The Store

by Bentley Little

  See if I get any response."

  "Yeah," Bill said slowly. "I could help you do that."

  "What if I write out what I want to say? Could you send that out on the Internet for me?"

  "Sure, but do you really want to do that right now? Why don't you wait, try to stick it out, see what happens. The people of Juniper may surprise you.

  They might rally around the cafй. It could even be good for your business.

  Things might really pick up once everyone knows what's going on."

  Williamson sighed. "Times have changed, son. Everyone today is so fragmented. This isn't a country anymore. It's a collection of tribes, all competing with each other for jobs, money, media attention. When I was young, we were all Americans. Back then, we did what we had to, or what we could, to make this a better nation. We did what was right, what was moral. Now people do what's expedient, what's 'economically feasible.' " He shook his head. "Used to be, we cared about our community. We were willing to do what it took to make this a better place to live. Now all anyone cares about is how much it costs."

  He met Bill's eyes. "No one gives a shit about preserving our town, our community, our way of life. All they care about is saving a few bucks so they can afford to buy their kids the latest name-brand tennis shoe. It's a nice thought, but no one's going to 'rally around' the cafй. That's just not going to happen."

  He finished off the last of his coffee. "That's why I'm getting out now.

  While I still can."

  4

  Six inches of snow fell in a storm that hit on President's Day, and it was another twenty-four hours before the plow came by to clear the street. By the end of the week, however, it had all melted off, and they decided to drive to the Valley on Saturday to relax and do some shopping.

  They left early, just after dawn, stopping around eight for a breakfast of Egg McMuffins in Show Low. Ginny stared out the window of the car as they traveled, watching as the passing scenery segued from pine to cactus country, the clean lines of the forested Mogollon Rim giving way to the wilder rockiness of the desert Mazatzals. Samantha and Shannon slept in the backseat while Bill drove happily and hummed along with the radio.

  The vistas were spectacular, the canyons and mountains majestic, and, as always, Ginny felt awed and humbled. It was here, looking at the landscape, that she felt the presence of God. She had been born and raised a Catholic, had gone to mass twice a week from the time she was an infant until she went off to college, but she had never felt the inspiring exhilaration in church that she felt here, on the highway. The wondrousness and magnificence of God that she had heard about had been an intellectual abstraction for her until she had married Bill and moved to Arizona, and nothing in church had ever made her feel as religious, as profoundly touched by God, as the sight of her first desert sunrise on their honeymoon.

  That was the problem she'd had with Catholicism, its smallness, its vanity, its emphasis on self. As a girl, she was led to believe that the world revolved around _her_, that if she ate meat on Friday or didn't give up something for Lent or had a mild sexual fantasy about David Cassidy, she'd be damned for eternity. God was watching her always, ever vigilant in His study of the minutiae of her life, and she'd felt constantly under pressure, as though her every thought and movement were being continuously scrutinized.

  But as she'd gotten older, she'd discovered that she wasn't the focus of everything, she was not the fulcrum upon which the world and the church were balanced, and if she rubbed herself in the bathtub or called Theresa Robinson a bitch, Western civilization would not instantly come to an end. Indeed, she came to see herself as a minor character here on earth, barely worthy of God's attention, and she decided sometime during her high school years to simply be a good person, live a good life, and trust God to be smart enough to separate the good people from the bad once judgment day rolled around.

  It had been the land here that had reawakened the religious feelings within her. She had seen in it the glory of God, had realized once again how small were her problems and concerns in the overall scheme of things -- and how there was nothing wrong with that. It was as it should be.

  She glanced over at Bill, singing along with an old Who song, and she found herself smiling. She was lucky. She had a good husband, good kids, a good life. And she was happy.

  Bill caught her smiling at him. "What?" he said.

  She shook her head, still smiling. "Nothing."

