Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“No,” I said. “But there was a baby at my house, the day you visited. You brought me a package. Remember? Then you sang to the baby.”

His eyes met mine. They had seemed opaque, but suddenly they cleared. “Was it your baby?”

“No.” I touched his hand. “Theo, it was your baby. Your grandson. That’s what I came to tell you today.”

He looked at the wooden doll in his hand. “This is the baby,” he said. His finger moved back and forth across the nesting dolls. One of these is his mama,” he said. “But which one?”

I took his hand in mine and moved it back to the doll the baby doll had been inside. “This is the mama,” I said. Then I moved my finger to the larger doll next to it. “This is the grandmother. Think of this as Delia – Delia Margolis. She clerked for you many years ago. Do you remember Delia?”

Theo’s brown eyes were confused. He moved his finger back to the smaller doll, the doll that contained the baby. “This is the mama.”

“I have a picture of Delia’s daughter,” I said. “Would you like to see it?”

I took the Christmas card Alwyn had given me and handed it to Theo. I started to identify Abby, but he seemed to recognize her. “That’s my girl,” he said, and there was rapture in his voice.

I didn’t understand, but I seized the moment. “That’s right,” I said. “That’s your daughter.”

He grabbed the photo and looked at me angrily. “Not my daughter. My girl. My clever girl.” He turned his eyes back to the photograph.

“She looks very much like her mother,” I said. “It’s easy to make a mistake. But this is Delia’s daughter. The daughter you and Delia had together.”

He looked at me angrily. “No,” he said. He stood abruptly and began pacing the room, the card still in his hand. Finally, he stopped at a magazine rack. He took out a magazine, slid the card between its pages, and replaced it in the rack. He sighed heavily, like a man who had completed a complex and onerous task; then his eyes lit on the nesting dolls, and he hurried to place them back inside one another again. When finally they were all safely inside the mother doll, he slid the doll into his pocket and patted it contentedly. “My girl,” he said. “My clever girl.”

When Myra returned, Theo and I had finished our tea and were sitting silently. He didn’t look up when his wife entered the apartment. Myra took off her coat and scarf, then came over and handed Theo a paper bag from a coffee house. He tore it open with boyish impatience.

“Biscotti,” Myra said. “Theo’s mad for them. I think they taste like cardboard, but when we’re out on a walk, his feet always lead us to a shop that sells them.” Her husband dunked a biscotto greedily in his tea, and Myra smiled. “I try to indulge him in his small pleasures.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” I said.

Myra’s mouth curved in a half-smile. “Wisdom comes from loss,” she said. “It takes a wise man to realize that when he’s lost everything else, his wife may have to be enough.”

I stood. “Myra, could I speak to you for a moment? Privately?”

Myra signalled her understanding with a nod and walked me to the door of her study. We both glanced at Theo. His attention was fixed on his snack, but we kept our voices low. “I take it this isn’t about the project,” Myra said.

“No,” I said.

We stepped inside and closed the door behind us. I drew a breath and plunged in. “Theo knows that Delia Wainberg gave birth to his child,” I said.

There was something flat and cynical in Myra’s face. “My husband knows there was a child,” she said. “No one knows for a certainty if it’s his. I doubt if Delia Margolis knows herself.”

I met Myra’s gaze. “Delia knows that Theo was the father of her child, Myra. That’s a fact. Here’s another one. Three weeks ago when their daughter, Abby Michaels, wrote to her asking for genetic information, Delia gave her Theo’s name. I think it’s a safe assumption that Abby Michaels communicated with Theo. By then, you were handling Theo’s correspondence. Did you answer her letter?”

“I ignored it.”

“But Delia received a note saying the matter had been taken care of, and the note was signed with Theo’s initials.”

Myra’s gaze was cool. “It seemed the easiest way of dealing with something that was no longer of consequence. Like many things in Theo’s life, Ms. Michaels was part of the past. Anyway, I understand she’s dead, so that really is the end of it.”

I tried to keep my voice steady. “Her child is alive. He has a right to know his genetic history.”

Myra’s voice was a knife. “Joanne, I’m not going to discuss this – not now. Not ever.” She walked out of the study and waited at the front door until I’d put on my coat. She stood over me as I pulled on my boots. Even after I pushed the button for the elevator, Myra watched warily from the threshold to her apartment. Clearly, she wanted to make certain I was going to pass through the elevator doors and vanish from her life, but fate was not on Myra’s side.

When the elevator opened, Noah Wainberg stepped out, and he was holding Jacob in his car seat.

If he noticed Myra hovering, Noah ignored her. He came directly to me. “Jo, you have no idea how glad I am that you’re here,” he said. “When I saw your Volvo parked out back, I became a believer.”

My heart was pounding. “Is it Zack?” I said.

“No, Zack’s fine. I was talking to him twenty minutes ago.”

“And he’s all right?”

“Sounded okay. The new nurse you hired showed up.”

“Does Zack like her?”

“I guess. They’re both Colts fans. Anyway, I’m sorry I scared you. I’m here because Declan Hunter called. Louise didn’t come home last night, and she’s not answering her cell. I told him that she might have spent the night in her studio. Sometimes when she’s practising, she doesn’t hear the phone.”

“Well, Louise is in her studio. At least, she was. I got here about half an hour ago, and she was playing a recording.”

Noah sighed. “Well, that’s something. It’s hard to look for a needle in a haystack when you have a six-month-old sidekick.” He bent to nuzzle Jacob, and then raised his eyes to me. “I have a key to Louise’s studio, but if she’s been drinking, I can’t handle both her and Jacob. Could you take care of him for a minute while I see what’s going on?”

Noah put the car seat on the floor. I unbuckled Jacob, zipped him out of his snowsuit, and picked him up. “My lucky day,” I said.

When he saw a strange face, Jacob howled. I waved Noah off. “He’ll be fine. Go ahead and do what you have to do. I’ll wait here.”

I turned so that Jacob couldn’t see Noah opening the door to Louise’s studio, but Jacob was not fooled, and his cries grew even lustier.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Noah had managed to get inside Louise’s studio, before I took Jacob over to look at the lights on the ficus tree. I was in the clear, or almost. Myra was just shutting the door to their apartment when Theo burst past his wife and reached to take Jacob out of my arms. Myra’s voice was commanding. “No,” she said. She grabbed Theo’s sweater, but his need to soothe the child was strong.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Theo, why don’t you sit on that chair over by your door, and I’ll hand Jacob to you.”

Theo’s dark eyes darted anxiously from the baby to his wife. “You can sing to Jacob,” I said. “The way you did at my house. He liked your voice, remember?” I moved towards the chair. “Sing to Jacob again, Theo.”

Myra was glaring at me, but I ignored her. Theo sat down and held out his arms, and I placed the baby in them. The lullaby Theo sang was the same one he’d sung at our house. His voice was sweet and the baby soon stopped crying. Myra positioned herself on one side of the chair, and I stayed on the other. When Noah emerged from the studio and took in the triptych, he shot me a questioning look. “Theo’s helping us out,” I said.