched her,
trying to be happy for Hilary rather than let his resentment build. It
wasn't easy. She was much less excited than she had been about other,
lesser opportunities in the past, he realized, but Jeff couldn't
imagine being even this excited about anything anymore.


He supposed there was no reason Hilary couldn't try to get on with life
just because he hadn't. Still, he couldn't help feeling that this play
was going to tear them even further apart than he had managed already.



Looking back, Hilary would never recall many details of the rehearsal
period. She would only remember it as the beginning of the end.


Jeff was pulling away more and more. Her automatic response was to
throw herself into rehearsals and preparations. As opening night
approached, she found it easier to become swept up in the excitement of
a new production than to spend time at home with a husband who was
becoming a stranger.


And yet there were moments, especially toward the end, when she saw the
old Jeff reappear. A week before the opening, Hilary had been walking
the apartment instead of sleeping. Her nervousness about the show
collided with her pent up frustration and leftover grief, and she had
found herself crying at the kitchen table.


Jeff had come to her then, waking up to silently wipe away her tears.
He had led her back to the bedroom and made love to her with a
gentleness she hadn't known in months. "I'm sorry," he whispered to
her more than once.


When she tried to approach him the next morning, his newly acquired
masks were back in place. Still, Hilary had thought then that they
would eventually work things out. It wasn't until after the opening
that things finally fell apart.


Betty and Scott had come up from Pittsburgh for the opening. Despite
her personal problems, Hilary couldn't help the familiar thrill of
excitement at being back onstage, or her rush of pleasure at the
applause the production received. By the time she joined Betty, Scott,
and Jeff after the show, she knew she was practically glowing.


"You were wonderful, Hilary," Betty told her.


"Not half bad," Scott agreed, grinning at the dirty look Hilary shot
him.


She didn't really care about his opinion anyway. Hilary turned to
Jeff, meeting his eyes and searching them. "Well? What did you
think?"


Jeff hesitated. "The play was very good, Hilary. You were fabulous."


There was nothing in his voice that suggested he wasn't being sincere--
but there was no enthusiasm there, either. Hilary saw Scott glance at
Jeff and frown, saw Betty's look of confusion. She carefully schooled
her expression so they couldn't read hurt in her face as easily as she
had read theirs. It wasn't the first time they had been taken aback by
the changes in Jeff during their short visit. Jeff had actually been
more like his old self than ever since the Sherwoods had arrived, but
small moments like this one had made all of them uncomfortable.


Still, it was Jeff who spoke into the split second of awkward silence
first. "Why don't we stop off for a drink?" he suggested.


Hilary frowned. That was the last thing she wanted. As thrilling as
her performance had been, the excitement was already beginning to wear
off. The more draining aspects of the day were starting to take their
toll through the initial adrenaline rush--something that never used to
happen this quickly. She wondered for a brief moment if she might be
getting a bit more...seasoned...than she'd like to admit.


It was more likely that she simply didn't have the emotional energy she
had had before Carolyn's death, Hilary decided, pushing the pain of the
thought away quickly. In any case, all she wanted to do was go home.


She saw Scott glance from her to Betty, and realized that the other
woman wasn't very enthusiastic about Jeff's suggestion either. "Tell
you what," Scott said. "You girls go on back to your apartment,
Hilary, and the men will go for drinks." He grinned.


Hilary didn't really feel like playing hostess, either. She would have
much preferred to have Scott and Betty return to their hotel, so she
could curl up and go to sleep. But Betty was...well, Betty. Hilary
wouldn't have to put on too much of an act with her. Scott's
suggestion was really the best for all of them...she nodded, and
smiled. "Keep Jeff out of trouble--oh, what am I saying?" She gave an
exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Just try to make sure you both get back
in one piece."


Scott grinned back. "Will do, Hildy." He met her eyes, and Hilary had
the funny feeling that he knew exactly how tired she was
of...everything.



