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The
generator
's
roar
muted
a
little
as
the
line
shuffled
forward
.
Norton
and
I
made
desultory
conversation
,
skirting
around
the
ugly
property
dispute
that
had
landed
us
in
district
court
and
sticking
with
things
like
the
Red
Sox
's
chances
and
the
weather
.
At
last
we
exhausted
our
little
store
of
small
talk
and
fell
silent
.
Billy
fidgeted
beside
me
.
The
line
crawled
along
.
Now
we
had
frozen
dinners
on
our
right
and
the
more
expensive
wines
and
champagnes
on
our
left
.
As
the
line
progressed
down
to
the
cheaper
wines
,
I
toyed
briefly
with
the
idea
of
picking
up
a
bottle
of
Ripple
,
the
wine
of
my
flaming
youth
.
I
did
n't
do
it
.
My
youth
never
flamed
that
much
anyway
.
"
Jeez
,
why
ca
n't
they
hurry
up
,
Dad
?
"
Billy
asked
.
That
pinched
look
was
still
on
his
face
,
and
suddenly
,
briefly
,
the
mist
of
disquiet
that
had
settled
over
me
rifted
,
and
something
terrible
peered
through
from
the
other
side-the
bright
and
metallic
face
of
terror
.
Then
it
passed
.
"
Keep
cool
,
champ
,
"
I
said
.
We
had
made
it
up
to
the
bread
racks-to
the
point
where
the
double
line
bent
to
the
left
.
We
could
see
the
checkout
lanes
now
,
the
two
that
were
open
and
the
other
four
,
deserted
,
each
with
a
little
sign
on
the
stationary
conveyor
belt
,
signs
that
read
PLEASE
CHOOSE
ANOTHER
LANE
and
WINSTON
.
Beyond
the
lanes
was
the
big
sectioned
plate-glass
window
which
gave
a
view
of
the
parking
lot
and
the
intersection
of
Routes
117
and
302
beyond
.
The
view
was
partially
obscured
by
the
white-paper
backs
of
signs
advertising
current
specials
and
the
latest
giveaway
,
which
happened
to
be
a
set
of
books
called
The
Mother
Nature
Encyclopedia
.
We
were
in
the
line
that
would
eventually
lead
us
to
the
checkout
where
Bud
Brown
was
standing
.
There
were
still
maybe
thirty
people
in
front
of
us
.
The
easiest
one
to
pick
out
was
Mrs.
Carmody
,
in
her
blazing-yellow
pantsuit
.
She
looked
like
an
advertisement
for
yellow
fever
.
Suddenly
a
shrieking
noise
began
in
the
distance
.
It
quickly
built
up
in
volume
and
resolved
itself
into
the
crazy
warble
of
a
police
siren
.
A
horn
blared
at
the
intersection
and
there
was
a
shriek
of
brakes
and
burning
rubber
.
I
could
n't
see
-
the
angle
was
all
wrong-but
the
siren
reached
its
loudest
as
it
approached
the
market
and
then
began
to
fade
as
the
police
car
went
past
.
A
few
people
broke
out
of
line
to
look
,
but
not
many
.
They
had
waited
too
long
to
chance
losing
their
places
.
Norton
went
;
his
stuff
was
tucked
into
my
cart
.
After
a
few
moments
he
came
back
and
got
into
line
again
.
"
Local
fuzz
,
"
he
said
.
Then
the
town
fire
whistle
began
to
wail
,
slowly
cranking
up
to
a
shriek
of
its
own
,
falling
off
,
then
rising
again
.
Billy
grabbed
my
hand-clutched
it
.
"
What
is
it
,
Daddy
?
"
he
asked
,
and
then
,
immediately
:
"
Is
Mommy
all
right
?
"
"
Must
be
a
fire
on
the
Kansas
Road
,
"
Norton
said
.
