Shannon stared at the reddish brown stain obscuring the festively dressed bear on the French-cut underpants.
Mr. Lamb played with the panties absently, stretching them between two fingers. "She's a very good sister to you," the personnel manager said. "Very caring, very supportive. You should consider yourself lucky."
Shannon nodded absently, unable to concentrate.
What had happened? And why? What had he done to her?
_What had she allowed him to do to her?_
No. Samantha would never allow this sleazebucket to touch even the toe of her boot.
_Would she?_
Shannon felt sick. Hurt and angry and afraid all at once. She stared with hatred across the desk at the personnel manager.
He put away the panties, closed the drawer. "You can go on vacation with your mommy and your daddy," he said in a mincing singsong voice. Abruptly, his tone grew serious, his smile cruel. "And you can thank your sister for it. Now get your worthless ass back to work. Your break's over."
3
They left early, before dawn. He'd packed everything the night before, loaded up the car, set the alarm for four. They'd given Sam an extra key to the Jeep, as well as a copy of their itinerary: the list of motels at which they would be staying, phone numbers, and approximate arrival times.
"Be good," Ginny told her.
Sam seemed almost sorry that she was not going with them, an expression of regret on her face as she held her bathrobe closed and waved from the doorway, and Bill took that as a promising sign.
There was hope yet.
They stopped by Len's before they pulled out of town, bought a sack of donuts for the road, coffee for him and Ginny, hot chocolate for Shannon.
Then they were off.
He marked out their route on a map ahead of time, sticking to the blue highways, the scenic roads, as much as possible. Shannon fell asleep immediately after finishing her hot chocolate, lulled by the rhythm of the wheels, but Ginny, as always, remained wide-awake, and she put her left hand on his right thigh and squeezed gently as they traveled east toward the dawn.
Juniper's radio station faded out an hour or so later, and Bill twirled the dial, searching in vain for music, but all he could get was a syndicated early morning talk show out of Flagstaff and a Navajo station from Chinle, so he popped in a tape.
He felt good. Gordon Lightfoot on the stereo, the sun coming up over the mountains. This was what it was supposed to be like, this was the life he should be living.
Shannon woke up, started to take the last doughnut out of the bag, then changed her mind and simply stared silently out the window.
They passed through towns that were recognized as such by mapmakers only - wide spots in the road consisting of little more than old broken windmills and dirty little gas stations. The forest segued to farmland, the farmland to desert. There were no strict dividing lines, the boundaries were fluid, and the shifting landscape along the narrow, seldom-driven secondary roads was both beautiful and continually surprising.
They talked as they drove, not discussing The Store but just about anything and everything else: music, movies, world events, feelings, thoughts, friends, family, the past, the future.
Shannon was quiet at first, subdued, almost withdrawn, but she seemed to relax and open up the farther away from Juniper they traveled, first jumping into the conversation at odd and irregular points, then finally being drawn in.
Bill smiled to himself as he drove. God, there was nothing better than traveling. He loved everything about it. Not only did he enjoy seeing new and uncharted country, but, as he'd told Ginny last night, taking vacations together strengthened the family bond. The enforced intimacy of an enclosed car mandated greater interaction. In real life, Shannon had enough space of her own, enough opportunity for physical movement, that the boundaries of their relationship could be voluntarily controlled. But here, they were stuck with each other, could not get away even if they wanted to, and the traditional teenage distance she'd kept from them the past few years was gradually broken down, worn away. It was like she was a little girl again, a fully integrated member of the family, and that nostalgic familiarity felt good.
"How far are we from the border?" Shannon asked.
"A hundred miles or so."
"I've never been to New Mexico before."
He smiled. "That'll only be true for another hour and a half."
The smile faded on his face even before he'd finished the sentence. Ahead, on the desert hillside, he could see the clustered clinging buildings of Rio Verde and, dominating the landscape of the town, The Store. It stood amidst the older structures like a rocket among biplanes, drawing attention to itself, its recently constructed windowless facade and bright shiny sign looking exactly like its Juniper counterpart, calling to him, mocking him.
He said nothing, did not point it out or mention it, but Ginny and Shannon could not help but notice the building, and they were silent as they drove through the town, not speaking until they had gone some miles beyond it and the low mesas of New Mexico were in sight on the cloud-crowded horizon.
Sometime after two, they stopped for a late lunch in Socorro, eating at McDonald's, a mile or two from the Rio Grande.
Socorro didn't have a Store, but Las Palmas, the next town, did -- a huge, conspicuously expensive building situated between poor adobe farmhouses. The town could not have had a population of more than a few hundred, but the gigantic Store parking lot was filled. All of the vehicles, he saw as they drove by, were old and dusty, and the men and women trudging into The Store looked discouraged, whipped, beaten.
Like a conquered people, he thought.
But he said nothing, kept driving.
He'd made reservations for the night at a Holiday Inn in Encantada, based on a favorable description in the _AAA TourBook_. Encantada turned out to be a one-street town on a flat plain at the edge of a massive oil field. Following the speed limit signs, he slowed the car to thirty-five miles an hour as they entered the town limits.
