The Nesting Dolls

CHAPTER 8

When Nadine and I left the house, Zack and Delia were waiting by the car we’d rented from the agency in Port Hope. As soon as we joined them, Delia reached inside her purse and took out a ring. “You should have this,” she said, handing the ring to Nadine. “It was in Abby’s hotel room. The police agreed that there was no need to hold onto it.”

Nadine’s eyes were wide. “She wasn’t wearing it when… ”

“No,” Delia said. “She wasn’t.”

Nadine removed her mitten and slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. The twin of the ring, a white-gold Celtic band, was already there. “Thank you,” she said and then she turned towards the woods.

Despite her own pain, Nadine was solicitous of Zack. She dropped back to talk to him. “There’s a path that’s wide enough for your chair, but I can’t guarantee its condition.”

“I’ll make it,” Zack said, and then he coughed. “Allergic to country air,” he muttered.

Nadine set off along the path and led us into the woods. The terrain was rough, but she moved confidently, with the muscular grace and power of a woman at home in her own body. “This is virgin land,” she said. “The trees you’re looking at have been here forever. In the spring the ferns grow so quickly it seems like a trick. On the hottest day, it’s cool here because the trees block the sun.”

The land sloped towards the river. It hadn’t been cold enough for the forest floor to freeze and the ground under my feet was spongy. It was also strewn with fallen branches and exposed roots. Zack hated me to push his chair but there were places where we had no alternative. Finally, we arrived at the water. Downriver, partially hidden by trees, was a cabin. Nadine gestured towards it. “That’s where we spent most of our time. It’s simple, but we were happy there.”

She moved towards the river, gathered some fallen cedar branches, and dropped to her knees. She turned to face us. “Would you like to join me? We don’t have to say anything – just watch the water and think of her for a few minutes.”

Delia and I joined Nadine, and Zack pushed his chair closer. Nadine rocked back on her heels. “So many people read poems at the memorial service. My mind was a blur, but I remember hearing a poem by Raymond Carver about feeling beloved on this earth.” Nadine’s eyes sought Delia’s. “There wasn’t a moment of Abby’s life when she didn’t feel beloved on this earth. It helps me to know that.” She prayed silently for a minute, then made the sign of the cross and looked at Delia. “Would you like to say something?”

Delia’s face was a mask. “What can I say? I never knew her.”

Nadine stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. “In that case, would you like to join me at the cabin for a drink?”

Delia didn’t answer. Zack eyed his partner anxiously, then turned to me. “You and Nadine go ahead. We’ll be along.”

I caught his eye. “That wind is raw.”

“I’ll be all right,” he said.

The cabin was square and solidly built with large windows, and a glassed-in porch overlooking the river. The front door was unlocked and when Nadine opened it we were met with a wave of warmth from a Franklin stove in the corner. Nadine took my coat. “Do you like Scotch?” she asked.

I nodded. As a host, she was charmingly awkward – shakily splashing the Scotch into the glasses, discovering one glass had too much and the other too little and attempting to even out the levels by pouring from one glass to the other. Finally, she handed me the glass with the most and smiled ruefully. “Abby always took care of the drinks,” she said. She motioned me to a chair by the stove, pulled her own chair close, and raised her glass. “To absent friends,” she said.

“To absent friends,” I repeated. I gazed around the room. The walls were bright with quilts, and abstracts. Two desks were placed side by side in front of a large window with a dramatic view of the river. A closed laptop and a bud vase with a single white rose were on one desk; on the other was a stack of essays.

“The marking never ends, does it?” I said.

Nadine glanced at me with interest. “You’re a teacher?”

“I teach political science at the university.”

Nadine’s face brightened. “Political science was Abby’s field. She just finished her Ph.D. dissertation last year.”

“I happened upon Abby’s name in a student’s bibliography, so I Googled her dissertation,” I said. “The abstract was excellent.”

“Everything Abby did was ‘excellent’,” Nadine said. “She was exceptional in every way. She was also very easy to love.”

“I gathered that from your reference to the poem by Raymond Carver,” I said. “When I get home I’ll look it up. That line about feeling beloved on this earth is beautiful.”

“It is,” Nadine agreed. “And perhaps that was all any of us needed to hear at the service for Abby. I didn’t speak. There was so much I wanted to say, but my mind was blank.” She smiled thinly. “Abby would have done better. She would have delayed the ceremony until she found the perfect words.”

“That sounds like Delia.”

“They’re very much alike, aren’t they? Not just in their appearance, but in their guardedness. Do you think that’s why they don’t let anyone in?” Nadine said. “Because they can’t risk revealing an imperfection?”

“Abby didn’t let you in?”

Nadine met my gaze. “I wanted more. I was content with what I had.”

“It’s the same with Delia’s husband,” I said.

