The car pulled into the driveway of the brick Federalist. Evelyn adjusted her hat, wishing her head didn’t hurt so much, wishing she weren’t so cold. She had begun to sweat in the way that meant she was going to throw up. She had eaten an entire eight-inch Black Forest cake in the toilet paper aisle while Henry was off at the cold-cut counter, deciding exactly what brand of superlean turkey he wanted to buy. Her hat was a big straw cartwheel that felt tight in just the way her dress did—did your head get bigger when you got fat? Evelyn closed her eyes and prayed to a God she didn’t believe in for salvation.
“Look,” Henry said, cutting the engine. “They’re back. The police and that detective, Demarkian.”
Evelyn opened her eyes. She felt a lot better with the air conditioner off.
“He was on the news this morning,” she said. “Talking about the bomb last night at that party Julianne Corbett gave. Did you vote for Julianne Corbett?”
“She’s not in this district,” Henry said. “You should know that.”
“Patsy loved Julianne Corbett. She used to point out pictures of her in the newspapers and say what a wonderful woman she was.”
“That couldn’t have gone on for too long. Corbett’s barely been a congresswoman at all. She just got elected, for God’s sake.”
“She was in politics before she ever got to be a congresswoman. She was very active in Causes. She’s a very big feminist.”
Henry made a face. “Feminism is a phase. I told you that. What it is you see in those women, I’ll never know.”
“I was talking about Patsy.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so fat. Maybe it’s feminism. Maybe you’ve decided that being thin is a form of oppression you’re not going to put up with and so you’ve become gross instead.”
“I was talking about Patsy,” Evelyn said again.
“Don’t talk to the police,” Henry said, popping open the driver’s side door. “We don’t want to get mixed up in that kind of thing.”
With the door open, the air from outside rushed in. It was hot and sticky and thick. She opened her own door and got out onto the driveway. From where she stood, she could see Gregor Demarkian and the two policemen. Demarkian was walking up and down the edges of the Willises’ long, curving drive.
“It’s just like Sherlock Holmes, isn’t it?” Evelyn didn’t want to move into the house. The house had more air-conditioning in it, even better air-conditioning than the Lincoln. Evelyn liked it out in the heat. “It’s just like a detective novel. He ought to have a microscope.”
“You mean a magnifying glass, Evelyn. For Christ’s sake.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Evelyn said.
She could be surprisingly fast when she wanted to be. By the time Henry realized what she was doing, she was almost all the way down the drive, in full view of the three men over in the Willises’ driveway. She knew Henry wanted to shout or chase her, but she knew he wouldn’t do either. He would be worried about what the detectives would think. She reached the road and walked even faster. Without gravel to fight, she could move more quickly than most people of average weight. She half jogged along the road, listening for the sound of Henry’s footsteps behind her. She didn’t hear them. He wasn’t following her. He was just going to blow up at her when she got home.
In the Willises’ driveway, the three men had stopped whatever they were doing and begun watching her. Evelyn carefully blanked out of her mind any speculation as to what they might be thinking—look at that gross fat ugly horrible woman—and when she got to the drive itself she came to a stop and climbed carefully up the slope. Slopes were not like straight-aways. She sometimes blacked out on slopes.
“Mr. Demarkian?” she said when she got almost to where the three men stood. The older of the two detectives was Dan Exter, who was with the police department here. Evelyn recognized him from the fund-raising drives for the Police Community Contact League. The other one was black, and too good-looking. He was the kind of person who would look Evelyn over and decide that she was too ugly to talk to. But Gregor Demarkian was all right. He could have stood to lose a few pounds himself.
“Mr. Demarkian,” Evelyn said, holding out her hand. Then she snatched it back. She couldn’t remember if it was the right thing to do. She blushed furiously. “How do you do.”
“How do you do,” Gregor Demarkian said very politely.
Evelyn had hardly any air in her lungs. The hat on her head hurt her terribly. She looked at the ground.