The Nesting Dolls

“So I can leave?” said the driver.

“Yes,” Zack said. “We can handle it now.”

Jacob was still in my arms, and Theo Brokaw seemed mesmerized by him. “Is this your baby?” he asked me.

“No,” I said.

He turned to Zack. “Is it your baby?”

“No,” Zack said.

Theo Brokaw waggled a gloved finger at Jacob. “Are you my baby?” he asked. Jacob laughed, and Theo waggled his finger again. “Well, if you’re nobody’s baby, whose baby are you?”

Zack turned his chair towards the living room. “You may no longer be on the bench, Judge Brokaw, but you still know the right question to ask. Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable while we call Mrs. Brokaw and let her know you’re here.”

“Tell her I brought the box.” Theo took off his gloves and coat and placed them carefully on the cobbler’s bench. I led him into the living room; he sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace and held out his arms. I looked over at Noah. He nodded, and I handed the baby to Theo. He held Jacob awkwardly, and I reached over and adjusted the angle of his arm. Theo didn’t acknowledge my assistance. Instead, he began crooning a song in a language I took to be Ukrainian. His voice was surprisingly strong and young. As Theo sang, Jacob’s eyes grow heavy and then closed.

“There. He’s asleep,” Theo said. When Noah took Jacob, Theo nodded sagely. “So he’s yours,” he said.

“Yes,” Noah said. “He’s mine, and it’s time that he and I went home.”

After Noah and Jacob left, I called Myra Brokaw. On the voice message for her home phone, Myra Brokaw offered her cell number to callers with “pressing business.” As the minutes passed, our business became increasingly pressing. Theo Brokaw had grown agitated. He was an athletic man, and as he paced back and forth across our living room, his steps were long and powerful. He was cursing, but the source of his rage was unclear. Zack had positioned his chair at mid-point and was murmuring reassurances. At first, Theo ignored him, but suddenly he pivoted and raised a clenched fist at Zack. “Do you want me to punch you in the face?” he said.

Zack was matey. “Come on. Judges don’t punch lawyers. You know that. We’re not worth the effort.”

Theo cocked his head. “Was I appointed to the bench?”

Zack enunciated each word slowly and distinctly. “Yes, Justice Brokaw,” he said. “You were appointed to the bench.”

After I reached her on her cell, Myra was at our front door within minutes. “Where is he?” she asked. I pointed towards the room where her husband strode desperately towards a destination only he could fathom. Myra slipped off her boots and walked towards the living room. She stopped on the threshold and took in the scene. “He doesn’t know where he is,” she murmured. Then she pasted on her social smile, glided towards her husband, and took his arm. “Thank you so much for delivering our gift to the Shreves,” she said, drawing him towards the door. “It was clever of you to think of it. Now we must be on our way, sweetheart. The Shreves have plans, and so do we.”

Myra’s presence seemed to calm Theo. In a world that was suddenly senseless and menacing, she offered safe haven. “I got here with the box,” he said.

The gift was on the sideboard. “So I see,” she said. “Good work. You saved us the expense of the courier.”

She helped him on with his coat and tied his bright holiday scarf. As he had on the two previous occasions when I’d met him, Theo Brokaw appeared natty and distinguished, but as he turned towards the door, I saw the expression in his eyes. He was desperate.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Myra said.

“May we drive you home?” I said.

“I brought my car,” she said, knotting her own red scarf and pulling on the matching tam. “There’s a note inside the gift box,” she said. “I hope you’ll take the words to heart, Joanne.”

When we closed the door behind them, Zack and I exchanged glances. I opened the box on the sideboard. As I’d anticipated, the gift was a twin of the pomegranate wreath I’d admired on the Brokaws’ door. Myra’s handwriting was as strong and clear as her message. “The pomegranate is said to symbolize regeneration. May this wreath be a reminder that there are always new beginnings.”

I handed the card to Zack. “Nice,” he said. “Unfortunately, while people are working on new beginnings, the past has a way of jumping up and biting them in the ass.”

I removed the wreath from the box and held it over the mirror on the sideboard. “What do you think?” I said.

Zack cocked his head. “Looks good. Want me to get a hammer and one of those little finishing nails?”

“In a minute,” I said. “Zack, do you know of anything in Noah’s past that might cause problems with Jacob’s custody?”

Pantera plastered his body against the side of Zack’s wheelchair, putting himself within easy reach if Zack felt the need to rub his head.

I had hoped for quick reassurance, but Zack was silent as he scratched behind Pantera’s ears. I sat down on one of the dining room chairs. “There is something, isn’t there?” I said.

“There is,” he said. “But it was so long ago. I can’t imagine anybody remembering it but us.”

“Us, meaning…?”

“Noah, Delia, me, and our late, sainted partner Chris Altieri.”

“So what happened?”

Zack cocked his head. “Short and sweet: Noah got into a fight with a guy and the guy died.”

“Noah killed a man?”

“No. The guy, an obnoxious prick named Murray Jeffreys, died of a heart attack.”

“So Noah wasn’t responsible?”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “You could argue that point either way. Murray died because his heart stopped, not because of the injuries Noah inflicted upon him. That said, if the fight hadn’t happened, Murray would probably have lived to die another day.”

I went to the sideboard and picked up the wreath. The mica from the pomegranates flaked onto my fingers. “So when did this happen?”

“Guess.”

“The year you all articled.”

Zack turned his chair towards the window. “It seems like another lifetime. It was another lifetime.”

“But you do remember the fight.”

“You bet. It’s not every day you see a guy die. Since then I’ve had dozens of clients who’ve either caused or been present at the violent death of another human being and 90 per cent of them say the same thing: ‘It was all over so fast. I didn’t realize what had happened.’ ” Zack turned his chair to face me. “That’s exactly the way it was that night. Murray’s firm, which consisted of Murray and two associates, was having its Christmas party at some restaurant downtown. Dee had come back for Christmas, and that meant that Noah was walking around with this shit-eating grin.”

“He loved her even then?”

Pantera nudged Zack’s hand with his head and Zack rewarded him with a head scratch. “Noah’s love for Delia is the kind people write songs about… ”

“Or kill for?”

Zack winced. “Do me a favour, Jo. Don’t make that connection again. Anyway, we were at the party. By our modest standards, it was stellar: free booze, free food, and a chance to suck up to people who could be useful to us when we opened our own firm. Putting up with a prick like Murray seemed a small price to pay, but putting up with isn’t the same as putting out for, and that distinction was lost on Murray. Did I mention that Dee looked really primo that Christmas?”

“You did,” I said.

Zack gave me a quick smile. “I knew your memory would be solid on that point. Anyway, Murray started pawing at Delia. She brushed him off, but he wouldn’t stop. Then Murray made a really crude suggestion, and Noah started to hammer him. Murray was a little guy and he was twenty years older than Noah, plus he was paying for the party,