As far as Jeff knew, Scott hadn't been to New York in...well, at least
as long as they'd known each other, which was a while. Except for
Carolyn's funeral, of course, when the WENN crew had taken a train in
and out of town on the same Saturday. Still, he apparently knew the
city well enough to find a drinking spot for the two of them without
Jeff's help.


He let Jeff knock back a shot of scotch before he said anything.
Setting his own still full glass down, Scott turned to face him. "Hey,
Jeff," he said, "can I ask you a question?"


Jeff shrugged. "Sure, Scott."


"What the hell do you think you're doing?"


Jeff stared at him blankly, the now familiar closed-off expression
settling over his face. "You think I couldn't see it? You think
*Hilary* doesn't see it?" Scott pressed.


"I don't know what you're talking about," Jeff said coldly. "And you
don't know." You don't know what it's like...


"Maybe I don't know much about what you and Hilary are going through,"
Scott conceded. "But I know a lot about trying to push people away.
And the problem is, it usually works."


Jeff stared at the empty glass in his hands. "Look, you and
Hilary...you've been through a lot," Scott went on. "I watched you
hurt her once before--and maybe it wasn't your fault, but we didn't
know that then, did we? And it worked out for you that time, just like
it always does. But if you keep going the way you're going, one of
these days you're going to hurt her so badly that she's not going to
come back to you this time."


The genuine anger in his voice cut partway through Jeff's emotionless
stance. He stared dully at the glass in his hands. "I won't hurt
Hilary."


"I've got news for you, pal," Scott told him. "You already are."


"Not anymore." He swiveled on the barstool to face Scott. "I've been
offered a part in a movie," he said without emotion. "It's a
supporting role to Cary Grant, getting ready to start filming in
Hollywood next month."


He shrugged slightly at Scott's startled expression. "Either the space
will be good for us, and we'll figure things out somehow...or it'll be
the end, and Hilary and I will finally be out of each other's lives for
good."


Scott stared at him. "I can't believe that's what you really want,
Jeff."


"Why not?" Jeff laughed humorlessly. "You just pointed out how good
we are at hurting each other."


Scott nodded slowly. "Yeah. And there's no one who could hurt me more
than Betty could, if she wanted to," he said without the weight of
confession Jeff might have expected to accompany that admission. "But
there's no way in hell I'd rather go back to the way things were before
I met her, either."


"You and Betty," Jeff said, signaling the bartender for another drink,
"are not Hilary and me."


As far as he was concerned, that was the end of the conversation.
Scott, however, wasn't quite finished. "It's your decision, Jeff," he
said, a curious mixture of anger, disapproval, and sadness in his tone.
"But I'd think carefully about it if I were you. I think you may have
run out of second chances with Hilary Booth."



Hilary didn't say much on the way home, making it easy for Betty to
become distracted with thoughts of...many things. She looked up when
the cab came to a stop, startled to realize that they were already at
Hilary's building.


She followed Hilary up to the apartment. "I think I would like a
drink, after all," Hilary declared once the door was shut behind them.
She hung up her coat and disappeared into the kitchen. Betty shrugged
off her own coat and started to follow her just as Hilary reappeared
with an open wine bottle and empty glass in one hand. She sipped at
the glass she held in the other hand, gesturing to Betty almost as an
afterthought. "Do you want some, Betty?"


"Oh, no, thank you," Betty said quickly.


She was fairly sure that the hurt expression that spread over Hilary's
face was more acted than real, but it made her feel slightly guilty
anyway. "Not even to toast my opening?"


"Oh, no," Betty insisted too quickly, flushing as she realized how rude
that had sounded. "I mean...I would...but I'm..." she stopped
abruptly.


"What?" Hilary glanced at her sharply.


"It's nothing, Hilary," Betty said, flustered.


Hilary perched on the couch, her fingers curling around the stem of the
wine glass as she looked at Betty over the rim. "Come on, Betty," she
said. "You can tell me."


Betty sighed, giving in. "I'm pregnant."


Hilary was silent for a long moment. "Well," she said finally.
"That's not nothing, Betty."


"I know." Betty hesitated for a minute and then sat down next to
Hilary. "I'm sorry, Hilary. We didn't want to mention it this weekend
and...bring up memories."