Nadine swirled the amber liquid in her glass. She and I had both ended up with stiff drinks; hers remained untouched. “In a perfect world, Delia’s husband and I could commiserate. But this world is far from perfect.” Nadine picked up her glass, knocked back her drink, and shuddered. “I’m not a Scotch drinker. We kept the Glenfiddich for Hugh, but if ever there was a time to begin drinking Scotch, this is it.” Her eyes were watering, and I handed her a tissue. She gave me a small smile. “I wish you and I were on the same side.”

“So do I,” I said. I sipped my drink. “Nadine, you know this will get ugly. Your life will be exposed.”

She shrugged. “The fact that I’m a lesbian? That’s hardly a secret.”

“Not that. I was thinking of what a lawyer will do with the fact that you left Abby when she became pregnant. That period in your life will have to be explained if this ends up in court.”

“So you know about that,” Nadine said. I nodded. She closed her eyes as if to erase the memory. “I made a mistake. Out of my own stupidity and insecurity and fear, I made a mistake. I thought if there was a child, she would love me less.” Nadine stood abruptly, her hands balled into fists at her side. “But it didn’t happen. The period after we were reconciled was the best time in our lives. The last months of the pregnancy, the birth, watching Jacob grow – it was so good – so very, very good.”

“What went wrong?”

Nadine walked to the window overlooking the river and stared at the rushing water. The view appeared to bring her a measure of peace or at least of weary acceptance. “You know the facts,” she said. “The accident. The deaths of Hugh and Peggy. The discovery that she was adopted. But we withstood those blows. We were grieving, but we were also looking forward, making plans; then everything fell apart because… ” I could almost hear the click of self-censure. “Who knows why such things happen?” she said, then she picked up my empty glass. “May I refresh your drink?”

“Thanks,” I said. “I should go.”

Nadine picked up the two glasses she’d set out for Zack and Delia. “You don’t think they’re going to come?”

“Apparently not,” I said. I made no attempt to disguise my irritation.

“I’ll walk you back,” Nadine said, but she didn’t move towards the door. Instead she extended her forefinger to stroke the petals of the rose on Abby’s desk. Her hand lingered.

Her reluctance to leave the room where she had been happy with the woman she loved touched me. I took a step towards her. “Nadine, I know my husband and Delia haven’t been fair to you, but they’re good people. Could you give them another chance?”

“To reject me?” She shrugged. “Well, it wouldn’t be my first rejection.”

She handed me my jacket, and took her own off the hook. As we walked towards the main house, she was silent. Zack and Delia were waiting in the car: Zack in the passenger seat in front, Delia in back. When Zack spotted us, he rolled down the window, but Delia stared straight ahead.

As we approached, the only sound was the crunch of our boots on the gravel. “Joanne has suggested a policy of détente,” Nadine said. “Shall we try again? We all want what’s best for Jacob.”

Delia turned away.

“Perhaps the time isn’t right,” Zack said quickly.

Nadine’s hazel eyes took their measure of her two adversaries. “What are you afraid of?” she said, and she seemed to be speaking as much to herself as to them.

She put her arms around me. The gesture was more than social. “Thank you for staying behind,” she said softly.

The drive back to town was tense. When Zack touched my arm, I made no effort to control my anger. “What is the matter with you?” I said. “That woman just went through the most painful experience of her life. She invited us into her home because she thought she and Delia might be able to help one another through their grief. And don’t even think about using your wheelchair as an excuse. We could have managed.”

“I was the one who refused to go,” Delia said. “In cases like these, emotions can muddy the waters. Zack and I understand that.”

“Thank you for the lesson,” I said. “Delia, exactly how many cases ‘like this’ have you handled? Cases where a woman, whom her mother gave up twenty-seven years earlier, leaves her lover, gives her baby to someone who for all intents and purposes is a stranger, and then is raped and murdered?”

Zack’s voice was low but insistent. “Why don’t we just park this discussion for a while? Things are being said that are best -”

Delia leaned forward. “Maybe some things need to be said. I was under the impression that I came to Port Hope to learn about my daughter, but Nadine Perrault has an agenda.”

“Delia, you have an agenda too,” I said.

“To get custody of Jacob,” she said. “Which is exactly what his mother wanted. Sitting around grieving with Nadine Perrault wouldn’t have advanced our case. In fact, it might well have undercut it.”

I glared at my husband. “Is that the way you feel?”

He exhaled. “Jesus, Jo. Let it go.”

I pulled into a parking spot in the lot behind the Lantern Inn, jumped out of the car, and slammed the door. “My pleasure,” I said, then I ran from him.

