The Nesting Dolls

by Gail Bowen

  Myra raised an eyebrow. “Have you heard Angela Hewitt play the Bach?”

  The penny dropped. “We’re listening to a recording,” I said.

  “Yes. Sad, isn’t it? Louise Hunter and I haven’t spoken much, but when we moved in, she told me she used the Hewitt recording to inspire her; now it seems she uses it to punish herself.”

  “Louise told you that?”

  “She didn’t have to. The sequence speaks for itself. At the beginning, when Louise was working towards what seemed like a realizable goal, she would listen to Hewitt, and then play the Bach. Every day her performance got stronger; suddenly, she just seemed to lose her way. Her playing became sloppy and inaccurate. She would pound the piano. Finally, she’d stop and put on the recording.”

  “And you think she’s punishing herself by listening to how the Bach should be played?”

  “I do. That’s why I never complain when she’s making a hash of it,” Myra said. “Who knows what burdens another person is carrying?”

  To quote Zack, Myra’s words “unmanned” me, but I followed her into the apartment. There was no turning back. The tough questions had to be asked, and I was positioned to ask them.

  I steeled myself but was immediately granted a reprieve. After Myra had taken my things, she touched my arm. “Could I ask a favour? I have a gift I absolutely must get in the mail. Normally, Theo comes with me, but he’s having a bad day. I don’t like to leave him alone. He becomes confused and angry, and I’m afraid he might hurt himself or do something foolish. If I get you two settled, would you be all right alone with him for twenty minutes?”

  “Take your time,” I said. “We’ll be fine.”

  As she had before, Myra set the tea tray on the table. She filled our cups, excused herself, and slipped away. As soon as the door closed behind her, Theo smiled, removed the nesting doll from his pocket, and began the game he’d played the day he found them in my purse. He balanced the mother doll on his palm, said “I have a secret” in a light feminine voice, then opened the doll and produced the identical but smaller doll inside her. He repeated the sequence, pronouncing the words “I have a secret” in an increasingly high-pitched voice until he came to the last doll, the baby doll that could not be opened. “I am the secret,” he said in a tiny, squeaky, child’s voice.

  With great care, Theo placed the nesting dolls on the table in front of him, arranging them according to size; then he extended a slender forefinger and, smiling, stroked the shiny painted head of each doll in turn. He picked up the smallest doll, cradled it in his palm, and then raised his eyes to look at me. “This is the baby,” he said. His brow furrowed and he regarded me with suspicion. “You have a baby,” he said.

  “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.�
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  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.

  “Thank you, Theo,” Noah said. Oblivious to everything but Jacob, Theo didn’t acknowledge the comment.

  Noah’s eyes came back to me. “Louise is in pretty rough shape. I’m going to drive her home.” He took out his keys. “Can we trade cars? You’ll need the base for the baby seat in our car.”

  I took Noah’s keys, fished mine from my bag, and handed them to him.

  “I won’t be long,” he said. “Just take Jacob home with you and I’ll pick him up after I get Louise settled.”

  “Zack’s got that flu,” I said. “It might be wiser if I took him to UpSlideDown. You can pick him up there when you’re ready.”

  “Okay. Good,” Noah said. “Why don’t you take off now? I’ll help Louise get her coat and boots on. She’d be humiliated if you saw her drunk again.” Noah went back into the studio and I bent to take Jacob from Theo’s arms. “This little guy has to go home now,” I said.

  Theo’s eyes found Myra. “No,” he said. His look was beseeching; he was seeking support, but none was forthcoming.

  Myra’s took his arm. “It’s time to go inside,” she said firmly. Then her voice shifted to the wheedling tone of parents dealing with stubborn children. “We have biscotti and I’ll make you that coffee you like.”

  “You always say that and then you… ” He hung his head. He had lost the words with which to argue. He handed Jacob to me meekly. “Don’t let her… ” The sentence was unfinished. I didn’t know whether the ‘her’ meant Myra or me.

  I took the baby. “You’ll see him again, I promise.”

  Theo released his hold on Jacob, and Myra took Theo’s arm and led him inside. Through the closed door, I could hear Theo’s sobs. Knowing I had been the source of his pain made me sick at heart. I longed to leave, but I found that I couldn’t take a step until the cries ceased. When finally the corridor grew quiet, I snapped Jacob into his car seat and pressed the button for the elevator. I was still waiting for it to arrive when Myra Brokaw came out of her apartment. For the only time since I’d met her, she was dishevelled. She had lost one of the turquoise-studded silver combs with which she held back her thick hair, and her face was blotched with anger. “Delia Margolis needn’t think she was the only one,” Myra hissed. “She was simply the first of many. My husband was always drawn to the same type: clever, pale, and Semitic.”

