The Nesting Dolls

CHAPTER 14

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.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about what matters to Theo,” Myra hissed. Then she slapped my cheek in a movement as vicious as it was sudden. “Get out,” she said.

My face was stinging, but I stood my ground. When people behave badly, they want the encounter to end quickly, and I wasn’t about to cede that advantage to Myra Brokaw. The quarrel with her was too significant to lose. My voice was surprisingly even. “Myra, you can’t continue to care for Theo alone,” I said. “It’s hurting you both. You need respite, and he needs professional help.”

Her tone was withering. “And where exactly do you think I could find a caregiver with the stomach to clean up the kind of messes that Theo makes?”

Nadine spoke for the first time. “Competent professionals know how to clean up a man who soils himself. That’s part of their job, Ms. Brokaw. If your biggest problem is your husband’s hygiene, you’re blessed.”

Myra’s eyes were icy. “There are other ways in which a man can soil himself, Ms. Perrault. The night of the blizzard I walked into this room and found my husband having sex with your lover. At one point, she had been his all-too-willing partner.”

Nadine’s intake of breath was audible. “You knew,” she said.

Myra’s voice was thick with rage. “I’ve been spared nothing. After Theo’s accident, I found their e-mails to one another. They were sickening. Theo and that woman believed their relationship was a fair exchange. She wanted a brilliant child and she got one; Theo wanted his youth, and for a few weeks he recaptured it. As it turns out, they paid in hard coin for their choices.” Myra’s smile was a rictus. “Apparently, when your lover found out the truth about her relationship with Theo, she came here to confront him. I was at the Medical Centre being treated for an injury.”

“The wrist you sprained when you slipped on the ice,” I said.

Myra corrected me. “The wrist Theo sprained when I kept him from going back to the Wainbergs’ party to see ‘his clever girl.’ My point is that I left Theo alone, and that was a mistake. The scene I walked in on when I returned was stomach-turning. My husband was clutching his new clever girl around the neck, uttering endearments. From the angle of her head, I was certain she was already dead.”

Beside me Nadine recoiled as if she’d been punched. Myra was oblivious. “I waited until Theo ejaculated because I knew that would calm him. Incidentally, he doesn’t know your lover died. He thought she was simply distressed.”

“You didn’t tell him,” I said.

“I try not to upset him.”

Nadine stifled a sob, and I pressed on. “If Abby Michaels died here, how did her body end up in her car?”

“Theo has a wife who loves him,” Myra said. “And a loving wife has a price beyond rubies.” Her attention shifted to Nadine. “That’s something you’ll never understand, clever girl. A loving wife will perform actions that a ‘competent professional’ would never consider. After I’d cleaned Theo, I searched Abby Michaels’s purse and found her Ontario driver’s licence and a receipt from a local gas station. I went downstairs, checked our parking lot, and saw a car with Ontario plates. The keys in Abby Michaels’s purse fit the lock.”

“You put Abby’s body in her car and drove it to the parking lot,” I said.

Myra’s eyes met mine. “The pain in my wrist was excruciating, but we do what we must do, and Theo certainly wasn’t capable of handling the situation. Despite my injured wrist, I dragged the body to Abby Michaels’s car. I drove until I found an appropriately remote parking lot, pulled in, shut the car door, and walked home. Ten blocks, through a blizzard. Again, Ms. Perrault, not something your ‘competent professional’ would do.”

“You left Abby alone,” Nadine said bleakly. Her face crumpled at the image. This time, she made no attempt to control her weeping. The sound drew Theo out of his bedroom. As always, he was immaculately dressed. He went to Nadine and reached out to her as if to comfort her. She stared at him in disbelief, and then she began to scream. Theo looked blankly at his wife. “Did I make this one cry, too?” he asked.

“Don’t give her a second thought, darling. She’s just a whore, like all the others.” Myra took her husband’s arm. “Come sit by the window where you can enjoy the skaters,” she said silkily. “In a little while, I’ll bring your tea and some of those biscuits you like.” She turned to us. “Get out,” she said and slammed the door.

Nadine’s eyes were wide with horror. “How can she do this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. I took the cell from my bag and called 911. After I’d described the situation to the police, I called Zack and told him that Theo Brokaw was about to be arrested for murder and he’d need a lawyer. I explained that Myra would be charged as an accomplice and she would need a lawyer too. As I knew he would, Zack said he’d be right there. When I rang off, I dropped the cell back in my bag, and Nadine and I walked out into the corridor to watch the twinkling lights on the ficus, listen to the piano, and wait. At one point, Louise Hunter opened her door a crack and saw us. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

Pain ravaged Nadine’s delicate features. “Keep playing Bach,” she said.

