The Nesting Dolls (33 page)

“She was here?” I said.

Mieka nodded. “She wasn’t here long.”

“How did she seem? Noah was at the house when I left. He was concerned about her state of mind.”

The timer on the oven clock began to buzz. “The muffins are ready,” Mieka said. “Give me three minutes to get them out on the counter, then we can really talk.”

I poured myself a mug of coffee, stood by the counter and looked around the room. The demographic of UpSlideDown intrigued me. A disproportionate number of the women were pregnant; most appeared affluent, and all were young. The men wore jeans, carried computer notebooks, and, without exception, were writing novels or screenplays.

It wasn’t long before Mieka rejoined me. “To answer your question,” she said, “Nadine seemed sad, but calm. When she
came in, she did what Abby always did: ordered a latte, sat where Abby always sat, and nibbled at a piece of pastry and watched the kids playing. When I asked if I could join her, she seemed happy to have company.”

“I imagine she wanted to talk about Abby.”

“She did,” Mieka said. “And there wasn’t much I could tell her. The only real conversational possibility I ever had with Abby was when she asked me how I could reconcile faith in God with the cruelties of the world. I blew it, and the next night she was dead.”

“Did you tell Nadine about Abby’s question?”

“No. Once in a while, I actually exercise good judgment. You told me that Nadine was finding comfort in her faith, so I thought it would be kinder not to tell her that the woman she loved had stopped believing.” Mieka picked up a paper napkin and dabbed absently at a small spill on the counter. “The only safe topic I could think of was child development. Nadine was fascinated by how much Jacob has learned since she last saw him, so she asked about what babies his age can normally do. Of course, that’s the one subject upon which I’m an expert.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “You’re one of the smartest women I know.”

“When I’m in my own small garden,” Mieka said sardonically. “Anyway, I was babbling about the varying rates at which children develop skills, when Lisa came in. At first everything was fine. I introduced Lisa and Nadine. Lisa, who knew nothing about Nadine’s circumstances, started asking the usual questions we ask people on their first visit to Regina in winter.

“Nadine was cordial, but they didn’t talk long. Lisa had errands to do, so she told Nadine she hoped she’d enjoy her time here, then gave me the package she’d dropped by to return. You’ll be interested in this, Mum. People who brought
gifts here for Core Rec were supposed to pencil in the age and gender of the child for whom the gift was intended. But one of the gifts had a tag with Delia Wainberg’s name on it.”

“I’m assuming it was from Abby.”

“Yes,” Mieka said. “After Lisa told us about the tag, Nadine asked if she could look at the gift. She recognized Abby’s handwriting and said she’d like to be alone for a while. Lisa and I took off, and that’s when you came in. When Lisa left, I looked over to see how Nadine was doing, but she was gone.” Mieka pointed to the table. “The gift is still there.”

We went over to the table where Nadine had been sitting. Nadine’s latte was still half-full and the gift, a book in which a parent records the highlights of a baby’s first year, lay beside it.

I picked up the baby book. Bound in navy leather, its design was clean and handsome. Except for Jacob’s full name and his date of birth hand-lettered in copperplate, the cover was unadorned. The heavy vellum pages inside were equally chaste. The first page, in the same copperplate hand, recorded Jacob’s time and date of birth, his birth weight and length, and the fact that he had been born at home, in the cabin that Abby shared with Nadine. I remembered the warmth of its living room, the quilts on the walls, the sound of the river flowing past. It would have been a gentle place for a child to enter the world.

I turned to the second page and felt a fist in my stomach. The name of the mother, Abby Margaret Michaels, had been written in the same careful calligraphy, but the name of the father had been entered in an angry scrawl of black ink that had torn the paper.

The name was Theodore Lazar Brokaw.

I gasped. My first thought was that in her agony at discovering she’d lost the parents she’d believed were her birth parents, Abby had transposed facts. I turned the page. More
furious scrawls of black ink. These scrawls all but obliterated the lettering that identified Jacob’s maternal grandparents as Hugh and Margaret Michaels. The new names angrily entered were Delia Margolis Wainberg and Theodore Lazar Brokaw.

Mieka had been looking over my shoulder. “My God. How could that happen?” she breathed.

