Ottawa, signed the appropriate papers, came home to Saskatchewan, and started studying for my bar exams. Being back with the Winners’ Circle was like sliding into my old skin.”
“Did you alert the men who might have fathered the child?” Zack said.
Delia shook her head. “There was no point. The doctor assured me the baby was healthy, and the agency said they had a long list of good families waiting for an infant. It was a closed chapter.”
“But it’s open now,” Zack said.
“Yes,” Delia said, “and not because I want it to be.” Her fingers touched the pack of cigarettes in front of her as if for reassurance, then she opened her bag and removed the printout of an e-mail exchange. She handed it to Zack. “This arrived in my e-mail on November 22 – two weeks ago today,” she said.
Zack slipped on his reading glasses and began to read. Delia fiddled with her cigarette package until I went to the cupboard, took down an ashtray, and put it in front of her. She mouthed the word “thanks” and lit up. Zack slid the printout to me.
Considering the subject of the note, the tone was cool.
On September 29, 1983, you, Delia Margolis Wainberg, gave birth to a female child in Ottawa Civic Hospital. I have recently discovered that I am that child. My name is Abby Michaels. As an infant I was placed with a family, and until their recent deaths, I believed I was their natural child. My birth certificate, the adoption papers, and the genetic history you supplied to the adoption agency were appended to their wills.
A circumstance in my own life makes it imperative that I possess all data relevant to my genetic background. I would be grateful if you could supply me with the name and contact information of my biological father. You have my word that my only interest in communicating with him is to ascertain relevant medical information. Beyond that, I have no interest in communicating further either with him or with you.
Thank you for your attention to this matter.
I handed the paper back to Delia. “Did you get in touch with her?” I asked.
Delia nodded. “My doctor was on holidays for a few days. When he returned he gave me a precis of everything medically relevant that had come to light in the years since the baby was born. I sent the notes to Abby Michaels on November 30.”
Zack leaned forward in his chair. “What did you tell Ms. Michaels about her biological father?”
“The same thing I told you,” Delia said tightly. “I told her that during the period when I might have been impregnated I was sexually active, and I couldn’t identify her biological father. I wished her well, and said that if she required any further information, she should feel free to get in touch.”
“Did she?” Zack asked.
“She called that day I was in the car with Joanne. She identified herself. Then she said, ‘You’ll have to live with what you’ve done,’ and hung up.”
“Did that make sense to you?” Zack asked.
“No, because I’d done everything she asked me to do. Zack, none of this makes sense. You saw her e-mail to me. Two weeks ago, Abby Michaels was rational and in charge of her life. She wanted medical information, and I supplied it. Friday, she phones, pronounces judgment on me, and hangs up before I can ask her to explain; then yesterday she hands her child over to Isobel and says he belongs with me. What happened?”
“One possibility is postpartum psychosis,” Zack said.
Remembering Zack’s account of the woman who threw her baby from the bridge, my throat tightened, but Delia was cool. “I’ve had a couple of those cases,” she said. “According to my reading, the onset of the disorder is usually quite soon after birth. Jacob is six months old, and the woman who wrote that e-mail didn’t sound as if she was suffering from anything. She was absolutely lucid.”
“But she wasn’t lucid yesterday when she gave her baby to Isobel and said the child belonged with you,” Zack said. “Whatever’s going on, Dee, time is not our friend. The sooner you talk to the cops, the better. If anything happens to Abby Michaels because we screwed up, neither of us is going to be happy.”
Delia inhaled deeply and blew a smoke ring. “Okay, call your friend the Inspector – and tell her I’m Abby Michaels’s birth mother, and I want Jacob with me until they find her.”
Zack shot her a hard look. “You’re sure about this, Dee?”
Delia met his gaze. “I’m sure,” she said. For the first time, her voice faltered. “Jacob is family, Zack.”
Zack nodded. “In that case, I’ll call Debbie Haczkewicz and get the ball rolling.”
Zack was still on his cell with Debbie when the phone in the kitchen rang. The woman’s voice was patrician and assured. “Joanne, this is Myra Brokaw. I know it’s early to call, but I’m anxious to discuss Theo’s participation in the Supreme Court special.”
“Myra, I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time,” I said.
When she heard Myra Brokaw’s name, Delia’s attention shifted to me.
“Will there ever be a good time?” Myra said. Her words came rapidly. “I’ve given our situation a great deal of thought, and I believe I’ve come up with a plan that will work for us all. Will you at least come for tea and hear me out?”
“It’s the end of term,” I said. “And it’s a busy time of year. Can I check my calendar and call you back?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Myra said. “I’ll look forward to your call.”
Zack and I hung up simultaneously. We exchanged glances. “You first,” I said.
“The Inspector is on her way over,” Zack said. “Your turn.”
“I need your silver tongue,” I said. “Myra Brokaw has invited me to tea so we can discuss Justice Brokaw’s participation in our show.”
Zack winced. “Ouch.”
“What show?” Delia asked.
“NationTV is enamoured of those Issues for Dummies shows I’ve been working on. They’re cheap, they’re Canadian content, and they fill up airtime. The network’s been talking about branching out – getting experts to explain some of the institutions that govern the lives of ordinary Canadians.”
Delia frowned. “And Myra wants to involve Theo? My God, what’s the matter with her? Why would she expose him that way?”
“I take it he didn’t improve after we left yesterday.”
“No, he couldn’t seem to get past the fact that I wasn’t the young woman who’d clerked for him,” Delia said. “He and Myra stayed for about an hour yesterday afternoon. It was awkward. Theo kept staring at me and shaking his head. He seems to drift in and out.” There was real sadness in Delia’s voice. “He told me he was working on a book, but when I asked about the subject matter, he seemed confused. The next minute he was all excited because his papa was baking poppy seed bread and he’d promised him a slice before bed. He couldn’t remember my name. He kept calling me ‘that clever girl.’ He’d turn to Myra and whisper, ‘You remember her – that clever girl.’ And she’d nod and smile and say, ‘Of course.’ ”
“Had you met Myra before yesterday?” I asked.
“There was some kind of reception they had for the students the year I was clerking, but that was it.”
“Do you think Myra brought Theo back to Regina to hide him away?” I asked.
The smoke from her cigarette drifted around Delia’s face, obscuring her expression. “Probably. Revealing that her legal giant has feet of clay certainly wouldn’t be in Myra’s best interests. She’s invested her life in him. My guess is she’s just protecting her investment.”
CHAPTER 3
Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz was a tall and powerfully built woman, with a smile that was as disarming as it was rare. Like most defence lawyers, Zack wasn’t a big fan of the boys and girls in blue, but he and Debbie got along. When her eighteen-year-old son, Leo, was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident, Zack had, initially at Debbie’s request, shown up at the rehabilitation hospital every day for a month, ducking Leo’s punches, insults, and the business end of his catheter until Leo was ready to talk and to listen. Inspector Haczkewicz hadn’t forgotten the favour.
When the Inspector arrived, we moved to the family room. I offered coffee, but Debbie waved me off. “Thanks, but I gather from what Zack says we should move quickly on this.”