Zack and I didn’t quarrel often. Once, after an angry day in which every word was a weapon, and every silence a bludgeon, Zack said something that became a touchstone for us. The morning had started well. On my run, I’d spotted a pair of American avocets, and Zack and I agreed to return to the spot after dinner to see if the birds were still there. Life and tempers intervened, and by dusk, we were raw. Like all lovers, we knew where to stick the knife. Zack hated silence and throughout dinner I’d responded to his overtures with monosyllables. Finally – exasperated – he pounded the table. “If an actuary were here,” he said, “she could produce a table that would give us an idea of how much time we have left together before we die. It’s not long enough, Jo. Let’s go see the fucking avocets.”

When Zack followed me into our room at the Lantern Inn, he shrugged off his jacket, then headed straight for the bed, lifted himself out of his chair, and lay down. For a man who slept five hours a night whether he needed it or not, it was an uncharacteristic move, and it scared me. I went to him. “Time to remember the avocets?” I said.

He turned his head to face me. “Boy, is it ever. This has been a lousy day, and having you pissed off at me has been the cherry on the cheesecake.” He started coughing.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked.

He shook his head.

I kicked off my shoes. “Well, at least I can keep you company,” I said.

“I don’t want to give you whatever it is I’m getting,” he said.

“Our relationship is hardly platonic,” I said. “If I’m going to get what you have, I’ve already got it.”

I lay down beside him, and took his hand. It was warm. “You have a fever.”

“It’s just the nearness of you.”

“Maybe so,” I said. “But I’m still going to buy some Aspirin and juice before the stores close.” I swung out of bed.

Zack groaned. “You can’t leave now. You just got here.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Put on your pyjamas and get into bed where it’s warm. We’ll light a fire and have dinner in our room. See if we can head off that bug.”

Watson’s Guardian Drugs was crowded. It was the season for colds and flu, so everything I needed had been gathered into one convenient location. Humidifiers were on sale. Buying one for a single night was an extravagance, but Zack’s paraplegia meant he was vulnerable to attack from secondary infections, so I didn’t hesitate. As I made my way to the checkout counter, I spotted a rack of newspapers. The lead story of the Northumberland News was Abby Michaels’s memorial service, so I added a copy to my shopping cart and headed for the checkout line.

I took my place behind two ladies with silver sausage curls, sparkly Christmas corsages, lips red as holly berries, and gossip to share.

“There’s something so sad about the funeral of a young person, isn’t there, Eileen?” the one closer to me said.

“It was a memorial service, Doris,” her companion replied. “The body’s still out west. So this was just a gathering of friends.”

“Well, body or no body, it was very sad. I remember those girls walking down Walton Street together in their school uniforms. They were inseparable, Eileen. Whatever could have happened?”

“Doris, women like that are very emotional.”

“You mean… sapphites?”

“No, Doris, I mean the French. That Nadine Perrault is French, you know. Still, they make good neighbours.”

“The French?”

“No, Doris, sapphites. The two who moved in next to me have transformed that old rose garden.” She paused. “I wonder how they do it.”

“Hard pruning and organic food,” answered Doris.

Eileen leaned in to her friend and whispered, “I was talking about how sapphites have sex.”

Doris’s chuckle was lusty. “I know you were.”

When I got back to our room, the gas fireplace was on, and Zack was in his robe warming himself in front of it. I filled the humidifier, handed my husband the Aspirin, a glass of water, a bottle of orange juice, and a box of tissues, and told him what I’d learned about sapphite love, hard pruning, and organic food.

“You broaden my horizons,” he said. He rubbed my arm. “I really am sorry about today.”

“So am I,” I said. “You were in a rotten position.”

“You don’t know the half of it. When I saw Nadine Perrault down by the river, all I could think about was how I would feel if I were in her place. Loving you is making me a lousy lawyer, Jo, and I can’t afford to blow this one.” He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “After you left, I called Dee to let her know you and I were in for the night. She understood, of course, but she sounded whipped.”

“Nadine is the one who’s whipped,” I said. “Delia’s holding all the cards.”

Zack’s eyes turned back to the flickering flames of the fireplace. “I’m not so sure about that. The Michaelses’ family lawyer, Graham Exton, appears to know something I don’t know, and that makes me uneasy.”

“Was he hostile?”

“No. He’s a nice enough guy. He said he wished we’d met under happier circumstances – that he’d known Abby all her life, and that she was a fine human being. He offered coffee and extended all the professional courtesies, but he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

“Did he show you the will?”

“Sure. No reason not to. There were no surprises. Jacob gets $250,000 when he turns twenty-five. The rest of Abby’s effects, assets, and considerable property holdings go to Nadine Perrault. Delia Margolis Wainberg is designated as the person to raise Jacob in the event of Abby’s death.”

“Nothing personal for Jacob?” I asked. “No photographs or family heirlooms? I would have thought Abby would want him to have that painting of her with her parents that we saw at the house.”