Fragments of conversations floated to the surface of my consciousness. Myra’s chilling observation. “He always went for the same type: clever, pale, Semitic.” Nadine’s whispered hypothesis when Mieka asked if she knew who fathered Abby’s baby: “I always thought it was someone who had already proven himself in the world.” Theo’s confusion the night of the Wainbergs’ party when he saw Delia: “You’ve gotten old.” The way he’d buried his face in her neck, and his relief when he smelled her Chanel No. 5, the same perfume Abby wore. The photograph I’d shown him, where he had identified Abby not as his daughter but as “my girl, my clever girl.” His sense that Jacob was somehow connected with him. The world had become a confusing place for Theo Brokaw, but his damaged brain had stubbornly held on to certain facts. He knew that it was the second-smallest of the nesting dolls that was the carrier of the secret. He knew that Abby Michaels was the mother of his baby.

Mieka touched the mutilated name of Abby’s father and lover with her forefinger, and then closed the baby book. “What are we going to do with this, Mum?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Abby wanted Delia to know the truth about Theo Brokaw’s relationship to Jacob, but telling Delia isn’t going to change anything. It’s just going to cause more grief.” I picked up the book. “Do you have a shredder?”

Mieka shook her head. “No, but I have a match.”

“This book is evidence in a murder case.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t burn,” Mieka said.

“We’re not the only ones who saw it,” I said. “Nadine Perrault knows the truth.”

“She must be feeling as sick as we are,” Mieka said.

“Yes, but I’m sure she’s also relieved. The book is proof that Nadine wasn’t responsible for Abby’s despair in the last weeks of her life.”

“Do you think Nadine will use this to get custody of Jacob?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I picked up the book and dropped it back in the gift bag. “But now that you’ve raised that
possibility, I know that we can’t destroy this. Nadine has a right to use it.”

“It’s a powerful weapon,” Mieka said.

“It is,” I agreed. “And if Nadine uses it, there will be collateral damage. She might get custody of Jacob, but he’ll have to live with some very painful knowledge. So will the Wainbergs.”

“Do you think that’s where Nadine went when she left here?”

I narrowed my eyes at my daughter. “You seem to have developed a knack for raising the worst possibilities. But as Zack says, ‘It’s better to know than not know.’ ” I took out my cell and thumbed my address book till I found Nadine’s number.

The phone rang repeatedly without a response, and I was about to end the call when she answered.

“I’d just about given up,” I said. “It’s Joanne. Where are you?”

Her voice was mechanical. “On the corner, just down the street from UpSlideDown – waiting for a taxi to come by.”

“There won’t be one,” I said, “it’s a busy time of year. Come inside. I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”

Nadine came back through the door a couple of minutes later. She was wearing the smart outfit she’d been wearing the day she arrived in Regina, but the pea jacket was unbuttoned; the black cloche was stuck carelessly in her pocket, and her scarf hung around her neck, unknotted and askew. She was pale and she was shaking either from cold or shock or both. The deadness in her eyes scared me. “Did you see Jacob’s baby book?” she asked.

“I did,” I said. “Nadine, I’m so sorry. I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

Mieka noticed Nadine’s pallor. “Sit down,” she said. “I’m going to bring you some tea with lots of sugar. That’ll help.”

We found a table near the door. A mother with three very young boys was sitting on a bench next to us, attempting to get her children into boots and snowsuits. The boys, determined to stay and play, kept running off on her. When one of the boys ran past me the mother shot me a beseeching look. “Could you … ?” I reached out and touched the boy’s arm. “Who’s that on your boot?”

“SpongeBob SquarePants,” he said.

“Could you hold still so I could see him?” I said.

The boy held up his foot. “Is he your favourite?” I asked. While the boy told me about SpongeBob, his mother zipped his brothers into their snowsuits and readied them for the trip home. When she took her son from me, she smiled at Nadine and me. “Thanks,” she said. “I hope you both have a very merry Christmas.”

“I’m sure you will,” Nadine said. We watched as the mother shepherded her boys through the door and turned to give us a final wave. Mieka came back with the tea, and as Nadine drank it, the colour returned to her cheeks. When she was finished, she stood, buttoned her jacket, tied her scarf, and pulled on her hat. She was calm again; she was also very determined.