Immediately, the hair began prickling on his arms and the back of his neck. Shannon was asleep in the rear, but Ginny was wide-awake. and she looked over at him, fear in her eyes. "Bill," she said quietly.
He didn't have to be told. He could see it for himself.
Everyone on the street was dressed in The Store uniform.
The men, the women, the boys, the girls.
"My God," Ginny said. "Oh, my God."
Bill said nothing, slowed to thirty. In the window of the town's lone gas station, the attendant was wearing a Store uniform. An oil truck driver, jumping down from his cab, was wearing a Store uniform as well, as were the diners at the cafй to which the trucker was headed.
At the far end of town, just past the Holiday Inn, was the intimidating bulk of The Store itself.
"We can't stay here," Ginny said. "We have to stay somewhere else."
Shannon awoke in the backseat. "What is it?" she asked groggily. She sat up, looked around. "Oh," she said, and was silent.
"We have reservations here," Bill said weakly. "They'll charge us even if we don't stay."
"Let them."
He thought of arguing, then got out his map. "I guess we can go on to the next town, see if they have any place to stay."
"And we'll go to the next town if we have to. And the next. We'll keep driving until we find a motel." She looked at him. "You've been driving all day.
We'll switch off. I'll drive for a while."
He looked at the dashboard. "We need to get gas, though. We're almost out."
Ginny nodded. "Fine," she said. "Let's get it and go."
But the Store-suited attendant at the station informed him that the tanks were empty and the truck hadn't been by yet. A shipment was supposed to have been delivered this morning, but there'd been some sort of mix-up near Albuquerque and the driver had radioed that he wouldn't be in until late.
"How late?" Bill asked.
The attendant shrugged. "Ten, mayb
e. Midnight."
"We're screwed," he told Ginny, walking back to the car. He explained the situation, and after a brief discussion, they agreed to stay that night in the Holiday Inn.
The motel itself was nice. There was cable TV, a heated pool, a Jacuzzi, and there was nothing sinister or threatening about any of it. But every window in the place had a view of The Store, and even the maids and desk clerks were wearing Store uniforms.
They locked themselves in their room, pulled the drapes, and had a dinner comprised of the snacks they'd brought along with them: Coke and potato chips, apples and pretzels. Ginny lay on one bed, Shannon on the other, and he sat in a chair next to the curtained window as they watched a New Mexico newscast, the national news, and a syndicated tabloid show.
They didn't talk about The Store or the town, commented only on the stories broadcast on television. Shannon went to take a shower, and Bill moved next to Ginny on the bed. She snuggled next to him. "I'm scared," she said.
"I know," he told her. He was scared, too, although he told himself logically that there was no real reason to be.
He changed the station when Shannon emerged from the bathroom, switching to a movie channel, and they watched a bad John Candy movie and then part of an even worse Chevy Chase flick.
Shannon had already crawled under the covers of her bed, and Ginny was about to go into the bathroom and take a shower herself, when Bill made a big show of standing, stretching, and looking at the clock.
"I'm going to go get some gas," he said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Ginny stopped cold, whirled to face him. "What?"
"I'm going to get some gas."
"You're not going out after dark," she told him.
Shannon pretended not to listen, kept her attention on the movie, and he walked over to where Ginny was standing. "What if there is no gas in the morning?" he said. "Are we going to stay here another day? The truck's supposed to come tonight. I'll fill up the tank and be right back."
"I don't like it."
He pointed out that the gas station was half a block away, between a Burger King and a 7-Eleven, in the opposite direction of The Store. "There won't be any problem," he said.
She looked at him, took a deep breath. "Make it quick."
He drove directly to The Store.
He'd been wanting to drive by ever since they'd arrived in Encantada, ever since he'd seen the uniformed populace, but he knew that Ginny would be against it and he hadn't even mentioned the idea to her. Now he drove into the huge parking lot and toward the entrance of The Store.
It was eerie, seeing the familiar building in these unfamiliar surroundings. He understood the corporate desire for uniformity, but there was something about the deliberately induced deja vu he experienced while driving through a parking lot he knew toward a store that he knew in a town that he'd never been in or seen before that was not only disorienting but disturbing.
It was after ten and The Store was closed. He'd expected to see a few stragglers, the cars of some late-working employees in the parking lot, but everyone must have bailed instantly because his was the only vehicle on the wide expanse of asphalt.
He slowed the car as he drove toward the glass doors of the entrance.
Inside, the building was fully lit, a lengthening parallelogram of light spilling onto the empty parking lot. Despite the absence of other vehicles, he thought he could see movement inside The Store, the silhouettes of several figures, and though the night and the darkness and The Store and the town all conspired to send a chill down his spine, he continued forward slowly.
This close, he could see a figure through the glass, standing on the other side of the door, waving at him.
The figure looked familiar, and at first he couldn't place why.
Then he turned the car slightly to the left and his headlights illuminated the face of the form.
Jed McGill.
He sucked in his breath, terror blooming full-fledged within him.
In his lights, the figure grinned.
Jed McGill.
It couldn't be.