She thought she saw traces of a pained smile on Hilary's face. "Oh,
the memories were already there, Betty. They're never really that far
away."


Hilary drained her glass, then quickly filled it up again. Betty
couldn't think of anything else to say, so she just watched--thinking
as she did that Hilary was taking the news rather better than she had
expected.


Hilary's expression changed as if something had just occurred to her.
"I'll be right back."



Hilary took a deep breath as she opened the door to Carolyn's room.
They should have...cleaned it up by now, she supposed. It would make a
lovely guest room. But so far they hadn't done anything with it.


She crossed the room to the dresser, picking up the carved wood music
box that Betty had given her for Carolyn just after she was born.
Hilary wound it up and opened the lid, shutting her eyes as the
familiar tune began to play.


She could see it with painful clarity against her closed eyelids.
Jeff, a gentle smile on his face, holding Carolyn up...her arms
stretching across the dresser to open the music box. Her face, always
so enchanted with the melody that disappeared when she lowered the lid.


"Again!" she heard Carolyn demand, and Jeff's tired "Bedtime, honey."
Hilary's hand shook as she let the lid drop with a crack against the
base. Her eyes flew open, and she swallowed and sighed.


She carried the music box back into the living room, seeing the
confused recognition on Betty's face. "I want you to have this,
Betty," she said steadily.


"Hilary..." Betty's voice wavered with the emotion Hilary had kept out
of hers.


"I don't have any use for it now," Hilary insisted. "Carolyn...loved
it..." she faltered briefly. "She can't enjoy it any more. I want
you to take it back...for your daughter, if you have one. If
not...well, I'm sure you'll have others. I doubt I will."


The last was said quietly, the closest she would ever come to an
admission that she was aware of the years creeping up on her. "I can't
take this," Betty said gently. "You keep it, Hilary. Put it away for
a while, if you don't want it right now...but I think you need to keep
it."


Hilary hadn't realized how tightly she was holding on to the wooden box
until she looked down and saw that her knuckles were almost white.
Forcing her fingers to unclench, she set it down on the coffee table.
Betty reached over to squeeze her hand, and a moment later Hilary felt
her arms around her.


Hilary didn't react right away. Finally her own arms came up, and she
hugged her old friend tightly. Her head tipped forward, and she found
herself trying very hard not to cry.



Scott had had a few drinks, but all told, he was much more sober than
Hilary would have expected. Jeff, on the other hand, was less so.


She and Betty stood back from the door as they came in, Jeff leaning
heavily on Scott. "I'm sorry, Hilary," Scott said, casting a glance at
her. "He wasn't really in the mood to listen to me tonight. Want me
to take him to bed?"


Hilary sighed and nodded, leading the way to the bedroom. She swung
Jeff's feet up as Scott laid him down, pulling off his shoes. Jeff was
out the minute his head hit the pillow, she noticed. Moving past
Scott, Hilary took off Jeff's tie as well. Scott helped her lift him
up enough to take off his coat and suit jacket, and she decided that
would have to do.


Betty had already picked up her coat when they returned to the living
room. Hilary walked with them to the door, and Scott turned back to
face her.


"Listen, Hilary," he said a bit hesitantly. "If you need
anything...you know you can call us, right?"


Hilary stared at him. If pressed, she would have admitted that Scott
was a friend...but their "friendship" had always consisted of jests and
teases. She almost wasn't sure how to respond to his pure compassion.
"Thank you, Scott," she managed, "Betty."


She stood by the door for almost a full minute after they left. When
she finally turned, her eye fell on the music box. Hilary picked it up
and carried it back to Carolyn's room. Instead of replacing the box on
the dresser right away, though, she sat on the bed.


She lifted the lid, feeling traces of the tears she hadn't shed earlier
as the memories came back again. Hilary lay back and curled her knees
towards her chest, her eyes closing against the hot moisture there.


By the time the music box had wound down, Hilary was asleep, streaks of
silent tears still glistening on her face.


THE END

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