I would make sure he dropped his candidacy. Before I left for good, I intended to pull off his mask. And the timing had to be now: next week was a major campaign event, when Senator Stephen Hobbes would publicly endorse Griffin for governor.
“Well, hey there!”
I was so lost in thought that Nate’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway, then came toward me to give me a hug. He was as rumpled and shaggy as ever, and I fit into his arms so comfortably. We hadn’t been able to stay married, but he was the perfect ex-husband, and I would love him forever.
“You’re back!” I said. “How were the whales?”
“The humpbacks send their regards,” he said. “It was hard leaving them. I’m not sure which I loved more—watching them feed in the Bering Sea or calve in Baja. You should come next time. I kept thinking of you, how inspired you would be.”
“Let’s do it,” I said. I smiled into his twinkling blue eyes.
“Don’t tease me,” he said, his sun- and wind-weathered face crinkling into a grin. “Griffin will never let you travel with me. I’d never bring you back.”
“I’m so glad you’re home again,” I said. “Why didn’t you call to let me know?”
“I figured I’d stop by and surprise you, get an early viewing of your new show.” He smiled again. “And it’s the middle of the afternoon, so I know Griffin’s at court or deposing someone or charming some audience or sweet-talking donors, whatever it is he does.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Today he’s taking depositions.”
“So, okay if I take a look at the work?”
“Sure,” I said, and I was excited to hear what he thought. Nate had always been my favorite early viewer of my work. More than anyone, he understood how I tried to express human life and emotions through elements of nature. He had invited me to speak to his classes at Yale, where he taught about extinctions, psychology, and how the decline of species affected human existence. His nine-month sabbatical had seemed forever—I had really missed him.
“These are beautiful, Claire,” he said once he had made the circuit of my studio. “But they’re dark.”
“You see that?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “I know you. You’ve captured pain and apprehension. What took you to this place?”
“The way the world is,” I said. I left it open for him to interpret: the political landscape, growing fascism, the suffering of refugees, failure to address climate change. If anyone could look into my heart and see my own personal darkness, it was Nate—but just then I wanted to hide it from him.
“The global situation is beyond troubling,” he said. “Being on the research ship was a respite, in a sense. I avoided the news as much as possible. But I felt it as soon as we made port.” He turned toward Fingerbone and shuddered. “This one looks like the end of life on earth. Is that what you intended?”
“Yes,” I said, not lying.
Outside, I heard voices coming from the main house. My pulse raced—it was only three thirty, too early for Griffin to be home. Even though he was publicly accepting of my friendship with Nate, privately there was hell to pay whenever he knew I saw him.
“Oh boy,” I said.
“The monarch of all he surveys?” Nate asked.
I went to my studio’s north-facing window, looked out. Griffin stood on the terrace with Wade Lockwood. At least he wouldn’t blow up in front of Wade—or Nate, for that matter. But there was always later. As I watched, I saw Griffin and Wade walk into the house.
“He’s home,” I said. “He must have seen your car, and I guess he’s giving us the chance to catch up.”
“Nope,” Nate said. “I came by dinghy, beached her at the foot of the bluff. I doubt he knows I’m here. C’mon, let’s go. We can go get the bigger boat. I’ll spirit you away, take you to Shelter Island for dinner, and regale you with tales of humpbacks.”
“Next time,” I said, giving him a hurried hug. “Do you mind just . . .”
“Leaving?” Nate asked. “Okay, I get it. But Claire . . .”
I saw the worried look in his eyes. Even though Griffin shone his charm on Nate, my ex-husband was too sensitive not to see what lived below the surface. And there was no doubt Nate was picking up on my anxiety now. The thing was—at that moment, I didn’t care whether Griffin saw Nate or not. I just wanted my next encounter with Griffin to follow the script I’d written in my mind.
“I’ll get out,” Nate said, his expression grave. “But this exhibit . . . it makes me worry for you. You want me to think it’s geopolitical.”
“It is,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s all you. The darkness is personal. He’s a power-hungry asshole, no matter how much you try to protect him, and there’s something going on. Tell me, Claire.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Let’s drop it, okay?” I asked, glancing out the window. “Will I see you at the gallery on Friday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nate said, giving me one last skeptical, worried glance. Then he left by the seaward door and disappeared down the narrow overgrown path to the beach. After a few minutes I heard his outboard engine start up. I went back to my studio’s north window, stared at the house, and waited.
19
SALLIE
Sallie wished she could take a shower and wash yesterday from her body and mind. The memory of waiting for Edward aboard his boat and fending off Ford filled her with feelings of disgust, mainly for herself. She had scheduled a design consultation with a couple who had just bought an antique Georgian house on the Connecticut River, but she canceled. She needed to stay home. She gave Harriet, the nanny, the day off.
She wore her comfiest jeans and the pink Someone at Black Hall Elementary School Loves Me T-shirt that Gwen had given her for Mother’s Day, just two weeks ago. She sat in the living room on the sofa with Maggie snuggled by her side. She called her sister, Lydia, to ask her to come over, but Lydia was a publisher’s rep for children’s books, and she was visiting bookstores in New Hampshire and Maine today.
Sallie couldn’t shake off the slimy feeling of Ford’s hands grabbing her, the sound of rage in his voice, and the smell of his vomit. She felt like running out of the house, but she had nowhere to go. Her most important refuge, Abigail Coffin’s yoga center, had turned into a place she now felt unwelcome.
At first, it had been wonderful. Abigail taught deep breathing and talked about mettā—the Pali word for loving-kindness. While Sallie had always felt compassion for others—her family, friends, and strangers—she had never directed it toward herself.
Feeling semigood about herself was a new skill. It was partly what had led her to Edward, to allowing love—both physical and emotional—into her life. After class one evening, Abigail handed her a bottle of water.
“I’m so glad you started coming,” Abigail said. “We have to stick together.”
“Women, definitely,” Sallie said.