After thirty minutes, though, the Preacher either gave up on trying to get to his point, or never had one. We sang for another ten minutes, after. The whole time, I kept getting icy chills down my back. I wanted to turn around and look, but I couldn’t. I was still afraid the Sheriff would be looking right at me.
At the end of the last song, the preacher closed his book with a thunk, and set it down. He made a prayer of thanks to the lord, asked us all to thank Mrs. Theodore for playing the organ for us this evening, and reminded us all that the collection plate was beside the door on the way out. He then walked to the small door beside the altar, and disappeared through it. It seemed very anti-climactic.
“New preacher,” my father said. I think he meant to explain something by saying it, but I didn’t know what. Everyone was standing up with grunts and sighs. Mrs. Dodgeson was rubbing her legs, and Robert—‘Bud’, I corrected myself—stood next to her.
The rest of the congregation was already on its feet. Everyone was anxious to get home to dinner, I guessed. The smiles that had disappeared behind empty faces came back. People milled out the doors, talking. Through it all, I kept expecting to see the Sheriff appear next to me, but he never did. In fact, I didn’t see him again until we’d all filed out of the church and into the parking lot. He was standing next to his patrol car, smoking. His eyes were squinted off into the distance. I’ve seen movies where actors try to imitate that exact look, but not one ever gets it right.
My father made a bee-line for the car. My mother hesitated as though she wanted to talk to some of the women, but they all brushed past her with smiles. She would take in a breath as if to say something and hold it as the women sailed to their cars. She’d exhale and keep that same ‘nothing’s wrong’ smile on her face.
“Come on, mom,” I said, “let’s get home. I’m starved.” She looked at me, and though her eyes said something, her face never changed.
TWELVE
My father had already started the car. If I asked, he’d claim that it was to get the heater started, but I knew better. He sat in the driver’s seat, facing forward. He was waiting to leave the church grounds. I know for a fact that if mom had gotten into a conversation, dad would be revving the engine. “To get the heater warmed up,” he’d say, but I would know better.
Mom walked slow to the car. I was beside her the whole way. The exhaust came out of the pipe thick and gray, hanging in the air for a few moments before disappearing. The engine sounded much better, though. Maybe I’d jigger the timing a bit before I went home. I thought for a moment, though, about that. Wasn’t this home? It didn’t feel that way. I watched water drops streak down the window as I opened the car door.
The second I closed the door, my father slid the car into reverse. I tried to look at his face in the rearview, but got only his eyebrow. My mother put her seat belt on; my father never wore his. He backed out of the parking spot.
The car jolted, and I fell forward. I hit my head on the headrest of the seat in front of me. My head buzzed loud, and things seemed to be moving too fast. There was some other sound, much louder, too. As I raised my head off the seat, it came to me: a car horn. A car horn was continuously blowing. I started to wonder how long that had been going on.
My father was staring straight ahead. His hands were still on ten and two. My mother was holding her forehead. “Is everyone alright?” I asked.
My father didn’t say anything, my mother nodded, and looked at me with her huge eyes. “Dad?” I asked, reaching forward. The moment I put my hand on his shoulder, he jolted. He looked around, his head twitching from side to side. “Dad?” I asked. Someone knocked on my window, and I jumped. I opened my door.
We had backed into Mrs. Dodgeson’s Buick. She stood next to her car, the driver side door open. Several of the congregation crowded around our car. The closest was Bud Gantner. He looked at me, reaching out his hand, and putting it under my elbow. “Everyone alright in there?” he asked, stooping some to look in at my parents.
My father said “Shit,” and then his door opened. Mrs. Dodgeson was moaning and leaning against her car. When my father stood up and came around the car, I saw a large, dark patch on the crotch of his slacks; he’d wet himself in the shock. I didn’t want to think about it, tried thinking about what damage might have been done to the frames of either car. My mind kept coming back to that: he’d wet himself.
“Gawtcherself a bit of a fender bender, huh?” the Sheriff said, strolling up to the two cars.
“I think we’re okay,” I said to Bud, then looked at the Sheriff. Bud nodded, then walked back to Mrs. Dodgeson. My father simply stood staring at the two fenders. I looked, too.
Neither car was damaged. I think the collision had scared us more than anything else. “I honked and honked,” Mrs. Dodgeson was saying. Dr. Gantner kept shushing her, and asking her to sit down. The Sheriff was already squatted down, looking under the rear fender of my mother’s car. Then he straightened with a grunt, and leaned over to look underneath the front of Mrs. Dodgeson’s car.
He sat upright, again, then pushed his hat back some off of his forehead. Then he whistled. He was quiet a moment, but I could tell he was looking at my father. My father’s face seemed dead. They were staring at each other.
“Well, now, it don’t look like there’s much,” Aiken said, putting one hand on each bumper. I saw the hat move, and I could tell he was looking at Dr. Gantner, “She alright?”
“Yeah. She seems so. I’ve asked her to come see me in the morning,” Bud responded. The hat moved and I could tell Aiken had just nodded. It moved again, and I could tell he was looking down at the bumpers, once more. “Albert?” Aiken said. My father seemed to come back from wherever he was. The hat moved again, and I could tell he motioned toward my mother with his head, “She alright?”
I came back, myself, and sat down in the back seat again. “Mom?” I asked.
“Yes?” she said. Her eyes were wide and sort of like dirty glass.
“You okay?” I asked. She nodded slowly. “You sure?” I asked. She nodded slow again. I got up out of the back seat. “She says she’s okay,” I said.
I saw Aiken’s cheekbone and chin at this angle. He nodded to himself. I got out of the car again. “Well, now; that’ll ‘bout do ‘er,” Aiken said, standing up with a grunt. He put a hand on his lower back, and something crossed my dad’s face. I have a very clear picture in my head of that moment to this day, but have never found a word for what that emotion might have been. I don’t know what he thought at that moment, but it was strong enough to slip through his mask. “Damn,” the Sheriff said, exhaling, “Ain’t been able to get up without hemmin’ and hawin’ for a long time. Do yourself a favor, boy, don’t get old,” he said, and flashed one of those million dollar smiles. My mom always told me that he was a real looker when they were back in high school. “You folks go on home, now. Come on by tomorrow, and I’ll have you somethin’ worked up to take to your insurance company,” he turned on his heel, and walked to his car. “Bud, you make sure she calls me, now,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he opened his car door and disappeared inside.
We all moved back to our cars dazed. I felt like I’d been burned out inside and I had no idea why. My father got back behind the wheel. I closed the passenger door too hard and we all jumped. “Sorry,” I said to no one in particular.