Bentley Little - The Store

Ben nodded. "Yep."

"And they're doing the addition alone, with no help from any of our workers here?"

"You got it."

Bill shook his head. "The council could've at least insisted that they use local contractors. I mean, that's pretty crappy. Construction was the only business around here benefiting from The Store --"

"Except for the paper," Ben reminded him.

"Except for the paper," Bill conceded.

"So much for the providing-local-jobs theory, huh?"

"I'd say those people deserved it for being so naive and gullible --"

"Especially when you warned them, right?"

"-- but the rest of us have to suffer the consequences as well." He looked at his friend. "Jerk."

"Come on, you don't think you're becoming just a little holier-than-thou on this subject?"

"You're not?"

"It's my job. I'm a journalist."

They reached Ben's car. "You want me to give you a ride home?" the editor asked, unlocking his door.

Bill shook his head. "That's okay. I need the exercise." He glanced back, saw only the edge of the construction fence behind the building on the south side. There was a loud crash as another ponderosa went down. "They're not going to be happy until every tree in Juniper is cut."

"Joni Mitchell called it. 'Big Yellow Taxi.' "

"Hippie."

"I've already admitted that."

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other over the roof of the car, listening to the sound of the saws.

"There's nothing we can do about any of this, is there?" Bill asked finally.

"It's progress. Hop on the bandwagon or get the fuck out of the way."

Bill stared up at the clear blue sky, ran a quick hand through his hair.

"Any leads on Richardson's store?"

"What do you think?" Ben said.

"Just checking."

"Want my prediction?"

"On what?"

"The Buy-and-Save situation."

"Not really," Bill said, "but give it to me."

"I predict that its final demise will coincide with the completion of this food department here." He motioned toward the construction site. "It'll hold on till then." He looked over the car roof at Bill. "Want to give me odds?"

"I think not." Bill took a deep breath, waved goodbye, and started running. He wanted to be angry and outraged, he'd settle for scared, but he felt only tired and discouraged, and he jogged out of the parking lot and down the highway, heading toward home.

The sound of the saws followed him all the way.

2

Ginny usually spent recesses in the classroom -- they were only ten minutes long, which didn't really give her a chance to do anything -- but today she felt restless, antsy, and after leading her kids out to the playground, she hurried over to the staff lounge for a quick cup of coffee.

The lounge was empty save for Lorraine Hepperton, who was sitting on the couch, humming to herself.

Ginny smiled at the other teacher as she strode over to the coffee machine. "My, aren't we in a good mood today."

Lorraine smiled back. "Yes, we are."

Ginny laughed. She poured herself a cup of coffee, then walked over to the couch, sitting a cushion away from her friend. "So how're things going?" she asked.

"Here at school or in my real life?"

"Is there a difference?"

"There is now." Lorraine rummaged through the purse at her side. "Want to see what I bought?"

"Sure --" she started to say, but Lorraine had already found what she was looking for and held up a doll, an ugly, particularly nasty looking doll, an orange figure ostensibly human but with stiff bristle hair that extruded from the misshapen head in strange clumps and an off-center face comprised of black cloth dots connected by thread. The figure was nude, and an exaggerated vulva protruded from between its legs.

Ginny grimaced. "What is it?"

"A voodoo doll. I bought it at The Store."

"Why?"

"To try out. I figure it can't hurt." She chuckled. "I call it Meg."

Ginny was shocked. "You're joking!"

"No, I'm not." She glanced quickly toward the door to make sure there was no one else coming into the room, then withdrew a pincushion from her purse. She pulled out a pin, inserted it in the figure's left breast, pressing it all the way in.

She giggled.

A chill crept down Ginny's neck. She could not imagine any national chain store selling something like this, not even as a joke or gag gift, and she wondered where in The Store this creepy little doll was displayed.

Lorraine inserted another pin in the doll's stomach.

_The black convoy_.

Ginny stood, moved away from the couch, feeling cold. She turned around by the coffee machine. "You don't think that thing really works, do you? You don't believe that stuff?"

Lorraine turned the doll over, held out the tag. "Made in Haiti."

She still wasn't sure how serious the other teacher was. Lorraine's voice was pleasant, her tone light, but she did not sound the least bit jocular or facetious. It was as if this was a normal conversation, as if they were discussing the fabric quality of a new blouse.

Lorraine pulled out one more pin, pressed it directly into the oversized vulva, then put both the pincushion and the doll back inside her purse. A split second later, another teacher walked through the open doorway into the lounge.

"Hello, Meg," Lorraine said sweetly.

SIXTEEN

1

"The school year's almost over," Ginny said.

Bill glanced over at her. "Happy?"

"Yeah. I am. It's been a long year."

"Any more voodoo dolls lately?"

She shook her head.

"Witches' sabbaths? Satanic rituals?"

"Not funny," she said.

He sighed. "No. I guess it's not."

They were silent for a moment. The house was still, quiet. Both Sam and Shannon were gone, out with their respective friends, and the only noise was the muted hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

"She'll have to quit after summer," Ginny said. "Once she goes off to school."

"I wasn't even thinking about that."

"Bullshit."

"You're right." Bill leaned back on the couch, stared up at the ceiling."Maybe she can get a summer job on campus, leave early."

"She hasn't even decided where she's going. She has to pick a college first."

"It depends on which one offers the best financial aid package."

They were quiet again, and Bill closed his eyes. He felt tired. He'd been tired a lot lately, though he wasn't sure why. He hadn't been getting any less sleep or doing any more work than usual. Stress, he supposed. He'd had a lot on his mind. Too much.

"We never sit outside anymore," Ginny said out of the blue.

He opened his eyes, turned his head toward her. "What?"

"We never sit outside anymore. Have you noticed that? We never sit on the porch together. You're always in front of your computer and I'm watching TV."

"We sit together. We're sitting together now."

"But not outside. We used to go outside after dinner, look up at the stars, talk. Remember that?"

"You're the one who doesn't like to go out at night. The bugs eat you alive."

"That's not the point." She moved closer, put an arm around his shoulder.

"We don't spend as much time together as we used to."

She was right, he realized. He hadn't thought about it before, but despite the fact that he worked at home and she usually came home from school before four, the only quality time they seemed to spend together was in bed. It was as if they lived two separate existences under the same roof. It hadn't always been this way. Once upon a time, they'd spent every free moment together. As she'd pointed out, they'd sit on the porch, cuddle, talk about the past, plan for the future. It was partially the girls, he supposed. When they were around, it was pretty hard to be intimate.

But he couldn't blame everything on them.