My mind raced as we walked to the car. I was certain that Nadine would ask me to drive her to the Wainbergs’. I couldn’t refuse, but if I could convince her to wait until the morning to talk to Delia, there was a chance she’d arrive at the same conclusion I had: the price of revealing the identity of Jacob’s father was simply too high.

When we had snapped on our seat belts, I turned the key in the ignition, but I didn’t pull into traffic. I turned to Nadine, prepared to present my argument, but she beat me to the punch. “I’d like you to take me to Theo Brokaw,” she said. “If you don’t know the address, I’m sure Delia Wainberg will have it.”

I was reeling. “I know the address,” I said. “But taking you there is pointless. Theo had a serious fall on the Labour Day weekend. He suffered a brain injury that’s resulted in something like advanced Alzheimer’s. You won’t be able to make him understand what’s happened.”

“I’ll make him understand,” Nadine said fiercely. “I’ll make him understand that he’s a monster.”

“No one can justify what Theo did,” I said. “But Delia says that he didn’t know Abby was his child, and I believe her. Delia was in love with Theo, but he was married and their relationship ended.” I took a breath. “His wife says that there were many other women over the years and all of them bore a marked resemblance to Delia.”

“So he was drawn to Abby because she was his
type.”
Nadine spat out the word. “He must have been thrilled to prove his virility with the reincarnation of another young woman he seduced.”

I touched her arm. “Nadine, don’t speculate about what went on between Abby and Theo. It will tear you apart.”

“I’m already torn apart. I’ve never believed I was capable of hating another human being. But I would kill Theo Brokaw without a second’s hesitation.”

“Given his present state, that would be a kindness,” I said.

Nadine’s laugh was bitter. “In that case, he gets to live. I still want to see him, Joanne. He committed incest. He destroyed the life of the woman I loved. Even if he doesn’t understand my words, I need to make him feel the horror of what he’s done.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll take you to him.”

I’d just started to pull out of my parking spot when my cell rang. The ringtone was a new one but it was instantly recognizable: Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing.” Zack had been playing with the ringtone that morning. His intent had been to make me smile, but his timing could not have been worse.

When Zack heard my voice, he was playful. “Like the new ringtone? It carries a message.”

“I picked up on that,” I said. “You must be feeling better.”

“I am. When are you going to be home, Ms. Shreve?”

“Half an hour at the outside,” I said.

“Would a martini be in order?”

“God, yes.”

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.” I rang off. When I turned to Nadine, I saw that she had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“No need to apologize for loving and being loved,” she said, and then turned away.

We didn’t speak again until I turned into the parking space behind the Brokaws’ condo. Louise’s Mercedes was there. When I pulled the key from the ignition, Nadine seemed surprised. “You’re not coming in with me, are you?”

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone with the Brokaws.”

Nadine gave me a quarter-smile. “Neither do I,” she said.

Myra answered my buzz from the lobby, but when I announced myself she was curt. “We’re not receiving visitors.”

“If you want to keep Theo’s incestuous relationship with Abby from becoming public knowledge, you’d be wise to let me come up. I’m not alone, Myra. Abby Michaels’s partner is with me.”

The entrance door clicked open. Nadine and I rode up in the tiny elevator. When we stepped out, we could hear Louise playing Bach. She was hitting the right notes in the right order. Once, when she stumbled, she went back and began the phrase again. We were hearing Louise, not a recording. She was still sober. One small candle in the darkness.

Nadine stood for a moment with her eyes closed, listening intently. “There’s still beauty in the world, isn’t there?” she said softly. The she squared her shoulders and
breathed deeply. “I have to do this, Joanne. Thank you for understanding.”

Myra opened her door as soon as I knocked, but she didn’t invite us in, so I stepped past her. Nadine followed. “We won’t stay long, Myra,” I said. “This is Nadine Perrault. She was Abby’s partner.”

Myra’s laugh was forced and unpleasant. “That’s a new wrinkle. The last of my husband’s clever girls preferred other clever girls.”

Nadine tensed. I touched her arm. “Nadine wants to see Jacob’s father,” I said. “It’s important to her, and it won’t matter to Theo.”