What's eating Gilbert Grape? by Peter Hedges Page B

flavors or types or whatever. And as I stack the cans, the image of that station wagon of hers stalled on Highway 13 flashes. I pulled over and helped her. I was cilmost seventeen and it was an easy fix, her car, and she seemed surprised that 1 could fix things, and I was surprised that a woman who'd seemed so uninteresting to me before could suddenly become so interesting. She complimented me on my skill and 1 replied—innocently, I might add—that I had always been pretty good with my hands. She said I was "adept," and 1 said 1 didn't know what that meant, and she said 1 should look it up in the dictionary, and 1 said I'm not interested in looking up things, that if you have to look it up then what is the point, and she said that she would be happy to teach me.
    "Gilbert?"
    Mr. Lamson is standing next to me. I listen without looking. My sights are on the soup cans.
    "Between you and me . . . ?"
    "Yes, sir?"
    "Man to man?"
    Sensing his concern, I stop with the cans and turn his way. I look him in the eye and cilmost succeed in ignoring the Band-Aid that holds his broken glasses together.
    "It's those goddamned lobster tanks, isn't it?"
    "I think so, sir. " How did he know that I knew?
    "Crap."
    "Sir, it's just a fad. How long can lobsters in a tank be inter-

    PETER HEDGES
    esting? Flash and pizzazz and neon are but passing fancies. There will be a resurgence of simple dignity."
    "You think?"
    "Yes, sir. You and your way. It— we will prevail."
    "You sound any more hopeful, Gilbert, I'll begin to think I'm talking to the ghost of your father. '
    I want to say, "I've never missed having a father, because of you," but I stay quiet.
    He whispers back to me, "Let's keep those lobster tanks between us. It would break Mother's heart."
    "I won't say a thing."
    It's later now and I've moved on to the coffee cans. As I zip along, I review the sequence of Mrs. Betty Carver in my life.
    It was the summer after I graduated high school. The Carver family was in the checkout line and the boys were just babies. Mr. Carver was saying something to his wife about not buying candy. "Candy is bad for your teeth and why would you want to damage your wonderful teeth?" I was doing something, listening rather than working, and Mr. Lamson was ringing up their purchases. I was back by the metal stockroom door that swings, and Mrs. Carver walked right up to me, holding her newborn baby in one arm and a pound of bacon in the other. She said, "Gilbert?" I said, "May I help you, ma'am?" She spoke softly because there were other shoppers. "Forget it," she said. "No, what?" I said. Her baby was dribbling on her nice breasts. I remember her words exactly. "Gilbert, will you come ..." She swallowed. Her voice was shaky. "Ken works most days and I can drop the boys off at a sitter. Will you come see me some time?" Mr. Carver called from the cash register. "You coming, honey?" She said, "Just a second," and continued whispering to me. "Come by Tuesday. 1 know that's your day off. Can I expect you?" 1 remember wondering how she knew when my day off was and why she was looking at me in this new way, this eager way. All of a sudden I said, "Yes," without thinking. She looked deep into my eyes, deeper than anyone ever had, to see if I was telling the truth. "I hope you'll be there," she

    What's Eating Gilbert Grape
    said. Mr. Carver called again, "Honey, what are you doing?" While holding the drooling child, she exchanged one package of bacon for another and said loudly, "Tm looking for some better bacon!" The cash register was still ringing when Mr. Carver, who always speaks louder than he needs, said, "What's wrong with what we've already got?"
    I've finished pricing the coffee. I move on to the pickles. "Aren't pickle prices higher than this?"
    "Maybe at Food Land, Gilbert. Not here. We've always had a reasonable deal on pickles."
    That is an understatement.
    I'm fast at pricing foods. I do the work that three or four of those high school puberty types do at