The Nesting Dolls (3 page)

“I’ve been trying to remember my last good Christmas, and I cannot.” She shifted her eyes to meet mine. “Don’t waste your time trying to think of something to say. I’m a solo act.” When I saw Zack wheeling towards me, I exhaled. I had never learned how to extricate myself gracefully from a conversation that was heading towards a land mine, but Zack always seemed to know how to make a smooth exit. I was in the clear.

My solo act hadn’t volunteered her name, but Zack knew it. He took her hand. “As always, you look lovely, Louise,” he said.

She shook an admonishing finger at him. “You’re the only remotely interesting person at this party and you let that little toad monopolize you.” She cocked her head. “The toad’s name eludes me, but you know who I mean – the one who looks like the fat boy on the Snakes and Ladders board.”

Zack laughed. “Nothing wrong with your powers of description. His name is Roddy Dewar.”

“Well, let Roddy Dewar find his own amusement,” Louise said. “I long to talk to you.”

“Unfortunately, my wife and I are just leaving,” Zack said. “Our daughter, Taylor, and her friends are due at their Christmas concert.”

“At Luther College. I am due at that too,” Louise said, “but I’m too drunk to go.”

“There’s another performance tomorrow,” Zack said. “Enjoy the party and hear the carols when you’re more in the mood.”

Louise leaned down and kissed Zack. She missed his face and hit his shirt. “You’re worth every penny my ex-husband pays you,” she said. She frowned. “There’s a smear of lipstick on your collar, and I fear I put it there. Next time you send Leland a bill, add a couple of hundred for a new shirt.”

Zack took her hand. “No payment necessary, Louise. I’m honoured to have your lipstick on my collar.”

“Jesus, you’re sweet,” she said, and she swayed off towards the bar.

I squeezed Zack’s shoulder. “You are sweet, you know,” I said.

Zack raised an eyebrow. “Hang onto that thought the next time Pantera chews up one of your grandmother’s Christmas-tree ornaments.”

Taylor, Isobel, and the third member of their triumvirate, Gracie Falconer, breezed in, already dressed for outdoors. Gracie and Isobel had grown up together. They were the same age; both were only children and both had a parent who was a founding partner of Falconer Shreve. Their ties were close, but when Zack and I married, Gracie and Isobel had embraced Taylor. Now the three girls were inseparable. That afternoon at the Wainbergs’, they had found the food and politely endured questions about school and holiday plans from their parents’ friends, but as Gracie flung her scarf around her neck, she made it clear they were ready to move along. “Let’s make tracks,” she said.

Isobel frowned at her wristwatch. “We have to hurry,” she said. “We’re supposed be there in ten minutes, and the weather will slow us down.”

I handed Taylor the car keys. “Why don’t you girls go to the car? We still have to get our coats.”

Delia and Noah walked with us to the door and waited while the young woman who’d taken our things retrieved them.

“I was surprised to see Louise Hunter here,” Zack said. “Leland says she’s become a recluse.”

“How would Leland know?” Noah said. “He’s never around.”

Zack shrugged. “Leland’s company is involved in some serious international deals.”

“And that excuses everything,” Noah said mildly. Our coats arrived, and Noah held out mine. “Anyway, I thought Louise might enjoy a party, so I added her name to the invitation list.”

Delia cocked her head. “I didn’t realize you and Louise Hunter knew one another.”

“Life sometimes gets too much for Louise and she calls me.”

“And you take care of her till she sobers up,” Delia said.

“Peyben is one of the firm’s biggest clients,” Noah said quietly. “And Louise was once married to Peyben’s owner.”

Delia linked her arm through her husband’s. “You take care of a lot that we don’t know about, don’t you?”

“Thanks for noticing,” Noah murmured.

It was a nice moment, but like many nice moments, it was interrupted by the outside world. When the doorbell rang, Zack was closest to the door and he reached over and opened it.

Theo and Myra Brokaw were standing on the step. The storm was still in full force, and the Brokaws had linked their arms, presenting a united front against the elements. Zack pushed his chair back, and Theo and Myra stepped past him into the safety of the entrance hall, frowning in concentration as they stomped their boots and brushed the snow from their shoulders.

