She went back down to the edge of the bleachers with her father when they started issuing diplomas, and she took a picture of Sam rising from her chair, another of her standing at the head of the line waiting to receive her diploma.
When they announced the name Samantha Davis over the loudspeaker, she couldn't resist, and even as she snapped a photo of Sam accepting the diploma from the principal, she whooped loudly, screamed.
Quite a few other people screamed and clapped as well. Sam was one of the most popular seniors in school, and while Shannon often found herself somewhat annoyed by that, she experienced a surge of pride today, and she was proud to be the sister of Samantha Davis.
After the ceremony, they were taking pictures in front of the Juniper Union High School sign, Samantha posing with both sets of grandparents, when Diane, breathless, came running up. She waved to Sam, nodded to her parents, then stood directly in front of Shannon. "They need two people to work the punch bowl at Grad Night," she said. "You want to do it?"
"What?"
"Smith and Jimmy got caught trying to smuggle a bottle of scotch into the gym. I guess they were going to spike the punch. It's supposed to be a sober grad night, no alcohol, so they were automatically kicked out, and now they're looking for two replacements. Mr. Handy said it's ours if we want it."
Shannon looked hopefully at her mother.
"Go ahead," her mom said, smiling.
"Yes!" Diane pumped a fist in the air and grinned. "I'll tell them we're in." She started running back down the sloping grass toward the gymnasium.
"Where and when?" Shannon called.
Diane turned around, running backward. "Meet me at the gym when you're through here!"
"We're going out to eat!"
"Eight o'clock, then! The gym!"
Shannon nodded, waved, and Diane disappeared into the crowd of still milling parents.
Dinner, Shannon thought, was somewhat depressing. They went to the Castle Creek Steakhouse, the closest thing to a decent restaurant in this area of the state, but so did half the graduating class. And although Sam spent most of the meal visiting with friends, talking to other kids, it was conspicuously obvious that she didn't have a boyfriend. Most of the other girls in the restaurant, except the losers, were eating out with their families and their boyfriends.
Shannon knew for a fact that at least six boys had asked Sam to Grad Night although she had decided to go stag -- but it wasn't the same as having one special person to share this special night with.
She missed Jake.
That's what it came down to, really, and she found herself wondering if she would have a boyfriend by the time she graduated or if she would end up going out to dinner with just her parents and her sister and her grandparents.
Maybe not even all of her grandparents.
God, this was turning out to be a depressing night.
Things improved greatly after dinner, though. They all went home, she and Sam quickly changed into party clothes . . . and then changed again into party clothes that were acceptable to their parents, and their dad dropped them off at school.
After he drove away, Shannon shyly gave her sister a special graduation present she'd bought herself. She'd contributed to the PC and printer that the whole family had chipped in on, but she'd wanted to get Samantha something more personal, less practical. Something that was just from her. So she'd gone down to Ellen's Attic and, with the allowance and baby-sitting money she'd saved all year, bought her sister an antique brooch.
"I know you like those things," Shannon said. "And I thought it would be a good graduation present."
"It's a wonderful present!" Sam hugged her, awkwardly yet gratefully.
"Thank you so much." She immediately pinned it to her blouse. "What do Mom and Dad think?"
"I didn't tell them. It's from me to you, so I wanted you to see it first."
Sam smiled. "It may not seem like it sometimes, but I really am glad you're my sister."
Shannon looked away, embarrassed. "Me, too," she said.
They split up after that, Sam walking over to where her friends were congregating for the last time at Senior Corner, Shannon heading straight to the gym, where Diane was already filling paper cups with red fruit punch.
"It's about time you got here," she said. "Help me fill these up before the rush starts."
Grad Night this year was sponsored by The Store, all of the decorations and refreshments, even the entertainment donated or paid for by The Store. A big banner strung above the doorway announced WELCOME TO THE STORE'S FIRST ANNUAL
GRAD NIGHT CELEBRATION!
That was nice, Shannon supposed, but it also meant that they had to abide by rules and regulations imposed by The Store. Traditionally, Juniper's Grad Night parties lasted from dusk until dawn, with parent and teacher volunteers chaperoning the kids inside the gym and policemen monitoring the parking lot and the streets abutting the school in order to make sure there was no trouble. This year, however the chaperons had been scrapped. The Store had supplied its own security. And the police would probably have very little to do in the parking lot or on the street because once seniors entered the Grad Night party, they were not allowed to leave the gym.
This was all supposed to cut down on problems and troublemakers, but to Shannon it lent to the celebration an uneasy atmosphere. Teachers and administrators were still in attendance, but they were relegated to the sidelines: making lame announcements from the stage between songs, helping students serve refreshments. In contrast, stoic guards in green Store uniforms were conspicuously stationed around the gym to monitor the partiers' behavior and to block all exits. The guards were not people from town but part of the group of initial Store employees brought in from the corporate office. No one knew them, and they knew no one, and it made for an unsettling time. This was supposed to be a graduation party, a celebration of freedom from compulsory schooling, but it felt more like a dance at a prison, and long before midnight Shannon was sorry she'd agreed to help out. She felt like she was being watched all the time, monitored, and it was a feeling she didn't like.