  They arrived in the Valley shortly after eleven and drove to Fiesta Mall in Mesa, separating once they were within the air-conditioned confines of the shopping center, the girls going off on their own to clothing and music stores, she and Bill heading to the multiplex to see a movie, all of them agreeing to meet at two o'clock in front of Sears.

  The movie they watched was a romantic comedy, what Bill called a "cable movie," but everything was better on a big screen, and she was glad they'd gone to see it. Afterward, they hung out for a while at B. Dalton. She bought the latest _Vanity Fair_, and Bill picked up a new suspense novel by Phillip Emmons.

  Sam and Shannon were already waiting on a bench in front of Sears when they walked up. Shannon had bought a cassette by a currently hot rock band, a band Sam apparently hated, and the two girls were arguing loudly over musical taste.

  "Break it up," Bill said in the gruff voice of a boxing referee. He sat down between the two. "You girls're starting to draw a crowd here. If we put you in bathing suits and a hot oil pit, we could start charging admission, make a little extra cash for the family."

  "You're gross," Shannon said.

  "Yeah, well, that's my job." He took both their arms and pulled them to their feet. "Come on, kiddos, let's hit the road."

  They headed out, Ginny driving this time. The sun was setting by the time they reached Payson, and night had fallen before they hit Show Low. As usual, the girls were fast asleep in the backseat. Bill was dozing as well, his head slumped against the glass of the passenger window.

  Ginny enjoyed the time to herself. There was something comforting about being surrounded by her family and at the same time being able to be alone with her thoughts. The highway was empty and had been since they left Show Low, and the scenery, so awe-inspiring in the daytime, was hidden completely by the black cover of night, only a narrow section of the road ahead illuminated by the car's bright headlights. Here and there, off to the side, the lights of individual cabins and ranches could be seen, lone beacons in the darkness of the landscape.

  She was driving through the flat stretch of forest just before the long rise into Juniper when she noticed for the first time that they were not alone on the highway. In the rearview mirror, several miles behind, she could see the powerful headlight beams of an extraordinarily large vehicle, traveling fast, gaining quickly. Her heart rate immediately accelerated, and her first instinct was to wake up Bill, but she forced herself to remain calm and just continue driving. It was only a truck. Speeding. Not exactly a rare occurrence on an Arizona highway. But still, her initial reaction was one of fear and panic, and she understood how people living off by themselves, away from others, became jittery and frightened, ended up seeing UFOs and believing in widespread government conspiracies. There was something unnerving about contact in the wilderness, about the incongruity of seeing something where you hadn't expected to see it. Even on the highway.

  Ginny glanced down at the speedometer. She was going five miles over the speed limit, but the truck was gaining on her quickly, cutting the distance between them. She thought of _Duel_, checked in her rearview mirror. The mirror was tilted up for night driving, but still the headlights behind her seemed impossibly bright, almost painfully so, and she saw as the lights grew closer that there was not just one set of lights, not just one truck.

  Then the first truck passed her.

  It was black, pure black, both the cab and the van matching perfectly the surrounding darkness, even the windows of the cab tinted. A shiver passed through her, and she clutched the steering wheel
tightly as the enormous vehicle cut in front of her and sped down the highway into the night, only its red taillights visible.

  The next truck passed.

  And still the brightness continued behind her.

  Again, she thought of waking Bill, but something kept her from it, and she slowed the car and pulled slightly to the right as, one by one, ten speeding trucks passed illegally over the double yellow line.

  On the back door of the last truck, as it pulled in front of her, her headlights illuminated two words, shiny black against flat black: THE STORE.

  Their car was once again alone on the highway, and she exhaled deeply, realizing that she'd been holding her breath. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing unusual about the caravan, that the trucks were merely bringing merchandise to The Store, that she was just succumbing to Bill's paranoia.

  She almost made herself believe it.

  SEVEN

  1

  The entire town turned out for The Store's grand opening. Though it was a weekday, it was as if the town had declared a holiday. Several businesses were closed, construction had been suspended on more than one house, and it looked to Bill as though a lot of people had called in sick to work.

