The Motion of the Body Through Space by Lionel Shriver

Author:Lionel Shriver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

Eight

“I’m not saying we’re about to split up,” she blurted to her father-in-law in March, after yet another painful pause. When at a total loss for conversation, she ended up unburdening what she probably shouldn’t, because the only unexhausted material she could lay hands on was her inmost thoughts. “But we’ve always enjoyed each other’s company. And now I—don’t. Enjoy his company. Or not as much.”

“It’s this triathlaton business,” Griff said warily. At ninety, he’d not want to hear that his son was in danger of divorce. Leaving aside his practical and emotional dependence on Serenata, a divorce would mean change, and to Griff even a rearrangement of his late wife’s porcelain figurines was anathema.

“Even when he’s not training, he reads sports autobiographies, or listens to inspirational podcasts by ‘tri’ record-setters. I can’t tell you how sick I am of the soundtrack to Chariots of Fire. He used to read bios of Robert Moses, or the latest Thomas Friedman. I miss the blues, and films with tragic endings. But he won’t subject himself to anything sad or dark.”

“Remy’s always been single-minded. Time was, he was single-minded about you. From that first tryout for those subway announcements, I could tell he’d fixed on roping this lady in—the one with the sultry voice. He never confided in his parents much, so when he couldn’t stop mentioning you, I knew you were it.” Griff’s strategy was hardly subtle. Recollection of their courtship was meant to revive romantic coals.

“I’m sorry that he’s also been making so little time to come see you—”

Griff snorted. “Try no time. That boy hasn’t been by here in months.”

“He thinks you’re hostile to his endeavor. You contaminate his pure heart.”

“He’s making a damned fool of himself. Tell him to take up cribbage. He can have my board. It’s a respectable hobby for a man in his sixties.”

“I’m afraid we had a fight,” Serenata said, twisting her hands. “Or rather, I got so angry, we didn’t have a fight. I didn’t think we could afford one.”

“Not that woman, was it?”

“Not this time. But you’re right, that trainer he’s hired . . . She’s younger and physically perfect. She makes me feel haggard, flabby, and hideous.”

“Now, sugar, that’s one terrible waste. You’re the prettiest filly in Hudson.”

“I’m a mare, not a filly, and of an age no one rides anymore.” Serenata blushed; the off-color insinuation had been inadvertent.

“Remy showed up with that hussy sometime last fall—”

“You never told me you met Bambi Buffer!”

“Didn’t want to cause trouble. Wasn’t sure how aware you were that he was swelling around town with that gal.”

“I’m painfully aware. She drops by our house at all hours.”

“I wasn’t impressed,” Griff said. “Mannish.”

“To most people, she’s a feminine icon. Strong is in.”

“Flat-chested,” he said. “And bossy.”

“Don’t tell me,” Serenata said. “She went straight to the kitchen and helped herself to a six-pack of your best stout.”

“Worse. Barely in the door, the lady starts hectoring me about how ‘seniors’ shouldn’t give into being ‘sedentary.’ Messes with the furniture,

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