Louise’s music was the only sound we heard as we waited for the police. The Brokaw apartment was silent. At one point, Nadine’s eyes travelled to the Brokaws’ door. “What do you think Myra’s doing in there?” she asked.

“There’s no way she can prepare Theo for what’s to come,” I said. “I imagine she’s just making him comfortable.”

“Being a good wife,” Nadine said. She shook her head sadly. “Myra had the quotation wrong, you know. It isn’t a wife whose price is beyond rubies. It’s a virtuous woman.”

After the police arrived, everything happened quickly. Nadine and I were escorted back into the Brokaws’ apartment in time to witness what, under other circumstances, would have been a poignant scene. Uniformed officers separated Myra and Theo, so they could be interviewed. Theo appeared dazed and frightened, and as he passed her, Myra took one of the martini glasses of candy from the counter and shook some jellybeans into his hand. Theo gobbled them and gave her a winningly boyish smile.

A male officer stayed with Nadine in the corridor and Debbie Haczkewicz ushered me into Myra’s sitting room. I sat on the cranberry-coloured reading chair. Debbie’s eyes met mine. “I am so relieved that this is over,” she said.

As I answered Debbie’s questions I faced the photographs Myra Brokaw had taken to create the self-portrait of the aging fragmented woman she believed herself to be. I remembered the sympathy I’d felt for her as she’d talked about the “little death” she’d experienced in leaving everything of her old life behind in Ottawa. Then I remembered her cold disposal of the woman Theo had raped and murdered, and averted my eyes.

Zack came. He’d brought another lawyer with him, a man named Tyler Maltman. I recognized him, as we’d been seated across the table from one another at a fund-raising dinner a few weeks before. I remembered Zack had told me that, of all the smart young defence lawyers in town, Tyler Maltman’s name was the one most frequently written on the walls of the cells. According to Zack, a positive jail-house rating was the equivalent of a starred consumer report. As I watched Tyler stride into the room where Myra was being held, I knew he had his work cut out for him.

After Zack embraced me and assured himself that Nadine and I were both all right, he told me that, given the complexity of this case, he might be a while. His excitement was palpable. He wheeled his chair with real vigour towards the room where his new client was waiting. For him, the good times were back.

Nadine and I left together. When we stepped outside, Nadine’s eyes swept the pedestrian mall. People were shopping and skating, and the man who looked like a sumo wrestler was ringing his bell for donations. “Ordinary life,” Nadine said. “All this was going on when we were in there with Myra. How can that be?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is that you and I have to become part of ordinary life again, and the sooner the better. How would you feel about going back to my place and taking our dogs for a run?”

Nadine’s smile was faint. “You’re the driver.”

Except for Willie and Pantera, the house was deserted. There was a note from Taylor on the kitchen table reminding me that it was our turn to feed the feral cats, and Declan had volunteered to help out because she knew I’d been delayed. I called and told our daughter that all was well and that Declan was on my hero list.

There’d been many times in my life when I’d found physical activity to be the perfect antidote for overheated emotions. That day as Nadine, warm in one of Taylor’s jackets and a pair of her snow pants, ran beside me along the levee, I knew that while the horror of the last few weeks would never leave her, Nadine had not been broken by it.

Later, sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the milk to heat for cocoa, Nadine leaned back in her chair. Our run had drained the tension from her body, and she was ready to talk. “I was aware of Theo Brokaw,” she said. “Not that he was the one; just that Abby and he were acquainted. When she was finishing her dissertation, Abby needed a summer without distractions, and she rented a cottage at Stony Lake. Theo Brokaw was her neighbour. He was working on a book, and he, too, required solitude.”

“Myra wasn’t there?”

“Abby never mentioned her, but she did speak highly of Theo. She said he’d read her dissertation and asked all the right questions.”

“A mentor,” I said. “Someone she could trust.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” Nadine asked.

“Zack should be home in a while, he can give you a general idea, but Theo’s his client, now, so… ”

“I understand.” Nadine stood. “Joanne, is there a church near here where I could go to mass tonight? One within walking distance?”

“Holy Rosary,” I said. “But it’s a long walk.”

“I need a long walk,” she said. “My mind is crowded with thoughts that have no place in a church.”