But he didn't want to know for sure, and he sped by, turned around, drove back out onto the highway and to the gas station, where he filled up the tank.
He was still shaking when he arrived back at their room, but Ginny was in the shower and Shannon was asleep, and he quickly locked the door, turned off the lights, took off his clothes, and crawled into bed.
They left early the next morning, well before dawn, and while he tried not to think about what he'd seen last night, tried not to think about The Store at all, they had to pass it on their way out of town, and as the buildings gave way to desert, his headlights played across a series of billboards posted by the side of the road:
THE STORE WANTS YOU
NEW MEXICO IS STORE COUNTRY
ASK NOT WHAT THE STORE CAN DO FOR YOU
BUT WHAT YOU CAN DO FOR THE STORE
None of them mentioned the billboards. Or The Store. They drove through the predawn desert in silence.
That night and the next were spent at a Best Western in White's City, near the entrance of the national park. They took all the tours, went on all the trails, but even with a day between Encantada and Carlsbad, he could not enjoy the caverns. None of them could. The caves were beautiful, spectacular, truly a natural wonder, but The Store remained in his mind, and he could not keep from thinking, irrationally, that everyone in Juniper would be wearing Store uniforms when they returned.
They skipped the scenic route home the next day, took major highways, and arrived in Juniper long after dark, tired and hungry.
"We'll unpack tomorrow," he said, getting out of the car. "Just leave it."
The house lights were all off, so Sam was either out or asleep, and Bill took out his house key as he trudged across the dirt up to the front door. There was a piece of paper attached to the door, but he couldn't read it in the dark and he opened the door and flipped on both the living room and porch lights.
It was a note.
Written on The Store's letterhead.
Heart thumping, he pulled out the tack holding up the paper and read:
NOTICE:
Shannon Davis, you have been transferred out of The Store's Garden department and are hereby ordered to report for duty in Housewares at 6:00 A.M.
Tuesday morning. By order of The Store, your vacation is officially over.
It was signed by Samantha M. Davis, Assistant Manager.
"Look's like Sam's been promoted," Ginny said.
Bill didn't respond. Neither did Shannon.
They walked into the house, closing the door behind them.
TWENTY-SIX
1
Monday morning. Shannon was up before they were, waiting for them in silence on the couch in the living room, no stereo on, no radio, no TV.
"Mom?" she said. "Dad?"
Ginny looked over at Bill. He hadn't slept well, and it showed. His face was wan, his eyes red and puffy. He met her gaze, nodded, and they sat down on the love seat across from the couch.
"What is it?" Ginny asked softly.
Shannon wouldn't meet their eyes, would only look at her hands, which were twisting an already shredded Kleenex in her lap. "I don't want to work at The Store anymore."
Ginny was filled with a powerful sense of relief.
"Thank God," Bill said.
"But I don't know how to quit." She looked up at them for the first time.
"I'm afraid to quit."
"There's nothing to be afraid of --" Bill began.
"Yes, there is," Shannon said. "We all know there is."
"What I mean is that I'll go in with you, if you want. We'll both go in and tell them that you're quitting."
"I have a better idea," Ginny said.
They both turned to look at her.
"We let Sam do it for you."
Bill was already shaking his head.
"She's assistant manager now."
Shannon was nodding
excitedly. "She got me the job. Now she can get me out of it. She's the one who wrote the notice, anyway."
"Let me talk to her," Ginny told Bill.
Samantha had come home late last night, after they'd gone to bed, and she was still locked in her room, sleeping.
"I'll wake her up," Bill offered.
"No," Ginny said. "Let her sleep."
His jaw grew tense. "I'm not going to tiptoe around my own house, kowtowing to my daughter because she works for The Store. We're still the parents in this household. They're still the children."
"I know that," Ginny said patiently. "We all know that. And if you'd gotten a decent night's sleep, you'd know it, too. But since Sam is in a position to help her sister, I think it would be a good idea if we talk to her when she's in a positive mood."
"Fine," Bill sighed. He turned toward Shannon. "But if it's a no-go, I'll still go down with you to talk to that Mr. Lamb. If you need moral support, I'll be there."
"Thanks, Dad."
He got up, walked over to the couch, kissed her on the forehead. "And I'm happy you decided to quit," he said. "You make me proud."
Ginny decided to talk to Sam without Bill present. He'd only get angry, aggravate the situation, cause problems. She told him that, and he agreed reluctantly -- so she waited until he was safely ensconced in his office, playing with his computer, before collaring Samantha.
Shannon was in her bedroom, waiting, and Ginny gathered both girls together in the living room, sitting them down on the couch.
She came right out and said it: "Sam, your sister wants to quit. She doesn't want to work at The Store anymore."
Samantha's face tightened, her expression hardening. "She can't quit. She starts in Housewares tomorrow morning. I got her that job."
Shannon would not look at her sister. "I don't want it," she said quietly.
"Well, you've got it. I pulled a lot of strings to get it for you."
Ginny watched Shannon's face, saw an expression there she had never seen before and couldn't decipher. "You can't force your sister to work if she doesn't want to," she told Samantha.
"She was hired to work through October."
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