Though some things are not complex. Some things are accidents, and this is how it was filed with the insurance company when my mother wrecked the car. She didn't come out of her room for four days. When I went inside, it smelled bad and she said that God was dead. My father took me to Friendly's. A waitress dropped a tray of sundaes while he was holding my hand, and he crushed my fingers at the noise. He referred to my mother's periods of catatonia as moods. He did not dare suggest we lift her up in prayer. Though he regaled each moony deaconess with stories of the work he'd done abroad, he did not pretend with me. My father did not believe in anything, and I was the only one who knew. To everyone else, my father was a God-fearing man. A charismatic servant with a troubled wife and a way of making women feel heard. On Friday nights such women would file into our home, and his office door would shut.

i need close reading of this quote?