Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“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.”