The Body in the Bouillon by Katherine Hall Page Page B

remember?” He smiled, and he did have a captivating smile. Tom was still wrapped up replaying the Norwell-Hanover Thanksgiving game of 1976, so she decided to dance with Eddie. Purely for research; the man was such a sleaze.
    â€œI do remember. I didn’t promise, but let’s dance anyway.”
    They walked to the dance floor and started to dance. The orchestra provided a plaintive rendition of “Memories” and Eddie went into his dancing mode, closing his eyes slightly and humming tunefully along with the music. He began to pull her closer in gradually increasing increments, and at the same time his hand began to ascend from her silk-covered waist to her bare back. At the first touch of
vertebrae, Faith said, “Get your hand off my back, Edsel dear, and don’t do it again.”
    â€œCome on, Faith, you didn’t wear a dress like this for no reason.”
    Faith stopped dancing and stepped back, still in his arms.
    â€œWhy don’t you go do to yourself what you have in mind to do to me?” she told him succinctly.
    It took him a moment to get it, and he flushed angrily. She was walking away by then.
    â€œIs that any way for a minister’s wife to talk?” he called after her.
    â€œProbably not,” she answered, and went to find Tom. Definitely time to go home.
    They said good night to Denise, who had gotten a strong second wind somewhere and slowed her hectic recreation of the twist to beg them to stay. “You can’t go yet! The party’s just starting and the band is playing all these oldies. I’ve requested a hustle next. It’s such a hoot!” She seemed genuinely excited about the prospect, but the Fairchilds, less enthusiastic, said good night again and threaded their way through the writhing dancers.
    Out on the sidewalk, while they waited for their car to be brought around, they were joined by Donald and Charmaine. Charmaine was leaning on Donald’s arm ever so slightly and had a determinedly gallant look on her face. What exactly was it she had survived? Faith wondered. Their car arrived first and Donald tenderly helped her in. “She’s very tired,” he told them, and drove off quickly.
    Tom and Faith laughed. “After your description of her with the moldly leftovers, I didn’t think Charmaine could provide much more amusement, but I should have known better. Women like that are a never-ending source.”
    They got into the car to drive home, first detouring to drive past the lights on Boston Common. Garlands of red, blue, green, and gold were strung in the bare tree branches like jeweled necklaces, gaudy but beautiful trimmings
against the sedate brick townhouses lining Beacon Street behind them. A parking space appeared—too good to waste—and Tom and Faith walked up to the state house totally surrounded by the ancient trees and their unaccustomed diadems. They strolled back to the car reluctantly, and as they turned west on Storrow Drive away from the distraction of the lights, Faith realized that Charmaine hadn’t been carrying her enormous purse. Nor had Donald. She didn’t seem the type to forget her essentials. Nor mislay them. It was puzzling.
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    The next morning—or actually the same morning—arrived too soon, but they managed to get themselves up and even dressed and fed. Ben was revoltingly cheerful.
    â€œI must be getting old,” Tom said. “I used to get by on a lot less sleep than this and be loaded for bear the following morning.”
    â€œWhat a curious expression that is,” Faith commented. “But it’s true—I really feel it the next morning when I’ve been out late. I blame Benjamin and all the sleep deprivation we suffered when he was a baby. We just haven’t caught up. One good thing though: when we’re in our eighties, we won’t need so much sleep and we can stay out as late as we want.”
    â€œGreat. By the way, were you