Zack shook his head. “All that goes to Nadine.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Today Nadine told me that until three weeks ago she and Abby and Jacob were a family. They’d been through a nightmare, but they were doing what families do – they were pressing on. Why would Abby make a will that handed Jacob over to a woman who was a stranger and severed his connections with the only family she’d ever known?”

Zack sneezed percussively. He gazed at his box of tissues. “Man-size,” he said. “I’m flattered. And to answer your question with a question: Why would Abby Michaels do any of the things she did in the last few weeks?”

“If Graham Exton knew Abby all her life, surely he would realize that she was in a fragile mental state. Didn’t he have an obligation to keep her from changing her will?”

“You bet he did, and when I raised that point, he was ready for me. He said, ‘I satisfied myself that, given the circumstances, Ms. Michaels was justified in asking me to draw up a new will and that she was of sound mind.’ When I pointed out that two weeks after he had pronounced Ms. Michaels ‘of sound mind’ she walked away from her partner and gave away their baby, the situation got ugly.”

“What happened?”

“Mr. Exton told me to advise my client that if she dug too deeply into the question of Abby Michaels’s state of mind when she had him draft the second will, she’d regret it. Then he said, ‘Delia Wainberg has reaped what she sowed.’ ”

“That’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “For a guy who wears both a belt and suspenders, it’s way out there. And something else – Graham Exton can’t say Delia’s name without spitting it out. It’s as if he hates her. And she’s never met him. I asked. She’d never heard of him until she came to Port Hope.”

“As long as he keeps what he knows to himself, I guess his feelings about Delia are irrelevant,” I said.

Zack looked thoughtful. “I wonder. I hate secrets. They have a way of blowing up at a critical moment, and this adoption has to go through. My newfound empathy aside, I would hate to lose to that putz Nadine Perrault hired to represent her.”

“You don’t like Llewellyn Llewellyn-Smith?”

“We got off to a bad start,” Zack said. “By the time I arrived at his office, after my meeting with Exton, I had to go to the can. There was only one men’s room in the building. There were three regular stalls and one that was accessible. The three regular stalls were empty but the accessible stall was in use. So I waited – and waited. Whoever was in there was either reading the comics or whacking off. By this point, my need was great. So I rapped on the door, and said, ‘There’s a cripple out here who needs to be in there.’ ”

I laughed. “You didn’t.”

“I did, and the son of a bitch still didn’t come out. So I banged the door, and yelled, ‘Listen, fuck-wad, when you come out of there, you’d better be in a wheelchair or I’m going to sue your ass.’ Finally, the toilet flushed, and guess who swaggered out?”

“Llewellyn Llewellyn-Smith?”

“The putz himself, zipping up, proud as hell for having kept the big-time lawyer waiting. So that’s how we started.”

“I take it the situation didn’t improve.”

“Nope. Llewellyn Llewellyn-Smith is a banty rooster – one of those strutting guys with a whiny high-pitched voice, and he yells all the time. He’s determined to make this the case of his career. I tried to explain that I don’t have a coterie of press people following me at all times – that the only time I’m on TV is when the case involves big names or big issues.” Zack wheeled over to the waste-basket, picked it up, placed it on his knee, and wheeled back. “Hard to sink a tissue from across the room,” he explained. “Anyway, in an ideal world, this shouldn’t end up in a courtroom. Llewellyn-Smith and I should be able to sit down with our clients and come up with an arrangement that semi-satisfies everybody.”

“But that’s not what he wants.”

“No,” Zack said. “He wants a three-ring circus, and he wants to be the ringmaster. He told me that he has detectives out there looking for Jacob’s father and that when Jacob’s father finds out ‘the truth,’ he’ll support Nadine’s case.”

“If he hasn’t found the father, how can he predict what the father will do?”

“He can’t,” Zack said. “Good lawyers know enough not to show their hand until the time is right, but Putz isn’t a good lawyer. He’s a chest-pounder. He also wears a bow tie, and you know your theory about that.”

“Wearing bow ties tells the world that you can no longer get an erection,” I said. “It’s actually David Sedaris’s line. I just used it to get you to throw out your bow ties. So did you share the theory with Putz?”

“Hell, no,” Zack said. “I know how to keep my cards close to my chest.” He sneezed. “Shit, I am getting a cold. Airplanes!”

“I told you they’re dangerous. Come on, let’s order some dinner. I brought Gawain along. I’ll read to you till our meal comes.”

It didn’t take long. By the time Gawain had met and made his fateful pact with the lord of the great manor, our meal had arrived. We’d both ordered the brome duck. It was excellent, but Zack picked at his food.

“Do you want me to order something else for you?” I asked.

Zack shook his head. “I’m not hungry. I’m just going to try to sleep.”

I called room service to pick up our trays, made Zack as comfortable as possible, and settled by the fireplace with the Northumberland News. The account of the memorial service was detailed. More than seven hundred people had been in attendance. Anticipating an overflow crowd, two rooms had been set up with closed-circuit televisions. The event was still standing room only.

