Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“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.”