by Lydia Millet
“Have you sent someone to find her?” I interrupted Ned after a while.
He was talking about television or radio, a program he’d been on or was going to be on, some anecdote to which I was incapable of listening. I wasn’t mentioning the motel, of course, in case he didn’t know where she was after all—in case the car-repair place had been his only touchstone.
“Did you send some of your guys over to where we’re living? Is that what you did?”
Ned raised one arm for the waitress, who had already fawned over him. She smiled hopefully, her lipstick bright as she rushed over to our booth, and this eager subservience allowed me to see her as he would: a worker bee possessing only the slightest shading of utility.
Still, no being with any utility, however slight, was undeserving of Ned’s charm when he was on active duty. He made small talk with the waitress while ignoring my question about our daughter. As he did so I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of running outside and jumping in my car and I decided that, on balance, I had little to lose. I had to get back to Lena anyway, sooner or later I would have to go to her and inevitably, if he hadn’t already found out where we were living, lead him there. I was impatient to be with her again, to see her and be near.
And so, abruptly—while Ned was holding the middle-aged waitress in thrall to his shining attention and I was hearing her say she’d been married to three different members of the same MC—I rose and hurried out the door, not looking behind me.
There was no flurry of activity back there, Ned didn’t ever tend to exhibit undue haste, but still it hadn’t been two minutes before I could see his rented car in my rearview mirror.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding: a childish part of me had hoped to lose him by bolting, though realistically I knew better.
I DROVE TO the motel with mounting panic, knowing it wasn’t the best move. But I had to be with her. I talked to myself as I drove, tapping the steering wheel restlessly at the lone stoplight between the town and the motel. Of course he can’t take her from me, with all his concern about public relations. Calm down. Calm down, calm down, calm down.
Glass half-full, I said to myself, now you have to face up to the situation, iron it out. Maybe Ned’s not dead wrong after all, there’s no need to hyperventilate—be practical. Next steps. He said it himself, we just need to sit down and figure out what’s best for all of us. I agree for the most part, I told myself, nodding as I pressed down on the gas pedal again. For the most part I agree, right? We need to figure out what’s best for all of us.
Except him.
Ned’s election to a position of state power was what he wanted, but it wasn’t what I wanted—I felt it was against the interests of many, indeed most. It’s actually my obligation, I thought, not only to think of Lena and myself but also of how not to get Ned elected. He relies on an implicit system of beliefs I think are cold as ice, a system of assumptions more than beliefs that has nothing to do with either reason or kindness. Ned’s beliefs are like the programmed responses of a computer, I thought, they require no justification, in his view, beyond the fact that he has chosen to embrace them.
Maybe I could accomplish all these goals at once, protect my daughter and myself, try to weigh in against my husband’s election: File for divorce on grounds of adultery, as a spurned wife would on TV.
But now the motel sign was up ahead of me, here came the parking lot, and I felt despairing. I’d never gathered evidence while we still lived together because once I knew the marriage was lost I assumed Ned wanted out of it too. So I had no proof of his many affairs. Most likely he was certain of this. I’d known some of their names and faces, but he would have covered his bases and I couldn’t believe those women would help me. Of the two of us, Ned is by far the more persuasive. And—except for the one instance I knew of when a woman broke it off with him—he tended to let them down easy. He wasn’t a bridge-burner; on the contrary. Even the one who’d been disgruntled had to be in his pocket now.
Don, I thought again. Could Don help me?
I didn’t want Lena to see her father yet; I wanted to prepare her. I didn’t know what to do. He’d park as soon as I did, he’d be right behind me.
She wasn’t in front, anyway, wasn’t playing in the snow this time, though her snow effigy remained, lumpish, melting. She might be in the Lindas’ room, I figured. Maybe they would help me. Although—what could they even do? Ned wasn’t a wife-beater. Ned wasn’t a clear and present danger. Ned wore a camelhair coat and shone like the noonday sun.
