11

Saturday opened like a huge sunflower, all yellow and green. It was a day to spend carefully, like hard-earned money. Which was what none of them had.

Audrey and Fex were cold stone broke. They stood on the corner, discussing plans.

Then, in her cool way, Audrey said, “Let’s go see Angie.”

Angie was there, as usual. Behind the cash register, guarding the money, keeping a wary eye out for shoplifters.

“How’s it going?” Fex said to her. “How ya doing?”

She considered this. “You know what the definition of a bore is, right? It’s somebody who, when you ask ’em how they’re doing, they tell you. So I’m gonna tell you. My feet hurt, the mortgage is due, my mother-in-law is coming to live with us, and the cat just had kittens. Outside of that, everything’s hunky-dory.” She threw back her head and laughed. Her glasses flew off. “Uh-oh,” she said, bending down to pick them up. Miraculously, they hadn’t broken.

“What’re you gonna do?” Angie said. She dusted off her glasses and put them back on.

Once, long ago, Angie had left Fex in charge of the store while she ran across the street to the bakery. She liked the doughnuts they made there better than the ones she sold, she said. Fex had crossed his arms on his chest and stood his vigil, ready to fight anyone who tried to rob the joint. No one had, no one had even come in to buy anything, but how did he know that? He’d felt like the Incredible Hulk standing there, muscles bulging, prepared for the worst.

In payment Angie had given him a free Coke and a bag of Fritos. Nothing he’d eaten before or since had ever tasted sweeter.

“How’s your husband?” Fex asked Angie. He’d forgotten to ask the other day when they’d had their obsession talk.

“Legs aren’t what they used to be,” Angie said. “He runs out of steam early on. Hits the sack about nine, ten o’clock. Doesn’t even go bowling any more. And him a young man still, sixty-four in July.” She shook her head. “But he’s alive. You count your blessings, right?”

They nodded in agreement. The door opened and Mr. Soderstrom came in, trailed by Charlie.

“Fex.” Mr. Soderstrom bowed in his direction, his vast beard fanning out over his shirtfront. “Just the fellow I was looking for. Could you manage to look after this young man”—his huge hand rested lightly on Charlie’s head, the thick fingers hanging down on Charlie’s forehead like some weird sort of hat—“next Saturday? Company wedding. Fancy dress affair. Mrs. S. says we must go.”

“Sure, be glad to,” Fex said.

“Hi, Fex.” Charlie played it smooth, acting as if he came to the general store every day of his life.

“Hi, Charlie.” Fex played it just as cool.

Mr. Soderstrom was almost entirely bald except for his luxuriant beard, which, Fex had noticed, collected all sorts of things: tobacco, cookie crumbs, bits and pieces of potato chips, of which he was fond. If some small creature ever got caught inside Mr. Soderstrom’s beard, Fex thought, it could probably survive for a long time, eating the stuff that collected there. He could almost see the small face peering out, nose twitching, as it caught the thousands of crumbs that daily filtered through. He imagined Mr. Soderstrom kissing Mrs. S.—as he called his wife—and having the creature pop out, sending her screaming, the daylights scared out of her. She’d never kiss him again without checking his beard first.

“Peat moss,” Mr. Soderstrom muttered. “You have peat moss?”

“Twenty-five-pound bags,” Angie said. “In the back. Four-fifty per.”

Mr. Soderstrom reared back as if she’d struck him. “Four-fifty!” he roared.

Angie shrugged. “Everything’s gone up,” she said.

Sighing loudly, talking to himself, Mr. Soderstrom lugged a bag of peat moss to the cash register.

Angie rang it up. “Add the gum to your bill?” she asked.

“Gum? Gum? I didn’t buy any gum!”

Angie pointed to Charlie, who had filched a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint and was passing out sticks like Santa Claus handing out presents.

“The kid’s lightfingered,” Mr. Soderstrom grumbled. “Takes after my wife’s brother.” Then he felt the need to repeat himself. “My wife’s brother!” he roared, in case anyone had missed it.

After the noise had died down, Angie pointed to Charlie and said, “I hardly recognized him, he got so big.”

“They grow up too fast,” Mr. Soderstrom said gloomily. He’d confided to Fex that he had two teenaged children from his first marriage. “Like ’em better when they’re young,” he’d said. “If I could, I’d freeze this fellow right where he is now. Four’s a wonderful age. He thinks I’m great, I think he’s great. They grow up, they start finding fault with the old man.”

He shouldered the bag of peat moss. “Oh, they grow up too fast,” he repeated, shaking his head ruefully.

“Want some help?” Fex asked.

“Oh, I’m not over the hill yet, my boy!” he cried. “Not by a long shot. Come on, Charlie. Get a move on. See you Saturday, Fex. Mrs. S. will let you know what time.”

“So long,” Charlie said, deftly slipping another pack of Wrigley’s spearmint into his pocket.

Angie lifted her shoulders.

“What’re you gonna do?” she said.