Sam stopped by several times throughout the early evening, accompanied by different dance partners, but eventually Shannon lost track of her sister, and the next time she saw her, several hours later, Sam was huddled with a group of Store guards to the left of the bandstand.
During a break in the music, while Mr. Handy gave out joke awards that were supposed to be humorous but were merely embarrassing, Shannon made a quick trip to the bathroom. Sam was already in there with a bunch of other girls, and she put a hand on Shannon's shoulder. "I've been promoted," she said. "I'm going to be lead in Housewares this summer. They're letting me out of Infants. I guess they like me."
"What's a lead?"
"It's the lead salesperson. The department manager'll be over me, but I'm pretty much second in command. I'll be like the boss of all the Housewares part timers."
"Who told you? One of those guys guarding the door?"
"Yeah. Ray."
Shannon smiled teasingly. "Ooh, first-name basis. Is there something going on here I should know about?"
"With Ray?" Sam laughed. "I don't think so."
"Well, I'm happy for you," Shannon said. "That's great."
But it wasn't that great, and she wondered why her sister seemed so proud and excited over such a trivial thing. Sam had always disdained those girls at their school who set their career sights no higher than being a waitress or a sales clerk. She was adamant about getting out of this town and getting an education and becoming part of what she called "the real world." It seemed completely out of character for her to feel honored because some security guard told her she'd gotten a minor promotion in her menial part-time job.
Shannon wondered if she should tell her parents what she thought but decided that it would only make her dad crazy. He had a bug up his butt about The Store, anyway, and this would only make him worse. So she said good-bye to Sam, pushed it out of her mind, and by the
time she returned to the refreshment table she had completely forgotten it.
SEVENTEEN
1
The addition was finished.
The grand opening of The Store's new grocery department was tomorrow.
It was impossible to believe that it had been completed so quickly.
Groundbreaking had been only a little over a month ago. By the time Ben's photos of that morning had appeared in the paper, they were already out of date.
Construction had moved ahead so rapidly that, according to the town council, it was all Juniper's various inspectors could do to keep up.
Bill had jogged by there this morning, and already the banners had been strung, the helium balloons tied in place. A page of coupons had appeared in the paper on Saturday, offering such outrageously low-priced items as one-cent lettuce and twenty-five-cents-a-pound catfish fillet. The Store was bribing people to shop in its food department, and Bill knew the bribes were working, because he and Ginny were going to stock up on a bunch of groceries tomorrow and if _they_ could be bought, anyone could be bought.
He wished there was another place in town to buy foodstuffs. But Ben had been right. Buy-and-Save was scheduled to shut its doors next week -- just after The Store's grocery department opened. Already, the place looked abandoned. He drove down Main, slowed as he passed the market. The windows were dirty and dark, and there were only two cars in the parking lot. Employees' cars, probably.
Once Buy-and-Save closed, there'd be only The Store.
He wondered what had happened to Jed. Rumor had it that he'd skipped town, owing bills, but he didn't know anyone who actually bought that story. It was completely out of character for Jed, and Bill had the feeling that the truth was something far less ordinary and far less benign.
And connected to The Store.
He drove by the empty cafй. The windows were soaped up, whited out. As were the windows on an increasing number of storefronts in town.
It was Tuesday, benefits day, and up ahead the line in front of the unemployment office was long. Even longer than it had been after the lumber mill closed. It wound outside of the brown brick building and around the corner to the parking lot. At the end of the line he saw Frank Wilson, one of Hargrove's old cronies, and while a small mean part of him wanted to gloat because the man had gotten what he'd deserved, he couldn't really feel good about it.
Revenge was not always sweet.
There were quite a few construction workers in line, and underneath the metal letters euphemistically identifying the building as the Arizona Department of Economic Security, he saw Ted Malory. He waved, but Ted didn't see him, and he continued on, not wanting to honk and draw attention to himself.
According to Ted's wife, The Store had stiffed him on the roofing job he'd done, not paying the amount originally agreed upon, deducting money from the payment for imaginary errors and oversights. He hadn't had a job since, had had to lay off his whole crew, and Charlinda said they'd probably have to file for bankruptcy. To top it off, his son and a group of other boys had recently been caught dropping M80s down the toilets at school, and, along with the parents of the other boys, Ted and Charlinda were responsible for covering those damages as well. Trouble came in waves, his grandfather used to say, and that sure as hell seemed to be true.
Especially these days.
Street's store was still in business, and he stopped by, bought a diamond needle for his turntable that he didn't need, then walked over to the record store.
Doane nodded a greeting as he stepped inside.
"Hey," Bill said.
"Hey, yourself."
"I probably shouldn't ask," Bill said, heading over to the used-CD rack, "but how're things today?"
"Well, you heard what happened to the radio station, didn't you?"
He shook his head. "No. What?"