I couldn’t sit in the car thinking, I had to press forward. I’d call and tell them to keep her in the room—so I ran to the lobby, Ned’s car somewhere behind me, headed up that long gravel road. I ran to the lobby, but Don wasn’t there: the front desk was unattended. I looked behind me, out the glass door, then ducked into the café room and closed its door. It was empty. I took out my phone and dialed Main Linda’s cell, butterfingers. I got her outgoing message and left a voicemail. I asked her to keep Lena in her room, not to come out until I called again, could she please do me this favor? Please?
I hung up, still trembling.
Lena could be anywhere, exposed … I’d go around the back, look in the picture windows … what if the Lindas didn’t have their cells with them? I snuck back into the kitchen looking for a back door: EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY, with a metal bar. I pressed the bar and it ka-thunked, no alarm. Then I was outside, crunching along the dead grass and snow behind the building, along the rear windows of the rooms.
But all the curtains were closed.
When I turned the corner of the building I saw Lena walking beside Big Linda, wearing her pink puffer coat—they’d just come up from the beach, because Lena was carrying her basket. And a few feet away from her, leaning relaxedly back against the hood of his parked, black SUV—there stood Ned.
He held a large, gift-wrapped box topped with an explosion of professional ribbons. The wrapping was covered in silver glitter and festooned with candy canes.
“Baby girl,” he said, and the teeth had never been whiter in his head.
I TRIED TO appear gracious after that, to the extent I could—that was my tactic, for lack of better. I pretended calm as I reintroduced Lena to her father, then introduced him to Big Linda and Main Linda when she, too, appeared huffing and puffing at the top of the staircase down the cliff. Lena did remember him from two years before, though she’d been four when we left, but she didn’t greet him with the exuberance she’d shown her grandparents. She gave him a restrained embrace, clearly struggling to understand his sudden presence in our midst.
“A surprise visit,” I said, trying to deliver a cheerful smile.
“You’re so big,” Ned said to her, and to the Lindas, his Southern drawl in full effect: “She’s like a little doll version of her beautiful mama! Isn’t she?”
An off-base gambit, since Lena’s skin is lighter than mine, her hair gold instead of brown; in fact she looks more like Ned. She didn’t preen under this particular praise either, just waited patiently.
“She does have those high cheekbones,” said Main Linda politely.
I could tell the Lindas were wary of Ned and felt a rush of gratitude for that.
“Why don’t we go inside?” said Ned, looking from me to Lena. “Chilly out here, idn’t it? And you can open your present, honeypie! I bet you’ll like it a whole lot.”
I didn’t see a choice: it was cold, and getting colder all the time. The damage was done: he already knew where we lived.
“You take this?” he asked, and handed me the unwieldy gift before I could answer. He reached down and grabbed one of Lena’s hands, forcing her to struggle with the basket and have to kneel down to pick up fallen shells. The three of us began walking, me lagging beside them, hesitant, Ned moving slowly because, I guess, he didn’t know where our room was. After a moment I turned around. The Lindas hadn’t moved much; they were watching. I couldn’t read their expressions.
; “Linda, could you mention to Don that my husband is here?”
It was all I could do. Don was the only one who’d know what it meant to me that Ned had found us.
As we made our way along the walkway to the room Lena began to chatter, as she would with any new guest, telling Ned how the motel worked: how towels and clean linens were organized, that she knew how to slide the keycard into the slot herself. I was following them by then, looking at Ned’s back, Lena’s face turned sideways to him, and trying to figure out what it meant to her to be holding her father’s hand.
“I’ll show you, see?” she said, and slid her hand out of Ned’s to turn and hold it out to me. “Can I have the key, Mommy?”
Duly I handed it over, circling the gaudy gift with one arm while I rummaged in a pocket. I was too aware of Ned looming, his pheromones, or whatever the fuck, casting over me a vibrant net.
Lena clicked the door open, proud of her competence.
“Whoa,” said Ned, when he stepped inside. “Not exactly the Ritz, is it. You can do better, can’t you, Anna?”
“Ritz like crackers?” asked Lena.
“It’s grown on us,” I said lightly.
