“I thought he worked for a labor union!”
“They’re in the middle of a campaign, and he doesn’t want to get fired.”
“I don’t get it,” Daniel said. “Wouldn’t he rather breathe than work?”
She went back to sobbing. She hid her face in her hands.
He sat down on the bed next to where she was curled up, put his hand on her arm, and said, “Okay, so dad-boy stands you up at the altar. It’s harsh. But you know what? So the fuck what, is what I say. I drove down here to take you home, because there’s no way a pregnant woman should be sleeping in a place where the only way out at night is a rope ladder. I can’t believe I brought you here. I can’t believe we even lived here. This isn’t a firetrap. It’s a death trap unfit for human habitation. Police or ambulance would have to call the fire department to get in here any time between one A.M. and when the store opens, and don’t ask me why it never crossed my mind until tonight. I repressed it all those years, but just now, at home, thinking of you, I had a vision of ultimate horror. No wonder they always look so goddamned grateful for the rent! Anyway, you’re coming with me, right now, to a legal apartment with an elevator and fire stairs. And honestly, Aaron flaking on you? No great loss. He’s in way over his head. I’m double-parked, so grab your bag and let’s go. Come on. Get a move on.”
Not stirring, she said softly, “I thought we’d be together.” She rolled over so she could see his face and added, “I never should have left Bull.” She wanted to see his reaction—the look of assent she was sure was coming.
Instead he said, “That guy’s a prong. Fuck that noise. You haven’t seen the last of dad-boy. He won’t stay, but he’ll be back. That kid will never be what you want him to be, but he won’t fake it either. It could be a lot worse.” He nodded to confirm his own statement.
Gulping, she turned to stare up at the black cobwebby ceiling. She thought how strange it was, under the circumstances, that she had a father of her own. How selfless Daniel’s behavior had been, dedicating his entire life to Pam for no reason other than an accidental pregnancy.
The truth dawned on her at last. She said, “I’m going to be a single mother. All this time, I was fantasizing how I was going to choose which man shares the responsibility, and now I’m a single mother. How did I even do that? Am I talented?”
“Count your blessings,” he said. “You’re a free woman now under the matriarchy, about to reinvent family life in accordance with feminist principles.” He rolled his eyes. “Pam and Ginger are all over this. A man ain’t nothing but a joystick, so don’t make little Aaron your ball and chain. Now get up, before I get a parking ticket.”
He gathered up her purse and bag and stood. He shuffled his feet with mock impatience and glanced at the door.
“Dad—”
Sensing the approach of a tearful profession of love, he said, “Tell me in the car.”
She leaned on his tall back and gripped the banister to pick her way down the dirt-blackened stairs.
GLIDING UP THIRD AVENUE WITH THE CAR’S EMISSIONS AT ZERO, SHE TURNED ON NPR and turned it off again. She turned toward Daniel and stretched her legs. They stopped at a red light. Heat from the asphalt was coming through the floor. Columns of steam were rising from gratings. The intersection quivered as trains roared past underneath. Clusters of people drifted up the subway stairs, backlit by the glare of drugstore windows. Some found niches where they could stand motionless, suffering faces lit from below by phones like flickering candles. The light changed to restart the procession. The car started, noiselessly, to move.
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank the Dutch Foundation for Literature for its provision of a six-week fellowship in Amsterdam and the Borris House Festival of Writing & Ideas (Ireland) and LitLink Festival (Croatia) for especially memorable outings. Thanks always to my wonderful agent, Susan Golomb, and excellent editor, Megan Lynch.
About the Author
NELL ZINK grew up in rural Virginia. She has worked in a variety of trades, including masonry and technical writing. In the early 1990s, she edited an indie-rock fanzine. Her books include The Wallcreeper, Mislaid, Private Novelist, and Nicotine, and her writing has appeared in n+1, Granta, and Harper’s. She lives near Berlin, Germany.
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Also by Nell Zink
Nicotine
Private Novelist
Mislaid
The Wallcreeper
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
DOXOLOGY. Copyright © 2019 by Nell Zink. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Cover design by Allison Saltzman
Cover art: Mother and Daughter Nostalgia Card, after a painting by Elisabeth Vigée-LeBrun, courtesy of Superstock/Getty Images
Letters photographed by Tamara Staples
FIRST EDITION
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Zink, Nell, author.
Title: Doxology : a novel / Nell Zink.
Description: New York : Ecco, 2019.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018051076 (print) | LCCN 2018052373 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062877819 (ebook) | ISBN 9780062877789
Classification: LCC PS3626.I55 (ebook) | LCC PS3626.I55 D69 2019 (print) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018051076
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Version 07172019
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-287778-9
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