The article noted that while there had been readings and musical selections, the highlights of the gathering had been anecdotes about Abby Michaels. There were three pictures with the story: one was a studio portrait of Abby wearing her academic gown and Ph.D. hood; the second was of the crowd in the chapel; the third was of an unidentified young girl, her face tear-stained and knifed by grief. As I folded the paper, there was a lump in my throat, and I knew our decision not to attend the service had been a wise one.

The room contained a bookcase filled with paperbacks: a shelf of mysteries; what appeared to be the entire oeuvre of Zane Grey, and a small selection of worthy books about the history of Port Hope and Hope Township. I chose one of the history books and, seduced by the epigraph from Santayana, “History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there,” began reading.

The memories of the town’s first newspaper editors were compelling, but the combination of the wine I had had with dinner and the warmth from the fireplace made my eyelids heavy. Zack was snoring peacefully, and I decided that oblivion was not without appeal.

I readied myself for bed, slid in beside my husband, and closed my eyes. After an hour, the painful images of the day were still sharp. When my restlessness threatened to waken Zack, I slipped out of bed, put on my jacket, and went out onto the balcony. The air was chilly, but the night was clear. Beneath me, the Ganaraska flowed inexorably towards Lake Ontario; above me the sky was filled with stars. Finally, my pulse slowed, and my mind grew calm. I went inside, and this time when I lay down under the canopy, I slept.

The next morning, we awakened to the sound of rain. Beside me, Zack stirred. “Bet it’s not raining at home,” he said.

“The forecast for Regina today is thirty-eight below,” I said. “I checked last night. How are you feeling?”

“The same.” Zack raised his arm to see his watch. “Too early to call home and see how everybody’s doing?”

“Better hold off on calling Taylor, but Pete’s a safe bet. He gets up earlier than I do.”

Zack picked up his BlackBerry and called our house. After he’d chatted with Pete and spoken to Pantera, he handed the phone to me. As always, Pete was laconic. “Nothing much going on here,” he said. “Noah brought the baby by last night to play with the dogs.”

“How did that go?” I said.

“Willie herded Jacob for a while, but when he satisfied himself that Jacob was safe, we put Jacob down on the floor and Pantera pushed him along with his nose. Every time Jacob rolled over, he’d laugh, and every time Jacob laughed, Pantera pushed him again.”

“You do realize that when Zack hears about this, he’ll be arranging play dates.”

“Jacob could do worse,” Pete said. “Pantera plays well with others.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of everything, Pete.”

“My pleasure. Have a good flight.”

“Impossible,” I said, “but I appreciate the thought.” After I rang off, I called Alwyn, and we arranged to go to the ten-thirty service at St. Mark’s Anglican Church. Zack was in the shower, and I was ironing slacks for church when Noah called.

“Nothing special,” he said. “I just thought I’d let you know that everybody here is fine.”

“That’s always a relief to hear,” I said. “May I talk to Taylor?”

“She and Izzy are still sleeping. Big night – the girls and I took Jacob over to your place; then we ordered in pizza. I had beer and a slice, Jacob had formula and pureed peas, then we gents went to bed and left the ladies to their stack of holiday DVDS.”

“I hear your boy fell under Pantera’s spell,” I said.

Noah chuckled. “You’ve been talking to Peter. I wish Delia could have been here – not just to see Jacob, but to see Izzy having so much fun. She’s always looking for the next mountain to climb. It was great to see her rolling around on the floor with her brother.” Noah caught himself. “I guess ‘nephew’ is more accurate, but the term doesn’t matter. Izzy loves that little boy. So do I.”

“Jacob’s pretty easy to love,” I said. “Thanks for the update, Noah. I’ll give Taylor a call when I’m back from church.”

When Zack came out of the shower, I told him about Pantera and Jacob. His laughter turned into a coughing jag, so I pulled out the jar of Vicks and told him to open his robe so I could rub his chest.

“Does that stuff work?” he said.

“I have no idea,” I said. “But it smells like it means business.”

He extended his arms. “Have at me,” he said, and then he started hacking again.

“That’s quite the bark you’ve got,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to sit next to us in the dining room. Let’s call room service again.”

“Fine with me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d have breakfast with Dee. Do you think you could sit across the table from her without squashing a grapefruit in her face?”

“This is Loyalist country,” I said. “People don’t make scenes. I’ll call her.”

“If it’s any consolation, Dee knows she behaved badly. She said she was going to send Nadine some flowers and a note this morning.”

I slammed the jar of Vicks on the bedside table. “Flowers and a note,” I said tightly. “Falconer Shreve’s signature kiss-off when one of the partners wants to end an inconvenient relationship.”