  He drove slowly up and down the rows of the parking lot, looking for an open space.

  "Just park out by the highway and we'll walk," Ginny said. "You're wasting your time. You're not going to find any spots."

  "Yeah, Dad," Shannon echoed. "We're going to be the last ones in there."

  "The Store's not going anywhere," he told them. "It'll be here all day."

  Nevertheless, he drove to the far end of the lot and into one of two adjacent open parking spaces facing the highway. Samantha and Shannon immediately opened their doors, got out of the car, and hurried toward the flag festooned building. "Later!" Shannon called.

  "Don't leave without telling us!" Ginny called after them. She smiled at Bill as she got out of the car. "Exciting day."

  "Yeah," he said.

  He pushed down the lock button on the car door, slammed it shut, and turned toward The Store. He'd started jogging along the highway again during the past month. He seemed to have been cured of his physical aversion to the construction site, and he'd begun running past the area each morning, curious about the progress of The Store and unable to stay away. He found himself watching the stages of development with a sort of morbid fascination, the same sort he'd felt toward a decomposing dog he and his friends had discovered in a vacant lot near their junior high school. He was disgusted by what he saw but powerless to look away.

  Even in _his_ mind, though, The Store was already a part of the town. An unwelcome part, but a part nevertheless. It was difficult for him to remember exactly where the hill had been, what the outcropping of rock looked like. He could see only The Store now.

  He wondered if someone somewhere had a photograph of the meadow the way it used to be.

  Probably not.

  The thought depressed him.

  "Come on," Ginny said. "You can't put it off any longer." She moved around her side of the car, took his hand, and together the two of them walked up the row of parked vehicles to The Store.

  The day was warm, unusually so for early spring, but the temperature cooled considerably as they stepped into the shadow of the building. Bill looked up as they approached. The structure was massive. He'd known it was big, but it had been impossible to get a true sense of scale from the highway.

  Here, however, in front of the building, walking up to it, Bill was daunted by its sheer size. The Store's facade was the length of a football field and nearly three stories high. There were no windows, only several sets of tinted glass doors in the otherwise uniform tan of the giant block building. It looked like a high school gymnasium on steroids. Or a bunker for a race of giants.

  Customers and curious browsers streamed from the parking lot, over the bordering sidewalk, through the automatic doors, and he and Ginny joined the crowd.

  They walked into The Store.

  Inside, the building was not intimidating at all. Rather, it was modern, friendly, and welcoming. The temperature was comfortable, the barely perceptible Muzak pleasant rather than cloying, and the silently circulating air smelled of cocoa and coffee and candy. The high white ceiling was lined with long wide light bars that clearly illuminated the entire store with a cheerful brightness that made the natural sunlight outside seem pale and faded in comparison, and the white tile floor gleamed between endless shelves fully stocked with an amazing array of products.

  An old man Bill had seen around town but didn't know smiled at them, welcomed them to The Store, and offered them a shopping cart, which Ginny took.

  They walked forward slowly, looking around. A double row of cash register stations were lined up to their left, parallel to the exit doors. Already there were people pushing shopping carts through the checkout lines, taking out checkbooks and credit cards, requesting paper bags instead of plastic from the smiling, clean-cut clerks.

  It was hard to believe that such an obviously well-stocked, state-of-the art store would choose to build in Juniper. It was even harder to believe that such a store could make money. It seemed out of place here, incongruous, like a whale in a goldfish tank, and Bill had a tough time understanding why a large corporation like The Store would place an enormous retail outlet in a town this small. The local residents were, for the most part, poor, with little or no discretionary income, and even if The Store paid only minimum wage, the overhead for a place like this had to be at least double the most optimistic sales projections.

  He didn't see how The Store could make a profit in Juniper.

  "Hey, stranger."

  He glanced over to see Ben, notebook in hand, camera slung over his shoulder.

