Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

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.