Zack picked up his pyjama top. “Can we give it a rest? I feel like shit. Delia feels like shit. If she can’t control every detail, she goes up her ass, and from the minute we got here, she hasn’t been able to control anything.”

“What did she hope to accomplish?”

Zack shook his head. “Beats me. I don’t think Dee knew herself. She never makes a move without considering every possible ramification, but she threw herself into this. If she’d been herself, Dee would have realized that Nadine Perrault was not a disinterested party and she would have finessed the situation. Dee works in a tricky field. Insurance litigation is high stakes. She gets paid the big bucks because she never makes a false move.”

“But she’s blowing this,” I said.

“And she knows it,” Zack said. “Yesterday in the car, Delia told me she was afraid. I’ve known her thirty years, and this is the first time I’ve heard her say she was afraid of anything.”

I sat on the bed, so that Zack and I were at eye level. “Is she afraid of losing Jacob?”

“That, and everything else. Delia feels as if her life is unravelling. She thought when she signed the papers giving up her child, she’d closed the chapter.”

“And now the child appears as a grown woman, hands Delia a baby, and is raped and murdered.” I touched one of the lines that bracketed Zack’s mouth like parentheses. “I guess that sequence of events is enough to overwhelm anyone.”

Short of the Fezziwigs’ Christmas party, there was no more festive scene than the Lantern Inn’s dining room on that wet December morning. Instead of a fiddler striking up Sir Roger de Coverley, there was the silvery staccato of Vivaldi’s “Winter,” and the buffet didn’t appear to feature cold boiled beef and mince pie, but the atmosphere of the room was one of Dickensian hopefulness and good cheer.

Delia had found a table for two near the fireplace. She stood to motion me over when I came in. In her black leather-trimmed sweater, white turtleneck, fitted jeans, and black Fluevog lace-up boots, she looked successful, fashionable, and utterly miserable.

“If this table is too close to the fireplace for you, I can ask them to move us,” she said. Her face was pale and strained and her husky voice cracked into the odd little hiccup it made whenever she was on edge.

“It’s good to be warm,” I said.

“Thanks for coming. I know you’re angry.”

“I promised Zack I wouldn’t smash a grapefruit in your face.”

She flashed her three-point cat smile. “That’s a start.”

The server poured us coffee and asked if we needed menus. When we said we were going with the buffet, she nodded gravely and told us we’d made a very wise choice.

“First wise choice I’ve made since I got here,” Delia said.

During breakfast Delia and I made a deliberate attempt to keep the conversation light. She and Noah had talked, so the story of Jacob and Pantera gave us one safe topic. The skating rink Zack and I were putting in at the lake gave us another. Delia was intrigued, and she had enough questions about exactly how a skating rink came into being to get us smoothly through to our second cup of coffee.

As the server cleared our plates, Delia held out her coffee cup in a mock toast. “Well, we made it. No grapefruit smashing. Not even a raised voice. So I’m going to push my luck and ask you whether Nadine won you over when you went back to her cabin.”

“I like her very much,” I said carefully.

“So you’re on her side.”

“No,” I said. “I’m on your side, but I’m hoping you can extend an olive branch to Nadine.”

“She doesn’t want an olive branch,” Delia said. “She wants the whole tree – full custody, and she’s not going to get it. I’m prepared to offer Nadine access. She can visit Jacob in Regina when she has time off from teaching. She can even come out to the lake with us for a couple of weeks every summer. But Jacob will never be left alone with her.”

“You think Nadine poses a threat to Jacob?” I said. “Where did that come from?”

“Abby’s will,” Delia said flatly. “Joanne, most wills have a subtext. A father bequeaths equal parts of his estate to each of his three sons, but he leaves the watch that has been passed down through the family to his youngest son. There’s a message there.”

“The youngest son is the father’s favourite,” I said.

Delia nodded. “In her revised will, Abby left Nadine Perrault money and property but she made certain that Jacob came to me. Clearly there’s something in Nadine’s background that makes it impossible for Jacob to be left in her care.”

“Abby and Nadine were inseparable from the time they were ten,” I said. “It’s difficult to believe there was anything of significance that they didn’t know about one another.”

“There’s no disputing the facts,” Delia said. “Three weeks ago. Abby changed her will. Something convinced her that Nadine would not be a fit parent, and that Jacob belonged with us. We may not be able to see the logic, but it’s there. Once we’ve figured out what caused Abby to leave the bulk of her estate to Nadine but grant custody of her son to us, we have our case.”

“And winning the case is all that matters?” I said.

Delia’s mouth twisted in an ironic half-smile. “We seem to be moving into dangerous territory. I’d better get the bill.” She caught the server’s eye and picked up her bag. “Is Zack up for our meeting with Nadine’s lawyer this morning? He sounded terrible when I talked to him, but he minimized it.”

