Two weeks before, Christina had flown to Switzerland to see her daughter at boarding school.
She was done with the not-so-honorable Congressman Marky Burrows who, in spite of his good looks and massive family inheritance, was destined to lose everything in a quagmire of scandals brought on by his own self-indulgent excess. The result of which could be congressional censure, expulsion, even criminal liability. And she would be goddamned if she would stand by him like all those other plastic political wives with their overly coiffed hair and glossy lips, their dark-circled eyes lifeless in the glare of lights.
He’d tried to stop her when she’d announced she was leaving and wanted him out of the house before she returned.
“I need you here for the hearing. You know those bastards are after me.”
It was true, he had a shitload of enemies. Not all of them deserved, and many were motivated by jealousy. But she’d held firm with an outward calm that belied her apprehension. “Call one of your porno stars. I’ll lend her a suit.”
Playing the victim was part of his narcissistic game and he’d appeared wounded as only someone accustomed to inflicting anguish on others could be. “You can’t just leave,” he said.
She looked past him and out the window of their elegant bedroom at the whisper of aspens in the front yard. “TV truck’s pulling up. It’s your favorite reporter, the little redhead with the perky boobs.”
Markey instinctively smoothed back his hair as she picked up her oversized black leather bag and walked out the door.
At Portland International, the cold blue light and stale air seeped under her skin like loneliness as she tried to remember Markey’s good qualities. He was a decent if distant father, and his advocacy on behalf of immigrants was worthy of praise. Politically independent because he could afford to be, he wasn’t all bad. Still, their marriage was over. And waiting for her flight, crazy as it sounds, she’d sent an email to Colin, her ex. Her happily married-with-three-kids-ex. Convinced he was the only guy who had ever really loved her, Colin was solid and she thought maybe he could offer advice. Though she knew he didn’t owe her a thing.
Meanwhile she’d made her decision, and her only compensation was the opportunity to see Swanee at school, where, with any luck, she hadn’t heard the news about her father. A surprise visit that hopefully her daughter wouldn’t blow off.
The flight was dismal and Christina had the throat-aching sensation of having acted too fast. It was past eleven when she checked into the Alden Hotel on a quiet side street in the center of Zurich. Housed in an historic building with high windows and rounded towers, from the outside the Alden oozed Old World charm. Inside, however, it had been refurbished to uber coolness. White dominated: linens, furniture, rugs, and walls, the bathroom so startlingly bright it hurt her eyes. She ordered rosti, the famous Swiss fried potatoes with eggs and bacon, a near perfect late-night meal, and nothing like her usual fresh fruit and vegetables. But she could afford it, her weight had barely changed since she was a girl. Her meal—served on gleaming white plates, napkin folded with precision, and a single white rose in a crystal vase on a Lucite tray—was so perfectly pristine it almost made her want to bleed on it.
Finished, she checked her phone to find an email from Markey. She’d acted hastily, he said, but he’d forgive everything if she’d just turn around and come home.
Not this time, sweet pea.
The next morning, she woke groggy and disoriented with a fleeting sense of not knowing where she was. But quickly showered and dressed, she gulped coffee, then set off on the solo drive to Dover School through serene rolling hills that made her feel hopeful and alive. Maybe she should move here for a while. The beautiful town of Lucerne was close by, she could get a little place, start a new life, wondering how many she had left.
She’d found her daughter under darkening skies on the hockey field with the other girls. All in uniform, navy shorts with white shirts trailing under black knit sweaters, long socks accentuating long legs; they ran, coltish, glossy manes shining in the sun. Only Swanee looked different. Her sweater was tied in a bulky knot around her waist and her socks bunched like weights at her ankles. Her lovely oval face was coated in a thick layer of makeup. Then there was her hair. Cropped in short spikes, platinum with dark roots, one side streaked with bright fuchsia. Swanee was the kid other parents looked at relieved she wasn’t theirs. But Christina had learned not to dwell on the negative. She admired her daughter’s independence while praying it was simply a stage they’d both survive.
