Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“Sometimes,” I said. “But then I realize if we went back, we wouldn’t have Zack or Maddy and Lena -”

“Or Bruce and Benny or Willie and Pantera.” Taylor picked up her grapefruit spoon. “Or Declan,” she said innocently.

“Or Declan,” I agreed. “On the whole, I’d say we’ve gained more than we’ve lost. But going back is not an option. To paraphrase Joni Mitchell, we’re all captives on the carousel of time.”

Taylor cocked her head. “Who’s Joni Mitchell?”

Alwyn called just after Taylor left for school. Zack and I were in the office we shared at home. To me, the speaker-phone violated everything conversation was supposed to be, but Zack had questions and it was possible Alwyn could answer them. When I explained that Zack was acting as the lawyer for Delia Wainberg, Abby’s birth mother, and asked if he could take part in our call, Alwyn’s response was characteristically pragmatic. “Whatever helps,” she said.

Zack introduced himself and apologized. “This is a hell of a way to meet,” he said. “But thank you for agreeing to talk to me. I know you’re in a difficult position. It’s never easy to be caught in the middle.”

“Especially when the situation is so murky,” Alwyn said.

“Well, let’s see if we can un-muddy the waters – exchange a little information. Joanne tells me that you knew Abby from the time she was a baby. What was her life like?”

“Gilded,” Alwyn said. “She was the only child of parents who adored her, and as an adult she found a partner who adored her and whom she adored. She had a child she loved. She was bright, attractive, focused, and accomplished.”

“You say that Abby and her partner adored one another. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Nadine Perrault wouldn’t have realized that her partner was planning to bring their child out here and leave him with another family?”

“It’s inconceivable,” Alwyn said flatly. “Nonetheless, Nadine says that’s exactly what happened. According to her, she and Abby had grown even closer after Peggy and Hugh died. But after Abby examined the contents of her parents’ safety-deposit box, everything changed. Abby withdrew from Nadine. She became secretive. Nadine pleaded with Abby to tell her what was wrong, but Abby remained silent. The last morning they were together, Nadine went off to teach as usual, but when she returned, the house was empty. Abby had taken her parents’ old Volvo, so Nadine didn’t think she’d gone far, but as the days went by she grew frantic. Understandably, she was terrified at the thought of Abby driving alone with that baby on winter roads.”

“That’s another thing that puzzles me,” Zack said. “Why did Abby drive out here? It would have been so much simpler just to book a flight – especially when she was travelling with a baby.”

“Plane tickets can be traced,” Alwyn said. “Nadine’s theory is that Abby didn’t want anyone to interfere with her plans.”

“So from the time she left Port Hope, Abby was determined to hand Jacob over to the Wainbergs,” I said.

“Apparently so,” Alwyn said.

I could tell by his voice that Zack was both baffled and exasperated. “Alwyn, I understand that you have to respect Ms. Perrault’s confidence, but what the hell is going on here?”

My old friend’s level of exasperation matched Zack’s. “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s not a question of confidentiality, Zack. Nadine and I aren’t close. Until last night we were simply colleagues who taught English at the same school. I like and respect Nadine, but she and Abby were one of those couples who never seemed to need anyone else.”

“And now Nadine has nobody,” I said.

“It’s even worse than that,” Alwyn said. “It seems that before she left Port Hope, Abby took steps to cut Nadine out of her life.”

“What kind of steps?” Zack asked.

“Legal steps. This morning Nadine went to the lawyer she and Abby used to draw up their wills,” Alwyn said. “Nadine was hoping the fact that she and Abby named one another as their respective sole beneficiaries would strengthen her hand when she sought custody of Jacob.”

“So Nadine knew that Abby hadn’t named her as Jacob’s guardian in her will?” Zack said.

“According to Nadine, they hadn’t gotten around to it. They were both in good health, and then there was the tragedy with Abby’s parents. Nadine said it was simply understood that if something happened to one of them, the other would raise Jacob.”

“ ‘Understandings’ aren’t worth the paper they’re written on,” Zack said caustically. “Although to be fair, Nadine would have had a persuasive case if Abby hadn’t left that note with Jacob.”

“Surely the will Abby had drawn up by her lawyer would have more legal force than a note she wrote when she was obviously in a very fragile state of mind,” I said.

“One would think so,” Alwyn said. “Except this morning Nadine learned that on November 22 Abby signed a new will. In it, the bulk of her estate still goes to Nadine, but in the event of Abby’s death, Delia Margolis Wainberg is designated as Jacob’s legal guardian.”

Zack tensed. “Alwyn, tell Nadine Perrault to get a lawyer. Not the guy who drew up the wills. She needs her own lawyer – somebody smart and aggressive. Then she should have her lawyer call me.” He turned his chair towards the door. “I’m leaving the room now,” he said. “You and Joanne can talk freely.”

I waited until the door had closed. “He’s gone,” I said. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Alwyn’s voice was flat. “For probably the only time in my life, I have nothing to say.”

“Neither do I,” I said. “A double first.”

Zack was putting on his jacket when I came down the hall. “The partners’ meeting?” I said.

“Yep. You want to come?”

“No thanks. I’m going for a swim – which incidentally, you should be doing – and then I’m going to find last year’s gift bags and wrap presents.”

Zack held out his arms. “I wish I was spending the morning with you and Kiz Harp,” he said.

I folded myself into him. “I wish you were too. Zack, is this going to be terrible?”

My husband rubbed my back. “Ms. Shreve, if you can show me a way out of this where no one suffers, King Solomon will have to move over.”

Alwyn Henry and I first met in a half-course in early Canadian literature. Our instructor, a young Ph.D. from Cornell, made no attempt to hide his contempt for the subject matter. As we left class with our book lists the first day, Alwyn took me aside. “This course is going to kill us if we let it,” she said. “So let’s not let it,” I said. And we didn’t. We made a list of the writers: Haliburton, Lampman, Carman, Roberts, and Scott. Each of us read half the list and made concise and useful notes on what we’d read for the other. We wrote our major papers on the nineteenth-century settler-sisters, the Stricklands. Alwyn took Susanna Moodie; I took Catharine Parr Traill. Together, we drank coffee at Hart House and beer in Lundy’s Lane, the ladies’ and escorts’ room at the Bay-Bloor Tavern, and checked out the men everywhere. We both received firsts in the course. Alywn went on to do her master’s in English, and after graduation moved back home to Strickland country to teach. I majored in political science and economics, started a doctoral program, married and moved west. Not much stuck with me from that long-ago class, but Catharine Parr Traill’s recipe for dealing with troubles had. “When disaster strikes,” she wrote, “it’s no good to wring one’s hands, better to be up and doing.”

And that’s what I did. After my swim and shower, I dug out last year’s gift bags, tissue, and ribbons, put on Bach’s Brandenburgs, brewed myself some ginger tea, and tried not to think about lives full of promise that end in tragedy. By the end of the morning, my equilibrium was restored, and I had a stack of presents tree-ready in used but still festive gift bags. As I stowed the gifts in the laundry-room closet – well away from Pantera – I was grateful to Catharine Parr Traill for knowing that nothing answers vexing existential questions like mindless work, and to Bach for proving that, in the end, beauty trumps death.