Like many couples in a long marriage the Brokaws had grown to look like one another. Both were tall and lean with
thick eyebrows, deep-set dark eyes, and strong features. That afternoon, both were wearing ankle-length grey cashmere coats with festive red scarves knotted around their necks. For people who were late for a party in their honour, they were remarkably unperturbed, but they had an explanation for their tardiness. “I’d forgotten how challenging a Saskatchewan winter can be,” Myra Brokaw said. “We had quite the adventure getting here.”

Zack moved his chair aside, and extended his hand to her. “I’m glad you triumphed,” he said. Then he turned to Myra’s husband. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Judge Brokaw.”

Theo Brokaw’s chiselled features were transformed by a smile that was surprisingly winsome. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“I’ve appeared before you many times,” Zack said. “Obviously, I didn’t make much of an impression. I’m Zack Shreve.”

“And you’re a lawyer,” Theo Brokaw said, and his tone was self-congratulatory.

“I am,” Zack agreed.

“Well, so am I,” Theo Brokaw said. “At least I used to be.”

For once, my husband was flummoxed. Myra smoothed over the awkward moment. She touched Theo’s elbow, and he moved smartly towards the Wainbergs. Delia opened her arms in greeting, but her eyes were anxious as she scanned Theo’s face. “Welcome. I’m so glad you could come.”

Theo Brokaw stared at her, his forehead creased in bafflement. “You’ve gotten old,” he said. Before Delia could react, he bent towards her, buried his face in her neck, and breathed deeply. “Ah, but your fragrance is the same,” he said.

Until she disentangled herself, Theo clung to Delia in a way that was both passionate and strangely youthful. The situation was awkward, but Delia handled it with grace. “I’ll have to send Chanel No. 5 a thank-you note,” she said. She turned
to her husband. “Noah, why don’t you pour the Brokaws a drink, so we can all celebrate their arrival in Regina.”

Zack shot his partner an approving look. “I wish we could join you, but Joanne and I will have to take a rain check. We need to get the girls to their Christmas concert.”

Myra’s eyes widened in recognition. “You’re Joanne Kilbourn,” she said.

“I am,” I said. “And I was looking forward to talking to you and Justice Brokaw, but we’re already late.”

“I understand,” Myra said. She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “We’ve made an unfortunate first impression, but I would like to talk to you about our project. It has merit and I believe it’s still feasible. May I call you?”

My heart sank. Theo was clearly no longer ready for prime time. “Of course,” I said. “You have my number.”

Theo Brokaw had been watching his wife and me with interest. “We live over a store,” he said brightly.

Myra’s voice was gentle. “It’s one of the new condos in Scarth Street Mall. We wrote Ms. Kilbourn about it, Theo.”

“Well, whatever you call it, it’s still rooms over a store,” Theo said. “And it’s handy for me because it’s close to the courthouse.” He gave Zack a conspiratorial wink. “You know how important that is.”

“I do,” Zack said. “Have a pleasant evening.” He opened the door and wheeled out into the wild weather.

With Noah’s help we made it to our car, but the weather was growing increasingly ugly. It is a truth universally acknowledged that the first snowfall means that everybody in town forgets how to drive. When the first snowfall is a blizzard, the potential for skids, fishtails, and rear-end collisions rises exponentially. Our trip to the school was a white-knuckler. Zack was driving. Steering the car through the drifts on Leopold Crescent demanded strength and attention, and we didn’t exchange a word until we hit Albert Street.
City crews were on the job there; Zack’s shoulders relaxed and he shot me a quick glance. “Wouldn’t want to do that every day,” he said.

I reached over and rubbed the back of his neck. “Better?”

“Thanks. What do you think is going on with Theo Brokaw?”

“Whatever it is,” I said, “it explains his sudden retirement from the bench.”

“He’s not exactly
compos mentis,”
Zack agreed.

“Yet the e-mail exchanges we had were perfectly lucid,” I said. “Myra must take care of their correspondence.”

“Promise me something,” Zack said.

“What?”

“If I ever get like Theo, tip me into the nearest snowbank.”

By the time we pulled up in front of the school, we were late. Gracie and Taylor were sanguine but Isobel, whose standards for herself were high, bolted from our vehicle before Zack had come to a full stop.