When she was leaving for mass, Nadine started to put on her pea jacket. “You’ll freeze in that,” I said. “Wear Taylor’s jacket and snow pants. I can drop your clothes off at the Chelton tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you,” Nadine said. “But please don’t bring the clothes to the hotel. I’d welcome an excuse to come back for a visit.”

When Zack came through the front door, he looked like himself again. “I think I could handle a martini,” he said.

“Nothing like a red-meat case to bring a guy back from the brink,” I said.

Zack grinned. “And this case is going to be a doozy.”

“What’s going to happen to Theo?”

“Well, the only way out, if the facts can be proved – and they will be proved – is to show that Theo had no capacity to form intent. There are differing intents for murder and manslaughter. I’m going to be straddling a fine line. I need to prove Theo had no capacity to form intent when he killed Abby, but that will be difficult if the Crown can prove that despite Theo’s brain damage, there were moments when he did remember his relationship with her.”

“And there were those moments,” I said. “There were also e-mails revealing the nature of his relationship with Abby. Myra found them.”

Zack tensed. “Do the e-mails still exist?”

“My guess is that Myra printed them out and filed them. She has an archivist’s zeal to preserve every scrap of information about her husband.”

“Even his e-mails to another woman? Boy, Myra really is something else. When I left to go to the police station with Theo, she advised me not to try to separate Theo’s interests from hers. She said that she and Theo cast a single shadow and that there was no way I could destroy her without destroying my client.”

“Consider yourself warned,” I said.

My husband shuddered. “Warned and spooked,” he said. “Myra makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Fortunately, while the Brokaws may cast a single shadow, the law makes it impossible for them to share a single defence. I’ll call Debbie and tell her about the e-mails, but between thee and me, I hope the cops don’t find them. If anything in those e-mails suggests Theo was capable of remembering his relationship with Abby, it’ll be tougher to prove his capacity was diminished when he put his hands around her neck.”

“What if he thought the woman who’d come to him was Delia? You saw how time shifts for him. He and Delia were lovers, and for Theo, twenty-seven years ago and yesterday appear to be pretty much the same thing.”

Zack raised his glass to me. “Glad you’re on my side, Jo. Jesus, what a mess, eh?”

“So what’s going to happen to Theo?”

Zack sighed. “He murdered a woman and then raped her, so he won’t be sentenced to a day at the beach. If we’re lucky and he’s found not criminally responsible because of mental disorder, he’ll be held in a suitable secure facility until a review panel finds him ‘recovered.’ ”

“Which will be never.”

“Barring a miracle – and I’m not counting on one – Theo will be in a closed medical facility for the rest of his life. The court will have to determine the appropriate place. My guess is he’ll end up in the regional psych centre in Saskatoon.

“Anyway, that’s the best-case scenario. At the moment, my job is to find a psychiatrist to show insanity or diminished capacity. How it plays with the jury depends on testimony about Theo’s conduct before and mostly after the fatal encounter with Abby. Of course, the Crown will be calling its own psychiatrist.”

“What about Myra?”

“She’ll be charged as accessory unless Tyler can cut a deal with the Crown on a lesser charge – something like obstructing justice or fabricating evidence. In any case, chances are high she’ll be convicted. She may even plead guilty in return for a lighter sentence.”

“And then what?”

“If Tyler gets the Crown to agree to a lesser charge, Myra will serve nominal time, then she’ll be let out on probation. She’ll have to perform a whack of community service, but she will walk among us.”

“Do you think Tyler will be able to get the Crown to agree to a lesser charge?”

Zack raised his eyebrows. “His chances would have been better if the police hadn’t found a loaded revolver when they searched the Brokaws’ condo. Myra said that the gun was her insurance policy in case Theo grew worse.”

“She was planning on a murder-suicide?”

“That’s what the lady claims. But I’m sure the Crown will point out that more than one loaded gun has been used for a purpose other than the one for which the gun was purchased. This is not going to be a slam-dunk for Tyler, but he’s sharp and he has a good ear for what resonates with a jury. He’ll pull out all the stops. Myra was the loyal wife who subsumed herself in her husband’s career. She devoted herself to Theo, enduring his repeated infidelities with grace, and then, when he committed an act of unspeakable horror, risked everything to preserve his reputation.”

“It sounds as if Myra has the right lawyer.”

“She does,” Zack said. “And this case won’t do Tyler any harm. It’s going to be high-profile – plenty of media, plenty of focus on the principal players. By the time the case comes to trial, Theo and Myra will be legends.”

