Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

“She was arrested. Arrangements were made for her to undergo psychological assessment, and she was released. She walked out of court, drove home, and hanged herself.”

“Do you think this baby’s mother is suicidal? When she gave the baby to Isobel, all she said was ‘I couldn’t do it.’ That might just mean she felt she couldn’t raise her son, so she was giving him to someone who could.”

“Possibly,” Zack said, “but I don’t buy it. Mothers who abandon their newborns in the bathroom at Walmart or leave them in hospitals or fire stations are usually young and poor. When I was taking pictures of the girls I caught a glimpse of this boy’s mother. She wasn’t a kid, and she didn’t look poor.”

The penny dropped. “Zack, take out your camera,” I said. “She’ll be in those pictures.”

The first photo was a dud. With the breathtaking symbolism of the quotidian, the baby’s mother was heading through the door marked EXIT, her back to the camera. Zack scrolled to the previous picture. In this one the mother was handing the baby seat to Isobel. Her coat collar was turned up, and her dark hair had fallen over her face. Zack pushed the zoom button, isolating the woman’s profile. She’d been moving, and the photo was blurred. He flicked to the first picture he’d taken, and when he saw it, he breathed a single word: “Bingo.” Then he handed the camera to me.

Isobel had been right. The woman in the picture was an uncanny projection of what she, herself, would look like as an adult.

Zack was on another track. “She looks like Dee when we were in law school.” He slipped the camera back in his pocket, took out his BlackBerry, and tried three numbers in rapid succession. “Yet again, no Debbie. No Delia. No Noah. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, my love, but it is getting cold in here.”

On cue, the baby in my arms began to cry lustily.

“Fuck it. I’m sick of waiting,” Zack said. “I’m going to text Taylor and tell her to round up Izzy and Gracie. Then we’re going to take this boy down to Regina General. They have auxiliary power so they’ll be able to keep him warm and fed until somebody figures out what to do next.”

I kissed the baby’s head. “Sound good to you, bud?”

“You’re liking that little guy, aren’t you?” Zack said.

“Baby lust,” I said. “Our littlest granddaughter is already four. It’s been a while since we had a baby in the family.”

“I don’t believe this is the last we’ll see of this one.”

“Zack, what do you think is going on?”

He sighed. “I wish I knew. All I know is this was not a random act. The mother said her son belongs with Delia, and one look at that picture proves that she and Dee are related. When we ran into her at the Wainbergs’ this afternoon, the mother was taking the baby to Delia. She backed off because of the party, but she took the first available opportunity to get the child into Isobel’s hands.”

“She must have seen the girls’ picture in the paper and made the connection,” I said. “Wainberg isn’t a common name and there is that stunning resemblance.”

“So the deed was done,” Zack said. “And now we have to deal with the consequences.”

When Zack’s phone rang, I tensed. I waited for a howl, but the little guy had snuggled in. It appeared our luck was turning. Not only had the baby slept through the ringtone, but the person calling was Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz. Zack’s account of the evening’s events was factual and concise, but his concern about the missing woman’s mental state was palpable. When he hung up, he sounded weary but satisfied. “Success,” he said. “Apparently it’s shit city out there. No power except on the east side. Traffic lights are out and the roads are godawful, so there are plenty of accidents. According to Debbie, some of our less principled fellow citizens are taking advantage of the blackout to smash windows and do a little Christmas shopping. It’s a bad night to be a cop, but Debbie’s going to send an officer to take the little guy to Regina General, and she’s going to put out an all-points bulletin on the mother.”

“Good,” I said. “So we should just wait here for the girls and the police.”

“Yep. Nothing to do but sit tight.”

“I noticed that when you described the baby’s mother to Debbie, you didn’t mention the connection with Delia.”

“Time enough for that,” Zack said. “It’ll be easier for Delia to hear the story from me.”

“It’ll be a shock,” I said.

Zack’s tone was pensive. “I wonder if it will be,” he said. “Only one way to find out.”

This time when he called Delia, Zack hit pay dirt. He gave her a brief account of the events of the evening, and apparently she didn’t ask questions. When he was finished, he listened for a moment. “Okay, I’ll call when we’re getting close,” he said.

I shifted the baby’s weight in my arms. “That was short and sweet.”

“Short, sweet, and only the beginning,” Zack said. “Delia’s going to meet us outside their house. Noah’s been driving home the sobriety-challenged, so he hasn’t ploughed their driveway, and Dee thinks we’d get stuck. Also she wants to make sure that before she and I talk, Isobel is out of earshot.”

The girls joined us, and not long afterwards a police officer found us, shone a flashlight on her badge, and took the baby. Her actions were swift and professional, but the darkness made the action surreal and, for me, deeply unsettling.

All of my children had been students at Luther: the three oldest for four years each, and Taylor for one semester so far. The campus was as familiar to me as my own backyard, but that night I lost my bearings. The school and the residences seemed part of an alien landscape, and the students bent over their shovels in the snow-choked parking lot had the cool menace of figures in a Magritte painting. Zack offered to drive, and I was relieved. I was normally a confident driver, but that night I felt unmoored.

Gracie Falconer’s house was the nearest, so we dropped her off first. It had been a silent drive, but Gracie was a girl who believed in happy endings, and as she opened the car door, her voice was plaintive. “This is going to be okay, isn’t it?”

Zack and I exchanged glances, but neither of us offered any reassurance. After Gracie was safely in the house, Zack called Delia and told her we were on our way. When we pulled up in front of the Wainbergs’, Delia was huddled in the doorway. As soon as she spotted our car, Delia turned on the flashlight in her hand and began plodding towards us. I handed Isobel our flashlight, and she started towards her house. Halfway up the path, she and her mother passed one another without either a greeting or an embrace.

There was a puff of cold air when Delia climbed into the back seat. Delia’s husky mezzo cracked as she asked Taylor to keep what she was about to hear private until Delia had had a chance to talk to Isobel. Then she leaned forward to get as close as she could to Zack. “What’s the situation?”

“The police took the child to the General for the night and they’re out looking for his mother.”

“I didn’t know there was a baby,” Delia said.

“But you do know the woman,” Zack said.

“We exchanged a few e-mails, and I spoke to her on the phone that day you were in the car with me, Joanne. I never met her face to face.”

Zack took out his camera, pulled up the photo of the woman, and handed the camera to Delia. “There’s her picture.”

Delia’s intake of breath was sharp. “I always wondered… ” she said.

Zack’s voice was low. “Dee, what’s going on?”

She ignored Zack’s question. “When can I get the child?”