  The editor nodded to Ginny. "Hey, Gin."

  She smiled. "Front page news, huh?"

  "Don't knock it. No news is good news, as they say, and if we're fortunate enough to live in a place where a store opening is a major news event, we're pretty damn lucky."

  Ginny touched Bill's arm. "I'm going to look at clothes. You take the cart."

  "You don't want to be interviewed for the paper?" Ben said. "I need some reactions from local shoppers."

  "Maybe later."

  The editor turned toward Bill as she walked away. "Come on. How about you?

  You don't want to make me actually work, do you? I figured I could hit up friends for quotes and not have to annoy real people."

  "Real people?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "If you really want a quote from me, I'll give you one. But I don't think it's what you want to hear."

  "You think right. The Store's our biggest advertiser now, and word came down from on high that negativity would not be appreciated in Grand Opening coverage."

  "Newtin's caving in?" Bill couldn't believe it. The publisher had always told Ben that the content of the paper was up to him, that he would not interfere with the presentation of the news or attempt to influence the paper's editorial slant.

  Ben shrugged. "It's a new dawn."

  Bill shook his head. "I never would've believed it."

  "So you don't want to lie? Give me some fake words of praise and encouragement?"

  "Sorry."

  "I'd better find some other suckers, then." He nodded. "Later."

  "Later." Bill pushed the shopping cart forward. He looked to the right, thought he saw Ginny's head above a blouse rack in the crowded women's clothing section but could not be sure. He continued forward down the center aisle, past rows of housewares, past shelves of cleaning supplies. He stopped by the book and magazine section. He was impressed by The Store's selection, he had to admit. The giant magazine rack contained not only _People_, _Newsweek_, _Time_, _Good Housekeeping_, _Vogue_, and the usual mainstream mass-market periodicals, but such obscure specialized publications as _The Paris Review_, _The New England Journal of Medicine_, and _Orchid World_. There were even copies of _Penthouse_, _Pl
ayboy_, and _Playgirl_. A first for this town. The bookshelves next to the magazine rack were stocked with works by King, Koontz, Grisham, and other best-sellers, as well as novels by Wallace Stegner, Rachel Ingalls, and Richard Ford.

  Even the music selection was impressive. He moved on to the electronics department and glanced through the CDs, finding everything from currently hot rock and rap groups to such little-known contemporary classical artists as Meredith Monk and the Illustrious Theatre Orchestra.

  He had been prepared to hate The Store -- he _wanted_ to hate The Store and he was disappointed that there was really nothing he could find to criticize or disparage. Indeed, he found himself grudgingly, against his will, having fun, enjoying his exploratory trips down the endless aisles. It was not something he would ever admit to aloud, but he actually admired The Store for what it had done here.

  He felt guilty for even entertaining such blasphemy.

  He met up again with Ben in front of the crowded espresso bar near the automatic double doors that led out back to the nursery. The editor, sipping a cafй au lait, gestured expansively about him as Bill approached. "Quite a place, here," he said. "Quite a place."

  Bill nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Quite a place."

  Ginny walked slowly, looking around her in awe, filled with a pleasant feeling that was at once immediate and comfortably nostalgic. The Store was beautiful. It was like being back in California -- only more so. Aisles stretched endlessly before her, stocked nearly to the ceiling with merchandise so new she wasn't even familiar with it.

  She remembered the first mall she'd ever been to -- Cerritos Mall -- with Ian Emerson, her boyfriend at the time. That had been like this: the size, the scope, the wonderful impressive newness of it all. Cerritos at that time had been a small dairy farming community in the middle of the Southern California sprawl, but it had taken only a few years for an entirely new city to spring up around the mall. It had been like a catalyst for change, a magnet for houses and businesses and other stores, the hub around which everything revolved. Would this be like that? Would Juniper's population suddenly explode and a rash of development sweep through the town, obliterating their quaint, rural lifestyle?