nobody’s getting out of this state alive.”
Reed could have been watching a movie of his younger self. Dalton and Dana were always testing him, whining. He didn’t know what to do except play the stern father.
The man munched his sandwich. He had sandy hair and a thin mustache. The wife had straight bleached-blond hair pulled back severely above her ears and tied in back with a purple elastic ruffle. She drank some Coke, blotted her lips, then reached for her husband’s head. She leaned toward him, kissed him on the cheek, and resumed eating. Glenda never did anything like that, Reed thought. The man chomped a large hunk from his sandwich. The kids bounced in their seats, flailing as if they were listening to built-in CD players.
The way the wife kissed her husband touched Reed, that she would put up with the guy in spite of his ill temper and his need to assert his power over his family. She was trying to calm him down so he would be less of a jerk.
Reed finished his calzone and threw the trash into a bin. The calzone hit his stomach hard. He wondered if colonic irrigation would help him. Burl swore by it—not that Burl had tried it, but he knew a guy who had tried it after a consultant told him he was going to die from dirty entrails. The guy felt like a new person, Burl reported. Here at the mall, Reed always felt he needed a cleansing.
Where was Julia? She had said one o’clock, but she was not here.
He was going to see Julia. The fact hadn’t quite registered. He had wolfed his lunch mechanically, in a daze. She had finally called and agreed to see him, but she had a biology class and offered to pick him up at the mall so they could go for a drive in her new car. He didn’t follow her elaborate reasoning for meeting him at the mall. He wondered if she meant to avoid his house—with his receptive, springy beauty-sleep mattress waiting—because she was afraid to get involved with him again.
He waited for a few minutes, and then he heard his name being paged on the P.A. system. His intestines flipped and twisted as he searched for the customer-service kiosk, where he received her message on a note. “Julia will meet you at the west entrance at 1:15.”
Relieved, he sat on a bench by the fountain. Teenaged girls—with melanomic suntans already—promenaded past in skimpy dresses and shorts, and boys with skinny, sunken frames slouched along with them. When he was a teenager, kids didn’t go shopping on dates. But now boys took their girlfriends to the mall—to show them off; the girls wanted to try on clothes to see how their boyfriends would like them. When he was a boy he liked to stomp around outdoors. He wanted a motorcycle. And he wanted girls to stick on the bike behind him.
At one-ten he went out the door into a spirited rain and dashed down the sidewalk to the west entrance. Under the canopy that extended alongside the building, he waited, shaking the rain from his thin shirt and watching for Julia to pull up in her car. She hadn’t told him what kind of car she had bought, and he found it odd that she wanted him to see it.
At the Live Bait machine beside him, an auburn-haired woman in shiny black pants was trying to feed a five-dollar bill into the machine, but it kept rejecting the money. Her car was idling at the curb.
“It gets wet and keeps coming back,” she said with a frown.
Reed said, “In this rain, I bet you could find some worms in your backyard.”
“I don’t have time to dig worms,” she said. “I have to host a turtle-burger party tonight, so I wanted to get the bait now and be ready to go fishing when the sun comes up.”
Reed and the redhead, who was obliquely attractive, stood in the rain, yakking about bait. He was so glad about Julia that he was rippling with anxious, friendly feeling. He was about to jump out of his skin. Turtle burger? He’d have to think about that one. The woman tried inserting the bill again. The machine had a sign: “Our live bait is
Reed could have been watching a movie of his younger self. Dalton and Dana were always testing him, whining. He didn’t know what to do except play the stern father.
The man munched his sandwich. He had sandy hair and a thin mustache. The wife had straight bleached-blond hair pulled back severely above her ears and tied in back with a purple elastic ruffle. She drank some Coke, blotted her lips, then reached for her husband’s head. She leaned toward him, kissed him on the cheek, and resumed eating. Glenda never did anything like that, Reed thought. The man chomped a large hunk from his sandwich. The kids bounced in their seats, flailing as if they were listening to built-in CD players.
The way the wife kissed her husband touched Reed, that she would put up with the guy in spite of his ill temper and his need to assert his power over his family. She was trying to calm him down so he would be less of a jerk.
Reed finished his calzone and threw the trash into a bin. The calzone hit his stomach hard. He wondered if colonic irrigation would help him. Burl swore by it—not that Burl had tried it, but he knew a guy who had tried it after a consultant told him he was going to die from dirty entrails. The guy felt like a new person, Burl reported. Here at the mall, Reed always felt he needed a cleansing.
Where was Julia? She had said one o’clock, but she was not here.
He was going to see Julia. The fact hadn’t quite registered. He had wolfed his lunch mechanically, in a daze. She had finally called and agreed to see him, but she had a biology class and offered to pick him up at the mall so they could go for a drive in her new car. He didn’t follow her elaborate reasoning for meeting him at the mall. He wondered if she meant to avoid his house—with his receptive, springy beauty-sleep mattress waiting—because she was afraid to get involved with him again.
He waited for a few minutes, and then he heard his name being paged on the P.A. system. His intestines flipped and twisted as he searched for the customer-service kiosk, where he received her message on a note. “Julia will meet you at the west entrance at 1:15.”
Relieved, he sat on a bench by the fountain. Teenaged girls—with melanomic suntans already—promenaded past in skimpy dresses and shorts, and boys with skinny, sunken frames slouched along with them. When he was a teenager, kids didn’t go shopping on dates. But now boys took their girlfriends to the mall—to show them off; the girls wanted to try on clothes to see how their boyfriends would like them. When he was a boy he liked to stomp around outdoors. He wanted a motorcycle. And he wanted girls to stick on the bike behind him.
At one-ten he went out the door into a spirited rain and dashed down the sidewalk to the west entrance. Under the canopy that extended alongside the building, he waited, shaking the rain from his thin shirt and watching for Julia to pull up in her car. She hadn’t told him what kind of car she had bought, and he found it odd that she wanted him to see it.
At the Live Bait machine beside him, an auburn-haired woman in shiny black pants was trying to feed a five-dollar bill into the machine, but it kept rejecting the money. Her car was idling at the curb.
“It gets wet and keeps coming back,” she said with a frown.
Reed said, “In this rain, I bet you could find some worms in your backyard.”
“I don’t have time to dig worms,” she said. “I have to host a turtle-burger party tonight, so I wanted to get the bait now and be ready to go fishing when the sun comes up.”
Reed and the redhead, who was obliquely attractive, stood in the rain, yakking about bait. He was so glad about Julia that he was rippling with anxious, friendly feeling. He was about to jump out of his skin. Turtle burger? He’d have to think about that one. The woman tried inserting the bill again. The machine had a sign: “Our live bait is
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