Perry appealed to the rabbi. “Was I boring you? Did my questions seem childish? Should I be consigned to the sunroom?”
“Not at all,” the rabbi said. “These are important questions.”
With a vindicated gesture, Perry turned to Mrs. Haefle. Open animosity had now replaced her phony sweetness. “Gl?gg is not for children,” she said.
“What?”
“I said gl?gg is not for children.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“Well, I think you should mind your own business.” The disinhibitions of gl?gg were an unfolding surprise. “Seriously, do you not have anything better to do than follow me around?”
In proportion to the rising of his voice, the living room was quieting.
“What’s going on?” Reverend Haefle said, looming up.
“Nothing at all,” Perry said. “I was in the midst of an interesting conversation with Rabbi Meyer and Reverend Adams when your wife interrupted us.”
Mrs. Haefle whispered something in her husband’s ear. He nodded gravely.
“So, Perry,” he said. “It was good of you to come. But—”
“But what? It’s time for me to leave? I am not the one at social fault here.”
Reverend Haefle placed a gentle hand on Perry’s shoulder. More roughly than necessary, Perry shook it off. He knew he needed to calm down, but the heat in his head was extraordinary.
“This is what I’m talking about,” he said very loudly. “No matter what I do, it’s always me who’s in the wrong. You’re all saved, but apparently I’m damned. Do you think I enjoy being damned?” A sob of self-pity escaped him. “I’m doing the best I can!”
The living room was now completely quiet. Through tears, he saw twenty pairs of clerical and spousal eyes on him. Among them, near the front door, to his shame and dismay, were his mother’s.
Along streets so muffled she could hear the faint collective hiss of snowflakes landing, and then Pirsig Avenue, where cars with snow-blurred headlights proceeded at a funereal crawl, Becky moved as fast as she could in her long blue coat. She felt late for a date that half an hour ago she hadn’t even meant to keep. She had an urgent need to see Tanner again, to give him a chance to redeem himself. Failing that, she needed to make a show of not caring—to plunge into the concert, let Tanner see that other people valued her, and let him wonder where he stood with her.
Outside First Reformed, three Crossroads sophomores were shoveling snow with a zeal that suggested their work was voluntary. Becky was pleased to be able to greet each of them by name; to be developing the same inclusive popularity in Crossroads that she enjoyed at school. She also knew the names of the girls manning the cash box in the function-hall foyer. The concert wouldn’t start for another half hour, but the hall was filling with alumni and other paying guests, the air already smoky. Amp lights glowed in the shadows of the elevated stage. Current Crossroads members, earning “hours” toward Spring Trip, were lugging crates of pop bottles and arranging tables of desserts and festive breads, whose bakers had likewise earned hours.
Becky was uneasily reminded that she had to start earning some hours herself. Forty were required, she currently had zero, and Spring Trip was only three months away. It wasn’t an attractive thought, but she wished that an exception could be made for her.
Crossing the hall to meet her were Kim Perkins and David Goya, who’d recently become an item. Horsey of face, weirdly thin of hair, David was no one Becky would have liked to kiss, but she could imagine him seeming like a safe harbor to Kim. Previous heavy pot smoking had erased all traces of harm in him.
“The lunatics have taken over the asylum,” he said gravely.
“Yeah,” Becky said. “Is there anybody over twenty-one here?”
“Ambrose is hiding in his office. Otherwise, we appear to be unmonitored.”
“Speaking of which,” Kim said, with a pointed clearing of her throat. Kim had lately gained some pounds, as if to reduce the looks differential between herself and David. Her face was barren of cosmetics and she was wearing bib overalls.
“Yes, maybe you can help us,” David said to Becky. “We’re having a little disagreement. Kim seems to feel that the concert is a public event, not a Crossroads activity. I would argue that it’s clearly a Crossroads activity—just look at the posters. I’m guessing you don’t have a dog in this fight, so I wonder which one of us you agree with.”