“Yet another example of being careful what you wish for,” I said.

“How so?”

“Myra was afraid people would forget her husband. Now it appears that both she and Theo are going to be remembered for a long time to come.”

That night as I made my final pass through the house, making certain that doors were locked and that everything that should be turned off was turned off, I stopped in front of the pomegranate wreath Myra had crafted. I was already in my pyjamas, but I didn’t hesitate. I found a jacket and boots in the front closet and, dressed for outdoors, came back to the living room, took down the wreath, and walked out on our deck, then across our yard to the gate that opened onto our back alley. After I put the wreath in the dumpster, the lid slammed down with a satisfying finality.

The Brokaws were not so easily disposed of. Despite his bravado, Zack was still recuperating, and another pressure sore had developed. At my urging, Henry Chan ordered Zack to conduct as much business as possible from home at least until the New Year. So from the beginning I had an insider’s view of how Zack was handling Theo Brokaw’s case.

In the late afternoon on the day after Theo and Myra were arrested, Theo’s sisters arrived on our doorstep. The Brokaw women were sturdy, handsome, and sensibly dressed for a Saskatchewan winter. They were also clearly at a loss about how to deal with this situation.

I ushered them into our office where Zack would have the cruel task of explaining how their adored baby brother had come to be arrested for rape and murder. There was one bright spot. That afternoon we had received information that made Zack’s task easier and, though they would never know it, lightened the burden the sisters would carry for the rest of their lives.

The DNA test results had come in, and as Abby’s mother and Jacob’s grandmother, Delia was told the results. Noah delivered the information to us in person. Characteristically, he was direct and matter-of-fact. “Theo is Jacob’s biological father,” he said. “But he didn’t father Abby.”

“Whoa,” Zack said. “So if it wasn’t Theo, who was it?”

Noah’s crooked smile was infinitely sad. “Me,” he said. “And there’s no doubt. When the police took the DNA sample from Delia, I asked them to take one from me. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible. Delia and I had sex when I took her home with me the day after the fight at the restaurant.”

“Why didn’t she mention this earlier?” Zack said.

“She didn’t remember,” Noah said. “I guess our love-making was of so little consequence to Dee that it just slipped her mind.”

Zack and I exchanged glances and lowered our eyes.

“I’m okay with this,” Noah said softly. “Actually, more than okay. It hurts to know that Abby died before we had a chance to meet. But I’m grateful that Delia and Jacob don’t have to carry that ugliness with them.” He stood. “I thought you should know about the DNA before Theo’s sisters arrive. No need to make the situation worse for them than it already is.”

I wasn’t present when Zack talked to Theo’s sisters. When they filed out of the office, they had obviously been crying, but they held their heads high.

The final sister to leave seemed to have been appointed spokesperson. Her words were oddly formal, as if she’d written them out and memorized them. “It wasn’t Theo who did that terrible thing,” she said. “It was the shell of the man he was. Deprived of humanity and faith, we’re all vulnerable to evil.” She raised her dark eyes, so like her brother’s, to meet mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I remembered the baptisms of my children and grandchildren. And the old question: Do you renounce the evil powers of this world, which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?

“Yes,” I said, “I understand what you’re saying.”

Zack threw himself into Theo Brokaw’s case with the fervour of a first-year law student. The legal arguments were complex and engrossing, but it was the medical aspect of Theo’s case that intrigued Zack. He had never had reason to delve into the science of traumatic brain injury, and he was greedy for knowledge. His desk was heaped with printouts of articles that dealt with the symptoms and consequences of injury to the frontal lobe of the brain, and every morning someone from Falconer Shreve would arrive with new information. Zack devoured it all.

I had my own preoccupation. For over a year, I’d been weighing the possibility of taking early retirement from the university. I liked my work, but I was no longer passionate about it, and there were many other things I wanted to do. The idea of helping Mieka and Lisa Wallace bring their project for inner-city kids to fruition appealed to me, and it appealed to Zack, who had been an inner-city kid himself. When I expressed interest, Mieka was quick to take me on a tour of Markestyn’s, the empty school-supply shop on 4th Avenue. To my untutored eye, it was the perfect site for UpSlideDownToo. Centrally located in a residential neighbourhood whose best days were long past, two blocks from a community school, the new UpslideDown could become a magnet for young children and those who cared for them.

