Mrs. Cottrell came over and offered Clem a hand. It was cool and firm.
“Frances, don’t forget your records. I think—oh, Clem, I think I saw a couple of shovels by the front door. Mrs. Cottrell and I were late getting—we were down at Theo’s church and. So, and, yes, we had a, uh. Little accident.”
Whatever it was that Clem had interrupted, his father couldn’t have been more nervous.
“I don’t think I’m up for shoveling snow.”
“You—？ It won’t take any time at all with two of us. Shall we?” The old man turned off the overhead light and said, again, “Don’t forget the records.”
“If it takes no time at all with two people,” Clem said, “how much time can it take with one person?”
“Clem, she really needs to get home.”
“But if I hadn’t happened to knock on your door.”
“I’m asking you a favor. Since when do you mind a little work?”
His father held the door for Mrs. Cottrell, who emerged with a stack of old records. Everything about her was delicate, desirable, and it gave Clem an ill feeling. Even though he’d warned Becky that men like their father, weak men whose vanity needed stroking, were liable to cheat on their wives, it was hideous to think that it might actually be happening—that his father, having failed to be as groovy as Rick Ambrose, had gotten his hands on someone closer to his age. Couldn’t she see how weak he was?
In the parking lot, in less densely falling snow, clusters of alumni were enjoying intermission cigarettes. While Mrs. Cottrell cleared the windows of her sedan, he and his father hacked at the mountain of snow in front of it. To get the car over the layer of hardened slush they uncovered, they had to push it from behind—just like the old days, dad and son working side by side—while Mrs. Cottrell rocked it with the accelerator. When it finally broke free, she drove a short distance and lowered her window.
Out of the window came a delicate hand. It beckoned with one finger. Not the typical gesture of a parishioner to a pastor.
The finger beckoned again.
“Ah—one second,” the old man said. He trotted over to the car and bent down to the open window. Clem couldn’t hear what Mrs. Cottrell was saying, but it must have been fascinating, because his father seemed to forget that Clem was there.
He waited for at least a minute, sickened by the spectacle of their tête-à-tête. Then he walked back toward the church with the shovels. He’d already noticed the family station wagon parked outside the main entrance, but only now did he see that the back end of it was maimed, the bumper missing, a taillight smashed. The bumper was inside the car.
There was a squeal of tires, and his father came hurrying up behind him. “This is something else you can help me with tomorrow,” he said. “If we hammer out the dent, I think we can reattach the bumper.”
Clem stared at the damage. His chest was so full of anger that speaking was an effort. “Why aren’t you at the Haefles’ party?”
“Oh, well,” his father said, “you’re looking at the reason. Frances and—Mrs. Cottrell and I were badly delayed in the city. I also had to change a tire.”
Clem nodded. His neck, too, was stiff with anger. “I wonder,” he said, “what she was doing in your office. If she was in such a hurry to get home.”
“Aha. Yes. She was just picking up some records I’d … borrowed.” His father jingled his car keys. “I’d offer you a ride, but I’m guessing you want to stay for the concert.”
Bumperless, the Fury’s rear end resembled a face without a mouth.
“She didn’t strike me,” Clem said, “as being in any hurry to get home.”
“She—just now? She was—it was just some business about the Tuesday circle.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
A cheer went up inside the function hall.
“You’re lying,” Clem said.
“Now, wait a minute—”
“Because I know what you’re like. I’ve been watching it my whole life and I’m sick of it.”
“That’s—whatever you’re imputing, you’re—that’s not right.”
Clem turned to his father. The fear in his face made him laugh. “Liar.”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but—”
“I’m thinking Mom is at the Haefles’ and you’re falling all over a woman who isn’t her.”