The parking lots at Luther were chaos. Everybody was in a hurry, but nobody was getting anywhere. Seemingly every parking space but the one with the handicapped sign was taken. We had a disabled persons’ ID parking card, but unless a client’s needs were urgent, Zack never used it. My husband and I glanced at the seductive space and then at one another. Handbells were waiting to be rung. I rummaged through the glove compartment, found the card, and propped it on the dashboard. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Gracie and Taylor dashed through the snow towards the gym, and Zack and I followed behind. It was tough sledding, but we made it. As we stood inside, brushing off the snow and checking out seating possibilities, a good-looking boy with blond dreadlocks and a tentative smile approached us.
His manner was breezily confident, but his voice was uncertain. “Hey Zack. How’s it going?”

“No complaints,” Zack said. He gestured towards me. “This is my wife, Joanne. Jo, this is Declan Hunter.”

The boy extended his hand. “I recognized you from the picture in Zack’s office. Nice to meet you, Ms. Shreve.” His eyes darted past us towards the door. “You didn’t happen to see my mother in the parking lot, did you? She might need some help getting in.”

Zack’s voice was gentle. “She decided to come tomorrow, Declan. I guess she didn’t have a chance to let you know.”

Declan’s face tightened. “The big news would have been if she showed up.”

Zack wheeled his chair closer. “Your mother really did want to come today.”

“Right.” Declan gave us a small wave and turned away. “See you,” he said and started towards the crowd.

“Wait.” Zack didn’t have to raise his voice to get a response. Declan pivoted and took a step towards my husband. “If you’ve got some free time during the holidays, how about an evening at the Broken Rack,” Zack said. “When we went there on your birthday, I thought you showed definite promise.”

This time, Declan’s smile was open. “I beat you,” he said.

“I had an off night,” Zack said. “So are you in?”

“I’m in,” Declan said.

“Good, I’ll call you and we’ll set up a time.”

“Cool.”

I watched Declan sprint down the hall towards the gym. “You will call him, won’t you?” I said.

“You know me – can’t stand to lose, and this time the evening will be on our dime.”

“The last time wasn’t?”

“Nope. The last time was strictly business. It was Declan’s sixteenth birthday and his father, whom you have
no doubt deduced is Leland Hunter, decided his son needed a man-to-man talk.”

“Doesn’t a father usually do that himself?”

“It wasn’t that kind of talk. Leland thought Declan needed a clearer understanding of the Youth Criminal Justice Act. So we shot some pool. I told Declan that while Section 3 says the Act is to be liberally construed, it doesn’t mean sixteen-year-olds get a free pass, and I sent his father the bill. Hell of a note for a kid’s birthday, eh?”

“It is a hell of a note,” I agreed. “So did Declan need reminding?”

“He did,” Zack said. “Jo, you know the drill about confidentiality. That’s all I can say about that.”

Every effort had been made to transform the gym for the carol service. The shining wooden floor on which so many heart-stopping basketball championships had been played was safe under protective floor covers; giant sparkly snow-flakes were suspended from the rafters by lengths of fishing line that would, in theory, cease to be discernible when the lights were extinguished; artificial trees twinkled in every available space, and silvery garlands were looped and duct-taped along the sides of the bleachers.

My husband took in the decor. “You can’t say they didn’t try,” he said, and began wheeling towards what quickly became the last spot in the room to be occupied.

“Shit,” he said.

The expletive conjured up a student usher. “We have special seating at the front,” he said. “Just follow me.”

As he always did when he was singled out because of his paraplegia, Zack bristled. I touched his shoulder. “This place is already packed. We can stay here and stare at the back of people’s heads, and I can stand for the whole concert, or you can swallow your pride and we’ll have the best seats
in the house.” Zack gave me a sharp look but he wheeled off after the young man.

We had just reached our places when the lights dimmed and the processional began. As the student orchestra played the familiar opening of “Adeste Fideles,” the audience rose and the choirs entered, wearing academic gowns with satin yokes in the school colours, black and gold. The choirs sang in Latin, and their young voices stirred memories of my own school days. The service of lessons and carols was a familiar one to me, but Luther College had a large number of international students and so the selections from the Gospels were read in the first languages of students from Germany, Poland, China, France, Japan, Nigeria, and Korea, and the carols sung were those that had been sung for generations by celebrators of Christmas in those countries. When the bell-ringers moved into place on stage, Zack took my hand.