On our next visit to the building, Mieka and I had company. Zack and his partner Blake Falconer, whose specialty was real estate, came along. They were both impressed. Blake said he’d get a structural engineer to check out the building, but it was a nice piece of real estate. “A good investment for your old age,” he said.

When he heard Blake’s words, a shadow crossed Zack’s face.

I met his eyes. “Zack and I pretty much focus on the here and now,” I said.

“Fair enough,” Blake said, and that was the end of the discussion. But for me, that shadow was the tipping point. The deadline for requesting early retirement was December 31. Our wedding anniversary was January 1. I went home and wrote my letter.

I wasn’t the only one with plans to change her work life. Delia was honouring her promise to practise law part-time. The adjustment wasn’t easy for her, but she had committed herself to caring for Jacob, and she was doing a fine job.

Noah finished the woodcarving of the small bear that represented Jacob, and on the longest night of the year, the Wainbergs had an informal ceremony on their lawn to put the new carving in place. Nadine stayed in town for the event, and at her suggestion, Noah ordered wood for a final bear – a female who would represent Abby.

Kym continued to come over for a couple of hours every day until the morning of Christmas Eve. He and Zack had hit it off, and so when Kym left me his contact information, I filed it carefully, even though I hoped it would be years – or at least months – until I had to use it.

Christmas was the usual blur, but there were some fine moments. Zack managed to score two extra tickets to the Pats’ game, so he and I had our first of what we assumed would be many double dates with Declan and Taylor. Angus and Leah, both beaming, and with their cheeks burnished from hours on the ski slopes, arrived back from Whistler on Christmas Eve. I didn’t need to hear the announcement to know that they were once again a couple. I had always believed that Leah Drache was the right woman for Angus and knowing that she was in our lives again was the first gift of our holiday.

There were other memorable gifts. Taylor finished her self-portrait in time to give it to Zack on Christmas morning. Zack was not an easy man to thrill with a gift, but he was so touched by the painting that he called a halt to the present opening until he could see how the self-portrait looked in our family room. My gift from Taylor was a pair of fuzzy socks and two rectangular canvases. On one canvas, she had copied out Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to a Sock” in English; on the other, she had written out the poem in Spanish. The margins of both canvases were decorated with fanciful drawings of socks.

When I’d given her Neruda’s Odes to Common Things for her birthday, she’d been polite, but she hadn’t been exactly bowled over. “I didn’t know you even opened that book,” I said.

“That day Isobel came over, she read some of the poems out loud while I painted,” Taylor said. “You and I had had that talk about the kind of life experiences I needed to make art, so when Isobel was reading, I really listened. Then I read the poems myself, and I started to think about what Pablo Neruda was saying. You’ve read the poems, haven’t you?”

“Many times,” I said.

“Then you know what they’re about,” Taylor said. “They’re about how amazing ordinary things are: tables, chairs, yellow flowers, oranges, French fries… ”

“Cats,” I said.

Taylor grinned. “And dogs. And socks.” She frowned. “Is that what you were trying to tell me by giving me the book?”

“No,” I said. “I just wanted my socks back.”

We drove up to the lake on Boxing Day. I hadn’t yet seen the skating rink that was my Christmas gift from Zack, but the minute our children and grandchildren spied the smooth expanse of ice, we knew it was a hit. The kids skated, with occasional ski and toboggan breaks, all day, and after dinner, they turned on the fairy lights strung across the branches of the trees circling the rink, and went back at it.

Zack and I stayed indoors watching, our hands touching. We were at peace and grateful for it. When Lena and Maddy spotted us watching them from the window and turned to wave, Zack and I exchanged glances. “Who has more fun than us?” he said.

“Nobody,” I said. “Nobody has more fun than us.” The shadow I’d seen on Zack’s face the day Blake Falconer talked about our old age appeared again. This time I was ready for it. I stood. “Do you remember promising that when you were better, we’d have a Kevin Costner kiss – one of those long, slow, deep, soft kisses that last three days?” I said.

Zack nodded. “I remember,” he said.

“It happens that I’m free for the next three days,” I said.

Zack pointed his chair towards the hall that led to our bedroom. “That’s lucky,” he said. “Because so am I.”

As long, slow, deep, soft kisses frequently do, Zack’s and mine developed into something more stirring than a kiss. It had been a while since we made love, and for both of us the joining of our bodies was a homecoming. Finally, sated and grateful, we lay hand in hand, listening to the kids playing on the ice, convinced that we might be immortal after all.