Bentley Little: The Store

She forced herself to smile, though she felt sick inside. "Me, too," she said.

Her parents were asleep, and she had just finished chronicling the series of misadventures that had made up today and was hiding her journal beneath her mattress when Samantha walked into the room.

"Hey," Shannon said, looking up.

"Hey." Samantha sat down on the edge of the bed.

Something was wrong. Sam didn't just come into her room to hang out. When her sister dropped by it was always for a reason. She wanted to borrow something. Or she needed Shannon to help her lift something. Or she wanted to complain about the messiness of the bathroom.

She did not just come by to chat.

Samantha looked around the room. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" she asked.

Shannon frowned. "No. Why?"

Sam's face reddened. "I just thought . . . we're sisters, you know. You can talk to me if something's wrong."

No, I can't, Shannon thought, but she said nothing.

Sam took a deep breath. "We both share the same bathroom, you know. I can't help noticing if things . . . change."

Oh, God. She'd noticed that there were no maxi-pads in the wastepaper basket! Shannon felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. "There's nothing wrong," she said.

Samantha's blush deepened. She almost stood, almost left, then changed her mind and started to say something, but only ended up clearing her throat. She looked away. "I know your period hasn't come," she said.

Shannon felt her own face grow hot. She didn't want to talk about this with her sister.

"Does Jake know? Have you told him?"

"There's nothing to tell," Shannon said. "I was just late. God, do I have to discuss every aspect of my body with you? Do you want me to tell you when I have to blow my nose? Do you want to know when I have diarrhea?"

"No!" Sam's face was now completely red. "I was worried, that's all."

"Well, worry about yourself! Don't worry about me!"

Samantha stood, strode out of the room. "Sorry I was born!"

"So am I!" Shannon hurried after her sister and slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. She stood there for a moment, shaking, then sat back down on the bed, leaned her head against the pillow, and closed her eyes.

It was a long time before she fell sleep.

2

"Check."

Bill watched as Street McHenry moved his rook down the length of the board to steal Bill's bishop.

He thought for a moment, then picked up his knight, started moving it to capture the rook, but saw that that would leave his king undefended and allow Street's queen to take his king. Slowly, he moved his knight back into place.

Street shook his head. "What a pussy."

Bill grinned. "That's exactly what I said to your sister last night."

"Before she burst out laughing?"

"Laughing? She was gasping. In awe. My length is my strength."

"Just make your play," Ben said. "Christ, if you two spent as much time playing chess as you did napping your gums, we might get out of here before midnight one of these evenings."

"Midnight?" Bill said. "It's only eight o'clock."

"Just play the damn game."

Four moves later, the game was over.

Street won.

As always.

Bill had won the computer match the night before.

As always.

"Record unbroken," Ben announced.

The three of them stood, stretched. Street finished off his beer, gathered up all of their cans and carried them to the kitchen.

Bill turned toward the editor. There'd been an article on The Store in today's paper, a fairly long feature describing the chain's history and plans for the Juniper store. The article had quoted Newman King, founder and CEO of The Store, extensively. "I read your Store article," he said. "You actually interviewed Newman King?"

The editor snorted. "Hell, no. They sent me a press release, quotes included, and I stole liberally from it."

"I was wondering. I thought he was like a Howard Hughes character, didn't like to appear in public and all that."

"Them's the rumors," Ben said. "To be honest, I did try to call corporate headquarters and get my own quotes, but if King ever did deign to speak with the press, it'd probably be to Barbara Walters or Jane Pauley, or Dan or Tom or Peter, not to a lowly podunk reporter like yours truly. I was told, politely but firmly, that King speaks to his customers through press releases and that those were the only quotes I'd be getting." He shrugged. "So I used them."

Bill nodded. "I should've known it was something like that."

Street put away the board, and the three of them walked out of the house and down the road to the cafй as they always did after these chess matches. The night was clear, the air cold and brisk. It felt good, and Bill exhaled as he walked, trying to blow smoke rings with the steam of his breath.

"Saw your article on Bill," Street said. "You made him sound almost articulate."

Ben grinned. "That's my job."

They laughed.

"I'm not too keen on The Store, either," Street admitted.

Bill shook his head. "That building'll totally fuck up the character of the town."

"Not just that, it's going to cut into my business. The Store sells electronic equipment. Stereos and radios and tools and wire and adapters. And they can probably sell it cheaper than I can. I'm not exactly rolling in dough as it is. I don't know how I'll be able to survive once they come in." He glanced over at Ben."I was thinking maybe you could do some type of story on how The Store will affect local merchants, try to drum up some support for us. I know the town council and the construction companies are all gung ho for this, but none of us in the chamber of commerce are thrilled. A lot of us are just hanging on by a thread. The Store might finish us off."

"Sure," Ben said. "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself."

"I won't shop there," Bill said.

"You never shop in town anyway. You always go down to Phoenix."

"I shop at your place."

"That's true," Street conceded. "That's true."

"Maybe I'll start shopping here more."

"It's about time."

They reached the cafй, walked inside. A family was seated at one of the booths next to the window, a teen-aged boy and girl at another. Buck Maitland and Vernon Thompson, the two old men who seemed to live at the cafй, were sitting on stools at the counter, full coffee cups and empty french fry dishes in front of them.

Street waved to Holly, the waitress behind the cash register, and the three of them sat down in the booth closest to the door. Holly stopped by, menus in hand, but they said they just wanted coffee, and with a look of annoyance she retreated behind the counter to pour their orders.

Street and Ben were already talking about something else, some suspense movie they'd both seen on cable, but Bill wasn't listening. It had taken him only a few seconds to determine that the two old men at the counter were talking about The Store, and he tried to tune out everything else and zero in on their conversation.

"Yeah," Buck was saying, "my son's working on that project."

"How's it coming?"

Buck shrugged. "Don't seem too happy."

"Why not?"

Buck took a sip of his coffee. "Don't rightly know. But it seems like a hard job. You know how some jobs just go smoothly? Everything kinda flows together? Well, this ain't like that."

"I heard there's been a lot of accidents," Vernon said. "My brother-in-law knows the blaster on that job. He's a powder monkey from way back, worked on Boulder and Glen Canyon, and he said the same thing. Said they've had more accidents on this job, which should've been a cakewalk, than they had on that stretch of highway they blasted through Pine Ridge. Said this is the toughest blast since the canyon."

"You heard about Greg Hargrove, didn't you?"