“Faith is what pulls you through,” said Ned, “when nothing else will, just . . . nothing. I’ve had to face that, Lindsay. So in that way, this has been strengthening for me. For my relationship with God. At first I didn’t want to see how much I needed this to bring me back to Him . . .”
I felt a wave of nausea at Ned’s string of clichés and my mother’s vulnerability to them so I put down the receiver. I stood there in the hallway, the faint squawk of the conversation still audible, arrested by an image. Ned’s God was a life coach—the kind for whom you had to be at least a mid-six-figure earner. Ned’s God was a superstar, a braggart and a motivational speaker, presiding from an office whose walls were lined with awards, diplomas and framed pictures taken with celebrities. Ned’s God would have to take an interest in the workings of his personal ego.
Even Ned’s Lagerfeld cologne, I thought, would be a matter of no small interest to the God he conceived of.
I smiled at that and the movement of smiling let me lift the receiver again.
Thankfully the talk of religiosity had passed and Ned had moved on to a discussion of his electoral goals, his new mandate to serve the people, and his humble wish for Lena and me to be with him in what was, it turned out, chiefly a humanitarian crusade for public office. He deployed some pieces of text from his website, evoking the twin needs to restore values and build communities (wisely passing over those pieces of his rhetoric that would not jibe with my parents’ political leanings, moderate Democrat). He said the word humbled several times: he was humbled by the growing “grass-roots” support for his candidacy and also humbled by the “tireless dedication” of the campaign’s volunteers.
Finally, it seemed to me, he was quite humbled by his own humility.
Later I’d try to explain his cynicism to my mother, the connection between his recent discovery of the joys of piety and his career. It was painstaking because she doesn’t want to impute evil motives to anyone, much less a son-in-law and in spiritual matters—a generous but inconvenient aspect of her personality. I’d step lightly, not arguing my end too hard, but still she wouldn’t be entirely persuaded.
“I’d just ask, if you do talk to her over this holiday weekend,” said Ned mournfully, getting ready to wrap up, “I’d just ask that you give her my love. She doesn’t take my calls anymore, and so I can’t . . . say it to her myself. But I want to, Lindsay. You know? I may not have given her the . . . well, the full and complete attention that she obviously needed. I know that now. If I had it to do again, I would. There were pressures, of course . . . but I shouldn’t have let my passion for my work come between us. I’d try as hard as I could to give her the attention that she really needs.”
There were subtle stresses on certain words. And I knew. I knew he knew not only that I was in the house, but also that I was listening.
“WELL, DEAR,” said my mother, coming in after she hung up. “Ned tells me he misses you. I must say he didn’t say much about his little girl. I think that’s very strange.”
Probably the harshest thing she’s ever said about Ned.
I mulled it over in my bed that night, what advantage he hoped to gain by calling. If he was letting me know he was watching, why? The element of stealth had been sacrificed, which must mean he wouldn’t be showing up in person. So there was that.
I thought of his false regretful tone, saying the full and complete attention that she obviously needed. The implication, not too deeply buried, that I was secretly demanding, that I was a woman with hidden and deep reserves of need, was intended less for my mother than for me—for me to get a taste of poison, to see how sly he could be.
Maybe coming here physically was too much of a risk, though it was hard to believe his contest for the Alaska state senate was going to expose him to the media in far-off Rhode Island. He’s egotistical, but not unrealistic.
But he knows Solly sees through him, and likely he didn’t want to have to deal with my family—whose money was still in play for him—on their own ground.
I lay restless on the bed I shared with Lena, who was snoring lightly. I listened to the radiator knock. In the end I decided that, along with laying the groundwork with my mother for our eventual “reconciliation,” Ned must want me to feel a threat. To know that he can still touch me.
3
HIGHLY EDUCATED, MODERN PROFESSIONALS
AFTER TEN DAYS AT MY PARENTS’ HOUSE WE’VE COME BACK TO THE motel. Snow has fallen and lies in the evergreen branches in perfect white tufts. Meanwhile another three rooms have been filled.
Since it’s a small place, rooms numbering one to ten, this means we’re close to capacity.
“Business is booming!” I said to Don with forced cheer.
I felt put-upon, since the motel is supposed to be my personal refuge.
He nodded and smiled warmly.