5.
 "That was lovely," Roger said as he walked Maureen out to their car. Maureen agreed as he helped her in. "Let's get straight home," she said, "my hip aches." She had the beginnings of arthritis. "That young man sure takes good care of his wife. What a beautiful girl."
"Yes," Roger said, defogging the windows and pulling out into the street. A steady stream of cars drove away from the hall. The roads grew foggy and confusing. After a while, Roger said: "I think we're lost."
"I told you to go left back there," Maureen said.
"Now, now, I'll turn around and just go back the way we came."
"No sense of direction." Thick clouds of fog rolled slowly like tumbleweeds.
"Be quiet, please. There's the church again already." The dark buildings loomed in the fog on their left, deserted. How quickly the hall had emptied!
"Look, there they are!"
Roger spotted the young couple. "What on earth are they doing?"
They walked hand in hand, carefree, pulling each other this way and that. The girl was not wearing a coat, and her back was exposed. Her figure was excellent, and she waved the blue neck kerchief absently.
"They'll die of cold," Maureen said. "They must be drunk."
"Maybe they can give us directions," Roger said, "and I'm sure they'll want a ride after all." He began to slow the car. They were about 1000 feet away. A wall of fog moved past. At 500 feet, Roger saw the young couple were face to face, arguing. Jane held the kerchief in both fists, knotted, as if to tear it in half. Her face was a mask of pain and fury. His face was calm and patient.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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