“Mummy,” Swanee said, greeting her mother with a mock British schoolgirl accent. “What are you doing here?”
Christina’s gray wool coat flapped in the wind. “Can’t I make an impromptu visit to see my one and only daughter?”
Swanee gave her a peck on the cheek, imprinting a dab of Forever Pink lipstick. “What’s up?”
There was no pretending. Christina’s regular visits were holidays when Swanee wasn’t coming home, or at the end of term, but she ignored the question and smiled brightly. “I thought we’d have lunch.”
Swanee took a step back. “I have French class.”
“Afterward, then. I’ll check it with the office.”
Swanee started across the field, calling out over her shoulder. “Sure smells like the we’re-getting-a-divorce visit.”
Christina’s face fell. It sure did.
*
She’d chosen a quiet place for lunch in the tiny village. White lace curtains drawn back at the windows, wood tables, blue crockery, and peonies the color of her daughter’s hair. Outside, crystalline flurries swirled like a snow globe lightly shaken. Swanee had changed into black tights, black oversized sweater, black boots, and a black coat. Her eyes were rimmed in kohl, her lips layered in shiny pink, her face thick with a fresh coat of foundation. She was fifteen and looked twenty-five. She spread her napkin on her lap and thanked the waiter as he filled their water glasses. Her daughter might appear counterculture, but her manners were impeccable.
“I bought you something,” Christina said, taking a box from the shopping bag at her feet.
“I don’t need anything,” Swanee said.
“I couldn’t resist. Go ahead, open it.”
Swanee took out a pale-blue cashmere sweater. She ran her fingers over the soft wool. “It’s very pretty.”
“I’m so glad you think so. Try it on.”
“Not here,”said the girl with fuchsia hair who didn’t want to attract attention.
“Go on,” Christina said. “I want to see how it brings out your eyes.”
Swanee’s eyes were pale turquoise, and with her naturally dark hair and fair skin, she was a stunner in spite of herself. The most strikingly beautiful child Christina had ever seen, she was often brought to tears at the memory of cradling her infant daughter in her arms. How inadequate she’d felt, overwhelmed to think that she of all people had produced this wondrous being. Nothing in Christina’s background had prepared her for the task of raising a child.
Swanee pulled the sweater over her head, her spiked hair crackling with static.
“Fabulous.” Christina opened the menu. “Now, what shall we eat? I’m ravenous.”
The waiter, a Nordic hulk, took their order. Salad for Christina, a burger and fries for Swanee, who slouched further in her chair and stared at her mother. “You wanna tell me now?”
Christina, cornered, knew from the moment she’d stepped off the plane that she’d have to explain the situation to her daughter. She lowered her voice. “Your father’s done some things that may put his congressional seat in jeopardy.”
“And you’ve left him.”
Christina nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Their food arrived.
“Where will I go?’ Swanee took a big bite of her burger, her appetite apparently undiminished by the news.
She didn’t question what her father had done, nor did she probe for details, and Christina realized that kids really only cared about how their parents’ decisions affected them.
“Nothing will change for you,” Christina said, wishing she could cradle her daughter again. “You’ll stay right here in school. I’ll visit like I usually do.”
“And when I come home?”
“I haven’t worked everything out yet.” Truth was she hadn’t worked anything out. “Of course, you’ll see us both.”
Swanee’s lips curled in a sulky sneer. “I don’t want to see him.”
Across the room, a waiter lost his grip and a tray full of dishes crashed to the stone floor. Startled by the noise and her daughter’s response, Christina recognized that a European boarding school no longer provided the isolation of the past, and Swanee hadn’t been totally sheltered from the news.
“He’s still your father.” She pushed her salad around her plate as waiters scrambled to pick up shards of pottery and glass.
“I don’t care,” Swanee said. “I want to live with you.”
“You don’t have to choose, sweetheart.” Christina, gratified at being chosen, reached across the table, but failed to grasp her daughter’s hand.
Swanee sighed with moody teenage boredom. “But I already have.”