Sweet Lamb of Heaven (29)

“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.”