Ned tried to shut the door after I brushed in past him, but I propped it a few inches open with the rubber wedge.
“Let’s let in some fresh air,” I said.
“Fresh freezing air,” said Ned.
“How come it’s a Christmas present?” asked Lena, as I set the box down on our small table. “It isn’t Christmas yet.”
“You know that song, baby?” said Ned, sitting himself in the armchair with magisterial ease, crossing his legs. “‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’? On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—you know that one?”
“A partridge in a pear tree,” said Lena.
“That’s right! Smart girl. But don’t worry, this isn’t a partridge.”
Lena approached the box shyly at first, then began to rip it open chaotically as I started to pour water into the carafe for the in-room coffee. Coffee didn’t appeal to me in the least, especially not from that little plastic-wrapped packet. But ours was a small room with not many options for looking busy.
“Look, a new friend for Lucky Duck,” said Lena, pulling out a fluffy white sheep. “Is it … a goat, Mommy?”
She’d turned to me to ask, instead of asking Ned.
“It’s a lamb, baby,” he said. “And it’s made from real sheepskin.”
Lena was instantly upset. Ned couldn’t have known it was a misstep since he knew nothing of what she ate and didn’t eat, of her softheartedness.
She blinked away tears and said nothing, holding the sheep at arm’s length.
“Go on, give it a squeeze,” said Ned.
Reluctantly she did so, first one way and then another, until the lamb began reciting, in a high-pitched, childish voice, “Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep If I should die before I wake / I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
“Hey look, Ducky,” she said, gamely trying to make the best of a sheepskin tragedy. She picked up her ratty, baggy duck from the bed and pressed the two stuffed animals together. The duck was a dingy gray compared to the snow-white, fleecy lamb. “Be nice to her, Ducky. Her skin got cut off her.”
Ned raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not going to make her talk that much, OK?” she asked Ned. “It’s babyish. And I don’t like what they made her say.”
“Bit morbid, isn’t it?” I said to Ned. “I’ve always thought that prayer was cloying.”
“Well, that’s OK, sweetie,” said Ned to Lena, ignoring me. He didn’t look pleased, though, which made my spirits lift briefly, then just as soon worried me. “It’s yours. You do whatever you want with it. But listen, you didn’t read my card yet. I wrote it for you special.”
“I can read it. I can read a whole book,” said Lena.
Ned plucked a card from beneath the efflorescence of ribbon.
“Will you read it out loud to me, baby doll?” he asked.
He’d already achieved a proprietorial air with Lena, an air of ownership.
She took the card out of its envelope, revealing an airbrushed-looking kitten with eyes the size of saucers.
“Dear Lena, I—missed you—very much,” read Lena. “To my best girl ever, love x’s and o’s Daddy.”
I was nervous that Ned was right on the edge of saying something to her I didn’t wish him to say.
“That’s really nice,” I said. “Lena, your father’s here for a quick visit.” I kept my voice easy as the coffeemaker started to burble. “I’m sure he won’t be able to stay for long. It’s so nice he brought you the lamb, isn’t it?”
“OK. Want me to read to you?” Lena asked him. She’d had a breakthrough in her reading and liked to perform her favorite book. “Want me to read Ferdinand?”
Ned arranged her atop his lap for the purpose, flicking on the lamp beside him. They made a Norman Rockwell picture sitting there, their hair burnished the same shade of gold—you’d think the man cherished the little girl deeply, looking over the top of her small head at the open book with his eyes down, his handsome, almost noble features and form arranged in a cast of paternal protection.
You’d think that unless you were me—or unless, maybe, you caught sight of one of his elegant feet jiggling minutely but rapidly under the armchair as he pretended to listen. He hadn’t seen his daughter for years, but there was his foot, shod tastefully in black leather, already impatient.
Lena read slowly and haltingly about the peaceful bull who only wanted to sit and smell the flowers, not travel to the big city and fight the toreador. But the men from the city came and took him away, forcing him into the bullring.