“It’s his decision,” I said. “But I think he should stay in bed. The cold is worse. He has a fever and he’s coughing.”

Delia’s face pinched with worry. “Has he seen a doctor?”

“I think he’s better off just staying in bed until we go to the airport. Sitting in a waiting room filled with sick people doesn’t strike me as a great idea. I’ll call our family doctor as soon as we get back to Regina.”

“But Zack is going to be all right?” Delia said.

“He’s had his flu shot, and he’s strong as an ox. You know that.”

She looked at me hard. “No, I don’t know that. I’m sure you’ve read all the same articles about paraplegia that I’ve read. I’ve worried about Zack’s health from the moment I met him. He always says that when he became part of the Winners’ Circle he felt like a drunk discovering Jesus – reborn. But for me it was like finding a family, and Zack has always been the one I was closest to.”

“You’re very much alike.”

“Both damaged high achievers.”

“I’ve never thought of you as damaged.”

“I present well, and the law saved me – just as it saved Zack. Chris Altieri used to say that for Zack and me the law was redemptive.” Delia’s eyes welled. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Sorry. Tell Zack I can talk to Nadine’s lawyer alone. And tell him please to take care of himself. I can’t handle another loss.”

Delia paid the bill, and we threaded our way through the laughter at the festively decorated tables. Anyone seeing us together, two middle-aged women, affluent and amiable, would have thought we didn’t have a care in the world.

When I got back to the room, Zack’s breakfast was on its tray uneaten, and he was lying down. I sat beside him on the bed and rubbed his shoulder. “Feeling lousy?” I said.

“Lousy would be an improvement,” he said.

“I told Delia you were going to stay in the room until we left for the airport. I’ll call Alwyn and let her know we’re confined to quarters for the day.”

“No reason for you to stay here,” Zack said. “I’m just going to sleep. You and Alwyn only have a few hours. You were planning to go to church together, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and then back to her house for tea.”

“Well, do that,” he said.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yep. But just in case, say a prayer for me.”

“I always pray for you.”

“Well, keep up the good work, and leave your cell on vibrate.”

It was the third Sunday in Advent and St. Mark’s was full. The recessional hymn was “Let There Be Light,” but the voices of a host of the faithful were unable to stave off the torrent that greeted us when we left the church. Alwyn squinted at the pewter sky. “What do you want to do?”

“Let me call and see how Zack’s doing, and then we can decide.”

Alwyn made a studious effort not to listen to my end of the conversation, but when I rang off, she looked at me inquiringly. “Well?”

“Zack says we should have fun.”

Alwyn opened her umbrella. “In that case, let’s get started.”

Zack’s mockery of Ye Olde Tyme Christmas aside, Port Hope knew how to be merry. The rain sharpened the scent of the evergreen boughs framing the storefronts, and the windows of the antique and specialty shops were tastefully seasonal. It was fun to be with Alwyn again, goofing and gossiping like the undergraduates we had once been.

Alwyn had just finished telling me about the donnybrook at St. Mark’s after the vestry painted the church’s two-hundred-year-old golden oak pews robin’s egg blue when Nadine Perrault called out to us from across the street.

She was coming down the steps of Our Lady of Mercy Church, and her faith had obviously been kicked into high gear, because when she spotted us she ran across the street without checking for oncoming traffic. A black SUV swerved, missing her by inches. Nadine was oblivious. She was wearing the jacket she’d worn the day before, but she hadn’t pulled the hood up, so her hair and face were rain-slicked. She was breathless but radiant.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I’ve had wonderful news. I have to tell someone, and I know you’ve both been concerned about me.” Her laugh was carefree. “I’ve been concerned about me, too, but this morning after mass, everything changed. Father Quines told me that Abby didn’t leave because I failed her. He said she left because she wanted to spare me.”

The day before, when she had knelt on the riverbank, I’d been struck by Nadine’s self-control. Now, drenched by rain, she couldn’t contain her joy and relief. “It wasn’t my fault.” Repeating the comforting words, her voice was soft with wonder. “I was so certain I’d failed her again, but it wasn’t me at all.”

Nadine’s jacket was unzipped. The Celtic ring that had belonged to Abby was hanging from her neck on a chain so fine it was almost invisible. As she talked, her slender fingers found the ring. “I wasn’t planning to go to mass, but the woman from the florist called saying someone had sent me flowers, and I thought since I was in town I might as well go to Our Lady’s.” Her smile was transforming. “Father Quines was very careful not to violate Abby’s trust, but what he told me was enough.”

Nadine gazed at the skies happily. “Look, the rain’s easing off. It’s going to be a pretty day after all.” She was growing calm now. “You must think I’m insane. It’s just – these last weeks – even the weeks before she left, Abby was lost to me. I could see her, but when I tried to talk to her, she didn’t hear me. It was as if she was underwater. Now, it’s almost as if she’s with me again, and I can do what we’d planned to do all along.”