"The Store bought it."
He stopped walking, turned to face the store owner. "Shit."
"Yep. They kept it quiet, but I guess the deal was finalized last week.
The station switched over this morning." He smiled mirthlessly. "They even changed their call letters. The station is now called K-STOR."
"Why?"
Doane shrugged. "I guess they want to control what we hear as well as what we buy." He walked behind the counter, turned on his receiver, and the sounds of an obnoxious rap group blared through the speakers. "From what I can tell, they're only playing music they have in stock. You know that old saying, 'People don't know what they like, they like what they know'? Well, that's especially true in music. That's why there were all those payoff scandals years ago. It's a fact of life: if music gets played on the radio, if people hear it often enough, they start liking it." He turned off the receiver. "They'll have no problem moving their stock."
"But why did Ward and Robert sell? The station had to be making money."
"Rumor is, The Store made them an offer they couldn't refuse."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Doane shrugged.
"You mean they were offered big bucks? Or they were threatened?"
"Maybe both." He held up a finger before Bill could respond. "I'm only repeating what I heard. I don't know any more than that."
Bill did not even feel like arguing. He should feel like ranting and raving. But he didn't. He felt drained, tried. He recalled his dream about the asphalt machine. That's what The Store seemed like to him: an unstoppable force hell-bent on bulldozing its way over the livelihoods and lifestyles of the town.
"As you heard, they've switched formats already. They're playing top forty. Period. No country."
"No country?"
"Not anymore."
"People won't stand for that in this town."
"They'll have no choice. Besides, people are basically passive. They'll piss and moan for a while, but they'll get used to it. They'll adjust. It'll be more convenient for them to listen to the music they're being offered than to write a letter or make a phone call or do something to change it. It's human nature."
He was right, Bill knew. It was depressing but true. Human beings' capacity to adjust to almost anything was supposed to be one of their greatest virtues, but it was also one of their greatest weaknesses. It rendered them compliant, allowed them to be exploited.
Doane smiled weakly. "Promise me something. If you ever win the lottery, if you win, like, thirty million dollars in the Powerball or something, buy the station back and put on some decent music."
Bill forced himself to smile. "It's a deal."
There was nothing new in the store, and nothing that he really wanted or needed, but he bought a few CD versions of albums that he already had on vinyl.
He'd probably spent more in Doane's store in the past three months than he had in the entire previous year, but Ginny seemed to understand why, and he didn't think she'd give him a hard time about today's purchases.
It was out of his way, but he drove past The Store on his trip home. In contrast to the deserted downtown streets, The Store's parking lot was crowded.
Even though it was a workday.
Even though it was the middle of the afternoon.
He drove by without slowing, glancing out the passenger window. All trace of the original meadow was gone. The contours and topography of the clearing had been changed completely, and the location now looked as though The Store had always been there.
He turned right down the road that led through Creekside Acres and drove down the dirt road toward home.
Where he spent the rest of the afternoon working on the documentation for The Store's accounting package.
2
Summer.
Shannon awoke late, ate a leisurely breakfast, and spent the rest of the morning lying on her bed, staring into space and listening to the radio. She hated summer, although she didn't know when that had started, when her feelings had flip-flopped. She used to love the season. As a child, there'd been nothing better than three months with no school, and the long days had
been filled with limitless possibilities. She'd awakened early each morning, gone to bed late each night, and spent the sunny hours in between playing with her friends.
But she didn't play anymore, and now the days stretched endlessly before her, a massive block of time in which she had nothing to do.
It wouldn't have been so boring if her friends had been around, but this summer they all either had jobs or had gone on vacation with their relatives.
Even Diane was working, spending the days behind the cash register at her father's gas station.
It would have been different if she'd had a boyfriend. Then she would've welcomed the freedom. She wouldn't even have minded the absence of her friends.
She would have had plenty to do with her time.
Jake.
She still missed him. He'd been a jerk sometimes -- a lot of the time but she missed having someone to talk with, to walk with, to snuggle with, to just be with.
It was still hard to get used to the fact that someone who had meant everything to her, who'd claimed to love her, with whom she had shared intimate secrets, embarrassing fears, now didn't care if she lived or died. It was a hard thing to reconcile, a big adjustment to make, and she thought that this was what it must feel like when someone you love dies. The emotional withdrawal was the same.
She breathed deeply and with difficulty, stared out the window of her bedroom. It was one of those still summer days that were far too common in Arizona. Blue sky, no clouds. Heavy air: hot, no breeze. It might have been bearable if they had air conditioning, but they didn't, and the fan she'd set up on her dresser only created a weak warm current that died halfway across the room. She thought of Sam, working in The Store. Air-conditioning. People. Music.
Noise. Life. It suddenly sounded good to her and she decided at that moment that instead of wasting her summer vegging out and watching soap operas and television talk shows she'd get a job herself. There was nothing she really wanted to buy, no specific reason she needed to earn money, but she could take what she made this summer, put it in the bank, and get a head start on saving for her own college education.
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