  She slammed the door. The elevator arrived and I stepped in with Jacob’s carrier on my arm. I looked down at him. “Granted Myra was under stress,” I said. “But that was still a really shitty thing to say.” Jacob gazed at me thoughtfully.

  As soon as I got Jacob snapped into his car seat, I called Zack. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” he said. “I’ve been bathed and shaved, and the sheets are clean, so I’m ready for action.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” he said, “But Kym – incidentally, that’s Kym with a y – assures me the pressure sore is looking marginally better.”

  “Thank God,” I said.

  “Agreed, so when are you coming home? I miss you.”

  “One more stop,” I said. “I’ll explain when I get there. It’s been a bizarre couple of hours, but as long as you’re okay… ”

  “Do what you have to do. Darryl Colby is coming over at three. If the day is inching towards the bizarre, Darryl will push it over the edge.”

  “I’ll be there long before that,” I said.

  As I drove over to UpSlideDown, I kept repeating the reassuring words of my yoga teacher. “All will be well,” I said. “All will be well.”

  UpSlideDown was even livelier than usual. Volunteers were packing up the gifts that had been collected for the Holiday Blast at the Core Recreational Centre, and some of the young guests were reluctant to see the gifts that had been mounting under the tree with such promise suddenly disappear. There were tears and reassurances, and when Mieka passed by Jacob and me, her arms full of presents, she murmured, “Next year, remind me to do the transfer of gifts under cover of darkness.”

  “Will do,” I said. “I’ll also remind you that Clare Booth Luce said, ‘No good deed goes unpunished.’ ”

  Mieka exhaled loudly. “You can put that one on my grave.”

  “Did people donate enough gifts?”

  “We’ll know later. The organizers at Core Recreational are going to call if there’s an age group that’s missing out. My plan is to hit Zack up for a fat cheque to fill the holes, and you and I can do some quick shopping. Sound okay?”

  “Sure. Zack’s a generous guy.”

  “How’s that flu of his?”

  “We brought in a part-time nurse to help.”

  Mieka’s face clouded. “Zack isn’t getting worse, is he?”

  “No. The nurse is only coming in for a couple of hours a day. I just needed a little backup.”

  My daughter narrowed her eyes. “You are looking a bit worn.”

  “I forgot to put on makeup.”

  “I have an emergency supply in the cloakroom. Let me unload these parcels; then Jacob can entertain me while you give L’Oréal a chance to work its magic.”

  Mieka and Jacob were playing peek-a-boo when I came back from the cloakroom. Mieka gave me an approving nod. “Much better,” she said. “Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee and enjoy the moment.”

  Logic would have suggested that Nadine P
errault pay a visit to UpSlideDown as soon as she arrived in Regina. I’d given her Mieka’s business and home addresses and told her that in the days before her death Abby had spent part of every day at UpSlideDown. Still, that snowy afternoon, when Nadine came through the door, I was taken by surprise.

  Her blonde hair was tucked under a black cloche, and her black scarf was knotted with the casual flair that seems to be the birthright of French women. In her grey wool pea coat, closely fitted grey slacks, and knee-high leather boots, Nadine was a figure of elegance, but elegance doesn’t cut it when the mercury is hovering at thirty below. As she gazed around UpSlideDown, she hugged herself. Clearly, she was chilled to the bone, but despite the tempting warmth of the room, when she spotted me, she turned as if to leave.

  I stood. “Nadine, stay. Jacob’s here.”

  Her eyes sought out the baby, and when she saw him in Mieka’s arms, she moved past the bright Christmas tree and the playing children and went straight to him.

  After three weeks, Nadine was inches away from the child she loved; yet her first words were for me. “Thank you for not being angry,” she said. “I regretted my rudeness as soon as I broke the connection at the airport. Now I’m doubly sorry.”

  I gestured to an empty chair at our table. “This is a terrible situation,” I said. “You and Delia have been living through the worst hours of your lives for days now. That kind of tension takes a toll.”

  Nadine looked at Jacob, her face filled with longing. Mieka’s eyes found mine. I nodded, and Mieka handed the baby to Nadine. Jacob held his hands out to her and smiled.

  “He likes to sit, don’t you, Jacob?” Mieka said.

  At the sound of his name, the baby turned towards Mieka.

  Nadine adjusted his position, so he could sit on her lap and she could look into his face. “You’re growing up,” she said, and her voice was low and gentle.

  “Three weeks is a long time in a baby’s life.”

  Nadine’s smile was wry. “A long time in my life too.”

  Jacob watched her attentively. “I don’t know anything about child development,” Nadine said, “but Jacob seems very advanced. I guess all mothers… ” She corrected herself. “I guess everyone believes that their baby is special.”