Ned took a leisurely glance at his watch and smiled when he saw me seeing him do it.
Would he go away soon? Please? I couldn’t even make a trip to the bathroom while he was here with her, I’d never leave them alone. What was his plan?
When she was done she jumped off his lap and scurried to the bathroom herself, announcing she was going to pee. Ned picked the storybook off his knees as though it was soiled, with two fingers, and deposited it on the table. Then he brushed off his slacks where she’d been sitting.
“That bull was light in the loafers,” he said.
“Ned. What are you doing right now?” I kept my voice low. “We’re not going to come back to you.”
“How ’bout a compromise?”
He pointed at the coffeemaker, meaning Give me a cup. I turned, feeling cold, and started to pour one. It was better than looking at him.
“I propose this, darlin’. Some photo shoots, interviews. Couple appearances. Then y’all can take a vacation. I’ll only need you now and then. It doesn’t have to be 24-7, if we manage it right. Anchorage is a big enough city.”
“But I don’t want to support your campaign, Ned.” I handed him the cup. “I don’t like what you stand for.”
“We may have policy differences here or there,” he said, shrugging, and sipped. “Now, that’s just foul.”
“It’s really not good,” I agreed.
He set down the bad coffee on the storybook. It slopped out and made a ring; I grabbed the book and wiped it.
“Bottom line is, we’re family.”
“As it turns out, that’s not my bottom line at all.”
Then Lena was out of the bathroom again, looking at us expectantly.
“Why don’t you go play, sweetie?” he said, barely glancing her way. “Let the grownups talk.”
“She doesn’t play outside by herself,” I said. “The motel’s on the edge of a cliff.”
He slipped his phone from a coat pocket.
“My driver can babysit.”
“No thanks,” I said firmly. “We don’t know him.”
“Hello?”
It was Don, knocking at the cracked-open door with perfect timing.
“Come in!” I said, relieved.
He stepped i
nside, nodded curtly at Ned without smiles or introductions, and held his hand out to Lena.
“I’ve got a job for you,” he said. “You want to help me?”
“I’m the assistant!” crowed Lena.
And Don towed her efficiently out of the room.
I was so grateful to see her go that I felt my shoulders unclench.
“Look, I’m not asking you to give any stump speeches, honeypie,” said Ned, stretching out a hand and pushing the door closed behind them. “You don’t have to say a word. You can be deaf, dumb and blind. Hell, I like you better that way. Just smile and hold my hand sometimes. And get the girl to do the same. You soldier through till the election, smiling all the time, I’ll give you a friendly, neat divorce as your very own victory gift. Plus full custody. With visitation rights, of course. Couldn’t be looking like a deadbeat dad.”
“And you’d actually put that in writing. Before the fact.”
“All official. With confidentiality agreements on the timing and conditions there, of course.”
“Even if you lose? You’d sign off beforehand on it, no matter how the election goes?”
“I won’t lose. Not with the friends I have and your two pretty faces beside me. But sure, I’ll sign.”
“Because I know you want more than the state senate. Won’t you want a wife and kid when you run for something bigger, too?”
“I’ll cross that bridge. Let me worry.”
I was asking questions, but I wasn’t seriously considering the request.
“Don’t you think I could get sole custody now?” I said. “I mean Ned. You’ve come to one of her birthday parties. Ever. And that was by accident, if I remember correctly.”
“You might could get custody,” said Ned, and smiled again. “But maybe not. Running off like you did.”
“You wouldn’t want that fight,” I said. “Publicly. You’d never want it. Especially not now.”
“You’d be amazed how I can spin things, when I need to. I might decide to play the victim. People do love their victims, in America.”
We gazed at each other across the room. That is, I looked past Ned, not wanting to look at him, so I don’t know if he really looked at me either. I tried to remember another time he’d been so direct, and all I could come up with was when he asked me to get married. It had been at a restaurant with white tablecloths and obsequious waiters—he likes being served by such waiters and I hate it. When waiters are too fawning I hear the falseness they’ve brought to it, possible snide remarks in the kitchen.