“What had you planned?” I asked.

“To raise Jacob with love – in the house where Abby grew up, by the river that brought her such happiness.” Nadine ran her fingers through her hair. “Thank you for listening. Now, I’d better pick up my flowers.”

As she walked down Walton Street, Nadine’s step was light. “So much for the Seal of the Confessional,” Alwyn said. “Still, I’m glad Father Quines realized that compassion trumps doctrine. Let’s go to my place, and dry off.”

We had our tea in the sunroom, so we could watch the birds visit the feeder. Alwyn’s Earl Grey was hot and strong and her fruitcake was studded with pecans, dates, and candied cherries and pineapple. “Every piece you eat brings a month of happiness in the new year,” she said.

“That’s only if you eat it in the week between Christmas and New Year,” I said, “but this cake doesn’t require justification. I wish Zack were here. He’s the only man I’ve ever met who truly likes Christmas cake.”

“Is that why you married him?”

“No.” I sipped my tea. “I married Zack because I knew if I didn’t, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. I wish you two had been able to spend more time together.”

“Next time,” Alwyn said. “Jo, what do you think is going to happen here?”

“Nothing good,” I said. “Zack said he hates family law because somebody decent always gets hurt. When I think about Nadine and the Wainbergs, I feel sick.”

“You think this is going to get ugly?”

“I know it is. Both sides are willing to risk everything to win Jacob, and that means the gloves are off. My husband and Delia are close and when it comes to his job, Zack has never been afraid to get blood on his hands.”

Alwyn shuddered. “When I think about how Hugh and Peggy protected that girl, it’s hard to believe all that love and all those good intentions could end up in such misery.”

“Why do you think they never told Abby that she was adopted?”

Alwyn sipped her tea. “My guess is that they simply wanted to believe she was their own flesh and blood. In retrospect, the charade they played out about how much she was like them is poignant. They were always talking about how they could see one another in her, but she bore no resemblance to either of them. Peggy and Hugh were both strawberry blondes, grey-eyed with high colour. Abby had that tangle of wiry black curls; her skin was pale, like Delia’s, and she had those same piercing blue eyes.”

“Abby’s father doesn’t appear to have made much of a genetic contribution.”

“Who is he?”

“No one knows.”

Alwyn shot me a sharp look. “Including Delia Wainberg?”

“Her story is that she was articling in Ottawa – working crazy hours – and she had a series of casual liaisons.”

“Is she the kind of woman to have casual sex?”

“No,” I said. “She isn’t. Delia’s one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met.” A pair of black-capped chickadees landed on the bird feeder. “Even on a wet day, chickadees seem cheerful,” I said.

“You’d be cheerful too if you’d hidden seeds all over the backyard. My bird books tell me that chickadees can remember literally thousands of hiding places.” Alwyn peered out the window as if to test her observation. “I can’t even remember where I left my glasses. May I warm your cup?”

“No, I should get going.”

“Take your husband some Christmas cake – remember what our grandmothers used to say, ‘Feed a cold; starve a fever.’ ”

“Zack has both, but he’ll appreciate the thought.”

Alwyn sliced and wrapped the cake. Then she reached into her knitting bag, pulled out a DVD and a greeting card, and handed both to me. “The DVD of the memorial service is for Delia, but the card is for Jacob,” she said. “It was the Michaelses’ holiday greeting last year.” The red holiday frame was snowflake-spangled, but the photograph it surrounded was of a family enjoying a summer day: Nadine and Abby, wearing ball caps, shorts, and T-shirts, standing between Hugh and Peggy Michaels. Peggy’s straw hat shaded her face and she was squinting against the smoke curling from her cigarette; Hugh was in his three-piece suit, his small self-mocking grin fixed as firmly as his four-in-hand tie.

Alwyn handed the card to me. “At some point, Jacob might want to know about his mother,” she said.

I thought about Taylor. I dropped the card in my purse. “He will,” I said. “And when the time comes, he’ll be grateful for this. You’re a good soul, Alwyn.”

We embraced and promised to stay in touch, and then I started back to the hotel. When I passed Our Lady of Mercy, I remembered how Nadine’s eyes had shone and how her face, washed clean of guilt and misery, had seemed suddenly young again.

A question flicked at my consciousness. It had to do with perspective.

Zack and Delia were working on the assumption that Abby’s final irrational actions had been driven by a revelation about her life partner. But the comforting words Father Quines offered to Nadine opened another possibility. Perhaps Abby had changed her will not because she believed that Nadine was unfit but because she had stumbled upon a fact that convinced her that Jacob was Delia’s responsibility. That prospect carried a dark coda: whatever Abby discovered had been devastating enough to destroy not only Abby Michaels’s faith in God but in herself.