The flashlight had broken. Maybe Kaley had broken it on purpose. It was hard to say. Toby didn’t want her down there in the pitch dark, so he had to go back to the used hardware store. Kaley wasn’t coming around to Toby, but she did seem to be considering the idea that the masked figure that tended to her was as much a victim in this as she. It was undeniable that Toby was her servant. When he bathed her, his eyes averted, it was clear that hers was the position of strength.
Toby went into the store and grabbed a flashlight at random from the bin. His mouth still felt numb, hours later, from kissing Shelby. The nothing her mouth had tasted like had gotten into Toby’s mouth. He had no appetite.
When he got to the counter the old lady said, “You’re in the very early stages of becoming a regular. You’re meaning to become a regular and get special treatment and have me know your name.”
Her grandbaby was with her again, standing back there behind the counter. A disposable camera hung around the child’s neck. Her eyes were closed.
The old woman held a bowl of candy out toward Toby and he declined.
“That’s smart,” she said. “No candy from strangers. You’re not a regular yet. We’re still strangers.”
“I’m not big on candy,” Toby said. “I’m not a candy person.”
“See that?” She was addressing her grandbaby now, who reluctantly opened her eyes. “You could learn something. He knows enough to turn down strange candy and he knows enough to make a polite excuse when he does it.”
Later that week, Shelby skipped school again. She didn’t want to go to school and she didn’t want to sit in her house. She ordered a cab and waited on the front steps, staring as a hulking bay tree dropped its white bulbs and they parachuted down. Another floated down, and another, until a big crow plopped down in the yard and Shelby saw the cab at the end of the drive, its dust settling. The driver had done a turn and had the car facing the main road. The car was about a hundred feet long and had no hubcaps.
Shelby got in the back seat and told the driver she wanted to go to the Crystal River Outlet Mall. He didn’t have a meter. He had a laminated chart full of starting points and destinations. Shelby’s ride was $23, one way.
“I suppose you need me to wait while you’re in there,” the driver said. “You need a ride home.”
Shelby nodded at the mirror.
She was headed to the mall, she decided, to search for a present for Toby. She had $300 from years of birthdays and holidays and she was tired of saving it. She wanted to buy an item priced around $200. That, plus the cab, plus lunch at the food court, would pretty much rid her of her money.
Shelby gazed out her window at the ponds, the smug vultures.
“Look at those pitiful creatures,” the driver said.
“The vultures?”
“The cows, if you want to call them cows. Have you ever been to Ireland? The cows are like elephants.”
Shelby nodded, aware that the driver could not see her doing so.
“It’s a whole different world over there. The green grass goes right to the ocean. The farmers wear sweaters. The women smile and talk to you.”
Shelby traced the stitching in the seat with her finger.
“In this country, if you hold the door open for a woman, she just brushes by. Over there, they look you in the eyes and say ‘Cheers.’ They touch you on the arm.”
They passed a sprawling lot that sold pickup truck toppers and then the roadsides became undeveloped, jungle-like. Shelby wished the driver would be quiet, but he went on and on about Ireland until his long car rocked to a stop in the parking lot of the mall. He sank into his seat and tuned into a talk radio program on which everyone was laughing caustically.
Shelby followed a tile walkway through JCPenney and found the mall proper. Jovial organ music was piping in. A calendar kiosk. Shelby came to a stop. The kiosk had no attendant. Most of the calendars Shelby saw seemed good to buy as a joke — pro wrestlers, soap stars. The company that made the calendars depended on people buying them as a joke. And then there were puppies and wineries and one of foreign city scenes — colorful doors and bicycles and fountains. There were no pictures from Iceland. That was why Aunt Dale lived there. It wasn’t a nation that had its photograph taken for silly calendars that ended up in a second-rate mall in Citrus County, Florida. There was no silliness in Iceland.
Shelby walked on until she ran up against a stout, venerable odor. The scent was at once inviting and sickening. Shelby took a few blind steps into the shop and found herself in a maze of glass cases. There were cigarettes from many countries, pipes, ashtrays carved from marble. Toby didn’t smoke, as far as Shelby knew. Maybe he should, though. She could encourage him to take it up. She could show him she wasn’t somebody he had to be careful with. She wanted the Toby she’d first known, the alarming Toby. She wasn’t getting that anymore. If she could get the genuine Toby, then she could be the genuine Shelby. And why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t they let their guards down and just be with one another? Shelby could go with Toby on all his interminable walks. He could carry a pipe and Shelby could carry matches and the two of them could carve a place for themselves in the Florida afternoons. Shelby went near the register and the clerk poked his head through a wall of displays and said, “No way.”
He was a small man who wore loose clothing. “Don’t bother with a fake ID,” he said. “I’ve seen them all.”
“I don’t smoke,” Shelby said.
The clerk withdrew his head, disappearing behind the cases. “I used to pretend I couldn’t tell the IDs were fake, but they changed the law. I had to sit through a seminar.”
Shelby looked at her reflection in one of the cases. “I don’t have a fake ID to show you. I don’t even have a real ID.”
The clerk sniffed.
“How much is this humidor?” asked Shelby.
“With the green trim? Two-twenty.”
“Really?” said Shelby.
“If you have your parents’ credit card, I can’t accept it. You could have stolen it. The charges will be unauthorized.”
Shelby didn’t get the feeling the clerk was doing anything in particular that was keeping him hidden in his fortress of cases. He was back there picking at his sweater.
“I have cash,” Shelby told him. “I have a pair of hundred-dollar bills and then another hundred bucks in smaller denominations. It’s rolled up in my pocket.”
“I cannot sell you that item. It comes with sample cigars; they have to be sold together, per the manufacturer.”
“This isn’t an easy store to shop at,” Shelby said.
“Not an easy store to own.”
Shelby left. She walked the remainder of the mall, her determination melting off like Florida frost. It was a silly notion, she supposed, that you could communicate something important through a gift from the outlet mall. There were pet stores and stores that sold suits and a store full of pianos, and Shelby didn’t want to step foot in any of them. She crossed over to the food court, where she ate a frozen yogurt, listening to a shoe salesman dole out compliments to a woman who did people’s nails. Shelby didn’t want to be in the mall for another minute. The mall couldn’t help Shelby. Her mother and her sister were gone and her father was broken and the boy she liked was afraid of her. Shopping wasn’t an answer.
Shelby went back through JC Penney and out into the parking lot. The cab was still there, the driver slumped behind the wheel. Shelby hopped in the back and pressed her legs down onto the warm vinyl seat and the driver sat up straight and got them speeding down Route 19, wind whipping in the window. Shelby turned her face to the fresh air and shut her eyes, but soon enough the driver was at it again — roasted lamb, beer with character. Again with the women.