I waited as Nadine put on her jacket and boots. “Delia’s not easy with emotions,” I said.
Nadine’s voice was jagged. “Is she capable of love?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Nadine knotted her scarf. “I never knew with Abby either,” she said bleakly. “But I loved enough for both of us.” She pulled her knitted cap down over her ears and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 8
When Nadine and I left the house, Zack and Delia were waiting by the car we’d rented from the agency in Port Hope. As soon as we joined them, Delia reached inside her purse and took out a ring. “You should have this,” she said, handing the ring to Nadine. “It was in Abby’s hotel room. The police agreed that there was no need to hold onto it.”
Nadine’s eyes were wide. “She wasn’t wearing it when… ”
“No,” Delia said. “She wasn’t.”
Nadine removed her mitten and slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. The twin of the ring, a white-gold Celtic band, was already there. “Thank you,” she said and then she turned towards the woods.
Despite her own pain, Nadine was solicitous of Zack. She dropped back to talk to him. “There’s a path that’s wide enough for your chair, but I can’t guarantee its condition.”
“I’ll make it,” Zack said, and then he coughed. “Allergic to country air,” he muttered.
Nadine set off along the path and led us into the woods. The terrain was rough, but she moved confidently, with the muscular grace and power of a woman at home in her own body. “This is virgin land,” she said. “The trees you’re looking at have been here forever. In the spring the ferns grow so quickly it seems like a trick. On the hottest day, it’s cool here because the trees block the sun.”
The land sloped towards the river. It hadn’t been cold enough for the forest floor to freeze and the ground under my feet was spongy. It was also strewn with fallen branches and exposed roots. Zack hated me to push his chair but there were places where we had no alternative. Finally, we arrived at the water. Downriver, partially hidden by trees, was a cabin. Nadine gestured towards it. “That’s where we spent most of our time. It’s simple, but we were happy there.”
She moved towards the river, gathered some fallen cedar branches, and dropped to her knees. She turned to face us. “Would you like to join me? We don’t have to say anything – just watch the water and think of her for a few minutes.”
Delia and I joined Nadine, and Zack pushed his chair closer. Nadine rocked back on her heels. “So many people read poems at the memorial service. My mind was a blur, but I remember hearing a poem by Raymond Carver about feeling beloved on this earth.” Nadine’s eyes sought Delia’s. “There wasn’t a moment of Abby’s life when she didn’t feel beloved on this earth. It helps me to know that.” She prayed silently for a minute, then made the sign of the cross and looked at Delia. “Would you like to say something?”
Delia’s face was a mask. “What can I say? I never knew her.”
Nadine stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. “In that case, would you like to join me at the cabin for a drink?”
Delia didn’t answer. Zack eyed his partner anxiously, then turned to me. “You and Nadine go ahead. We’ll be along.”
I caught his eye. “That wind is raw.”
“I’ll be all right,” he said.
The cabin was square and solidly built with large windows, and a glassed-in porch overlooking the river. The front door was unlocked and when Nadine opened it we were met with a wave of warmth from a Franklin stove in the corner. Nadine took my coat. “Do you like Scotch?” she asked.
I nodded. As a host, she was charmingly awkward – shakily splashing the Scotch into the glasses, discovering one glass had too much and the other too little and attempting to even out the levels by pouring from one glass to the other. Finally, she handed me the glass with the most and smiled ruefully. “Abby always took care of the drinks,” she said. She motioned me to a chair by the stove, pulled her own chair close, and raised her glass. “To absent friends,” she said.
“To absent friends,” I repeated. I gazed around the room. The walls were bright with quilts, and abstracts. Two desks were placed side by side in front of a large window with a dramatic view of the river. A closed laptop and a bud vase with a single white rose were on one desk; on the other was a stack of essays.
“The marking never ends, does it?” I said.
Nadine glanced at me with interest. “You’re a teacher?”
“I teach political science at the university.”
Nadine’s face brightened. “Political science was Abby’s field. She just finished her Ph.D. dissertation last year.”
“I happened upon Abby’s name in a student’s bibliography, so I Googled her dissertation,” I said. “The abstract was excellent.”
“Everything Abby did was ‘excellent’,” Nadine said. “She was exceptional in every way. She was also very easy to love.”
“I gathered that from your reference to the poem by Raymond Carver,” I said. “When I get home I’ll look it up. That line about feeling beloved on this earth is beautiful.”
“It is,” Nadine agreed. “And perhaps that was all any of us needed to hear at the service for Abby. I didn’t speak. There was so much I wanted to say, but my mind was blank.” She smiled thinly. “Abby would have done better. She would have delayed the ceremony until she found the perfect words.”
“That sounds like Delia.”
“They’re very much alike, aren’t they? Not just in their appearance, but in their guardedness. Do you think that’s why they don’t let anyone in?” Nadine said. “Because they can’t risk revealing an imperfection?”
“Abby didn’t let you in?”
Nadine met my gaze. “I wanted more. I was content with what I had.”
“It’s the same with Delia’s husband,” I said.
Nadine swirled the amber liquid in her glass. She and I had both ended up with stiff drinks; hers remained untouched. “In a perfect world, Delia’s husband and I could commiserate. But this world is far from perfect.” Nadine picked up her glass, knocked back her drink, and shuddered. “I’m not a Scotch drinker. We kept the Glenfiddich for Hugh, but if ever there was a time to begin drinking Scotch, this is it.” Her eyes were watering, and I handed her a tissue. She gave me a small smile. “I wish you and I were on the same side.”
“So do I,” I said. I sipped my drink. “Nadine, you know this will get ugly. Your life will be exposed.”
She shrugged. “The fact that I’m a lesbian? That’s hardly a secret.”
“Not that. I was thinking of what a lawyer will do with the fact that you left Abby when she became pregnant. That period in your life will have to be explained if this ends up in court.”
“So you know about that,” Nadine said. I nodded. She closed her eyes as if to erase the memory. “I made a mistake. Out of my own stupidity and insecurity and fear, I made a mistake. I thought if there was a child, she would love me less.” Nadine stood abruptly, her hands balled into fists at her side. “But it didn’t happen. The period after we were reconciled was the best time in our lives. The last months of the pregnancy, the birth, watching Jacob grow – it was so good – so very, very good.”
“What went wrong?”
Nadine walked to the window overlooking the river and stared at the rushing water. The view appeared to bring her a measure of peace or at least of weary acceptance. “You know the facts,” she said. “The accident. The deaths of Hugh and Peggy. The discovery that she was adopted. But we withstood those blows. We were grieving, but we were also looking forward, making plans; then everything fell apart because… ” I could almost hear the click of self-censure. “Who knows why such things happen?” she said, then she picked up my empty glass. “May I refresh your drink?”
“Thanks,” I said. “I should go.”
Nadine picked up the two glasses she’d set out for Zack and Delia. “You don’t think they’re going to
