John Brandon - Citrus County

Shelby got in the back seat and told the driver she wanted to go to the Crystal River Outlet Mall. He didn’t have a meter. He had a laminated chart full of starting points and destinations. Shelby’s ride was $23, one way.

“I suppose you need me to wait while you’re in there,” the driver said. “You need a ride home.”

Shelby nodded at the mirror.

She was headed to the mall, she decided, to search for a present for Toby. She had $300 from years of birthdays and holidays and she was tired of saving it. She wanted to buy an item priced around $200. That, plus the cab, plus lunch at the food court, would pretty much rid her of her money.

Shelby gazed out her window at the ponds, the smug vultures.

“Look at those pitiful creatures,” the driver said.

“The vultures?”

“The cows, if you want to call them cows. Have you ever been to Ireland? The cows are like elephants.”

Shelby nodded, aware that the driver could not see her doing so.

“It’s a whole different world over there. The green grass goes right to the ocean. The farmers wear sweaters. The women smile and talk to you.”

Shelby traced the stitching in the seat with her finger.

“In this country, if you hold the door open for a woman, she just brushes by. Over there, they look you in the eyes and say ‘Cheers.’ They touch you on the arm.”

They passed a sprawling lot that sold pickup truck toppers and then the roadsides became undeveloped, jungle-like. Shelby wished the driver would be quiet, but he went on and on about Ireland until his long car rocked to a stop in the parking lot of the mall. He sank into his seat and tuned into a talk radio program on which everyone was laughing caustically.

Shelby followed a tile walkway through JCPenney and found the mall proper. Jovial organ music was piping in. A calendar kiosk. Shelby came to a stop. The kiosk had no attendant. Most of the calendars Shelby saw seemed good to buy as a joke — pro wrestlers, soap stars. The company that made the calendars depended on people buying them as a joke. And then there were puppies and wineries and one of foreign city scenes — colorful doors and bicycles and fountains. There were no pictures from Iceland. That was why Aunt Dale lived there. It wasn’t a nation that had its photograph taken for silly calendars that ended up in a second-rate mall in Citrus County, Florida. There was no silliness in Iceland.

Shelby walked on until she ran up against a stout, venerable odor. The scent was at once inviting and sickening. Shelby took a few blind steps into the shop and found herself in a maze of glass cases. There were cigarettes from many countries, pipes, ashtrays carved from marble. Toby didn’t smoke, as far as Shelby knew. Maybe he should, though. She could encourage him to take it up. She could show him she wasn’t somebody he had to be careful with. She wanted the Toby she’d first known, the alarming Toby. She wasn’t getting that anymore. If she could get the genuine Toby, then she could be the genuine Shelby. And why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t they let their guards down and just be with one another? Shelby could go with Toby on all his interminable walks. He could carry a pipe and Shelby could carry matches and the two of them could carve a place for themselves in the Florida afternoons. Shelby went near the register and the clerk poked his head through a wall of displays and said, “No way.”

He was a small man who wore loose clothing. “Don’t bother with a fake ID,” he said. “I’ve seen them all.”

“I don’t smoke,” Shelby said.

The clerk withdrew his head, disappearing behind the cases. “I used to pretend I couldn’t tell the IDs were fake, but they changed the law. I had to sit through a seminar.”

Shelby looked at her reflection in one of the cases. “I don’t have a fake ID to show you. I don’t even have a real ID.”

The clerk sniffed.

“How much is this humidor?” asked Shelby.

“With the green trim? Two-twenty.”

“Really?” said Shelby.

“If you have your parents’ credit card, I can’t accept it. You could have stolen it. The charges will be unauthorized.”

Shelby didn’t get the feeling the clerk was doing anything in particular that was keeping him hidden in his fortress of cases. He was back there picking at his sweater.

“I have cash,” Shelby told him. “I have a pair of hundred-dollar bills and then another hundred bucks in smaller denominations. It’s rolled up in my pocket.”

“I cannot sell you that item. It comes with sample cigars; they have to be sold together, per the manufacturer.”

“This isn’t an easy store to shop at,” Shelby said.

“Not an easy store to own.”

Shelby left. She walked the remainder of the mall, her determination melting off like Florida frost. It was a silly notion, she supposed, that you could communicate something important through a gift from the outlet mall. There were pet stores and stores that sold suits and a store full of pianos, and Shelby didn’t want to step foot in any of them. She crossed over to the food court, where she ate a frozen yogurt, listening to a shoe salesman dole out compliments to a woman who did people’s nails. Shelby didn’t want to be in the mall for another minute. The mall couldn’t help Shelby. Her mother and her sister were gone and her father was broken and the boy she liked was afraid of her. Shopping wasn’t an answer.

Shelby went back through JC Penney and out into the parking lot. The cab was still there, the driver slumped behind the wheel. Shelby hopped in the back and pressed her legs down onto the warm vinyl seat and the driver sat up straight and got them speeding down Route 19, wind whipping in the window. Shelby turned her face to the fresh air and shut her eyes, but soon enough the driver was at it again — roasted lamb, beer with character. Again with the women.

“Let me out here,” Shelby said.

The driver squinted in the mirror. “Sorry if I’m boring you, princess.”

“You’re not sorry. You would’ve stopped.”

“Is that a fact?”

“This’ll do,” Shelby said. “Right next to this expansive field.”

The driver took his foot off the gas pedal.

“How much do I owe you?” Shelby asked.

“I wouldn’t take money from a little princess like you. I knew you were stuck-up the minute you got in my cab.”

“You’re not charging me anything?”

The driver didn’t respond. He looked straight ahead. The car rumbled onto the shoulder and came to a halt. Shelby got out and shoved the door shut and strode past the cab in the direction of her home, the sun bright but not heavy on her. The cab stayed put. Shelby didn’t look back, and the noise from the engine was soon too faint to distinguish.

Another flashlight broken. She was doing it on purpose and it wasn’t a battle of wills that Toby would let her win. He wasn’t going to leave her in the dark. He wasn’t going to let her believe that her behavior had any effect on anything. She was banging up her elbows and knees, making them bleed and scab. She had dumped all the water out on the floor and Toby had stolen towels from the house and mopped it all up. He acted like it was a game, like it didn’t bother him. It was nothing but work, and Toby was okay with work. What he was doing wasn’t supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to be simple. He’d done easy and simple all his life.

The old woman’s grandbaby wasn’t with her. She was with her mother, Toby was told. Without the child, the old woman was listless. She was doing a word search of Mexican cities.

Toby handed her the flashlight he’d chosen, a big rubberized one this time.

“Other one didn’t work?” the old woman asked.