"I don't think you --"
"I already turned in the application. If you won't help me, fine. But I'm going to get a job here."
"You already turned it in?"
"Yeah."
Sam took a deep breath, and a look of -- what? fear? -- passed over her face. "Okay, I'll take care of it," she said.
"Take care of what?"
"There are tests and things you're supposed to go through before you get hired, but I'll see if I can get you out of it. I . . . think I can."
Shannon nodded. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.
Sam looked sick, almost physically ill. "Go home," she said. "They shouldn't see us together."
"Why?"
"Just go. I'll . . . talk to some people, and I'll tell you what happens tonight." She smiled, but her smile was forced, closer to a grimace, and once again, Shannon thought of Mindy.
_It's built with blood_.
She looked at her sister. "Thanks," she said again.
Sam nodded.
Shannon walked back through The Store toward the entrance, feeling uneasy but not knowing why.
Her mom was already home by the time she arrived back at the house. She was sorting through a pile of papers and mimeograph sheets on the coffee table in the living room, but she looked up as Shannon walked in. "Your father said you were out job-hunting."
"Yeah."
"Where did you apply?" her mom asked.
"Where didn't I apply?" she lied.
"Any luck?"
Shannon shrugged. "I don't know. There don't seem to be too many places looking for help right now."
"Summer school starts on Monday. I could use an aide."
Shannon snorted derisively.
"Ten bucks a week. And it'll look good on your resume for college."
"We'll see. If I don't get a job, maybe I'll do it."
Samantha arrived home late. She walked directly into her sister's room and shut the door behind her. "You're hired," she said. "Report tomorrow. Ten o'clock. Mr. Lamb."
"Thanks."
Sam nodded.
She looked tired, Shannon thought. And pale. Sick. "Are you all right?" she asked "I'm fine," Samantha snapped.
"Just asking."
"What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?"
"I'll think of something."
"Just leave me out of it."
"Okay." Shannon watched her sister turn and walk silently out of the room.
A few moments later, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. She considered telling her parents that she'd gotten a job -- she had to tell them, since she started work tomorrow -- but she didn't know what to say and needed some time to come up with a plan.
They'd freak if they knew she'd be working at The Store.
Shannon lay on her bed, reading a magazine, and after Sam finished with her shower, she waited another ten minutes for the steam to clear out of the bathroom, then went in to take her own bath.
She pulled up the metal knob that plugged the drain and began running the water, testing it first with her fingers to make sure the temperature was okay.
She undressed, opened the hamper to toss in her shirt and jeans, and saw Sam's panties lying on top of the other clothes. They were spotted with blood, and though at first Shannon thought nothing of it, she realized seconds later that her sister's period was not due for another few weeks.
Shannon paused. She thought of how worn out and sickly Sam had seemed tonight, and she considered asking her about it, seeing if anything was the matter, but she simply stared down at the bloody cotton underwear for a few moments, then threw in her own clothes, let the lid of the hamper fall, and stepped into the tub, sinking into the water.
She told her parents after her bath.
They were seated on the couch, watching TV, and she walked into the living room and stood before them. She'd considered just coming out and telling them the truth, considered easing them into the truth, but finally decided that the best course of action, the only course of action in this instance, was to lie.
"I got a job," she said.
Her mom smiled. "That's great. Where?"
"When did you find out?" her dad asked. His voice was serious, not supportive, and she detected the beginnings of a frown on his face.
"Just now."
"How?"
"They called," she told him.
"I didn't hear the phone ring."
"It rang. I answered it. I got the job."
"Where?" her mom repeated.
"Yes," her dad said. "Where?"
Was that suspicion she saw on his features? She swallowed hard, tried to smile. "George's," she lied. "The hamburger stand."
Mr. Lamb was waiting for her the next morning by the Customer Service desk. She'd carpooled in with Sam, and she was a half hour early for her appointment, but Mr. Lamb was waiting for her anyway, and he smiled as he shook her hand. His skin was cool to the touch, his smile cold, and she wished Sam had stayed with her as the personnel manager began giving her a brief description of her duties. He paused in his prepared speech, as if reading her mind. "Yes," he said. "You're very lucky to have a sister like Samantha. She's quite a woman."
His smile broadened. "Quite a woman."
Shannon felt chilled. She should've listened to Sam and her parents, she thought. She should not have applied for a job here.
This was a mistake.
Suddenly, a summer of lying on her bed, reading magazines and listening to the radio, seemed pleasant rather than boring, seemed like what she should be doing with her time, and for a brief second she considered turning down the job, quitting, getting out of here.
But Mr. Lamb was now leading her out of the Customer Service area, taking her on a tour of The Store, and it was too late. The chance had passed.
Too late?
Why was it too late?
She didn't know, but it was, and she followed him down the aisles, through the departments, as he explained the layout and operation of The Store.
Her panic passed, her uneasiness disappearing as quickly as it had come.
Mr. Lamb showed her the break room, the locker room, took her through a stockroom, led her into a room lined with video screens in which Jake and his fellow security men monitored the building.
Jake, thank God, wasn't there.
She wondered what she'd do if she ran into Jake in the break room or something. How would she handle it? She tried to tell herself that the fact that Jake worked at The Store was another reason that she shouldn't have applied here, but she knew deep down that he was one of the reasons she had. Despite what she told people, despite what she pretended, somewhere in the back of her mind was the thought that they might get back together again.
Mr. Lamb was definitely a weirdo, but the initial chill she'd felt in his presence was gone, and the deeper into the building they went -- Mr. Lamb introducing her to other, smiling employees along the way -- the more comfortable she felt about The Store. She could work in this place. She could fit in here.
They took a small elevator downstairs, to a concrete-lined hallway that looked like a bunker, and he showed her a conference room and a training room and then stopped before an arched doorway with gilt-edged trim.
"Here," he said, "is the chapel."
Shannon glanced through the doorway, into the room. For a brief second, the coldness returned. Pews were arranged in rows, scented candles burned in twin alcoves in the side walls, but instead of a pulpit or altar at the front of the chapel there was a huge portrait of Newman King, lined with red velvet.
"This is where the department managers hold their meetings each morning.
Before the store opens, they pray to Mr. King that we will have a profitable day." Pray to Mr. King?
She'd seen The Store's founder on TV, on the news, and while he was obviously a rich and powerful man, he was not a god, and the idea that the man or woman she'd be working under came in here each morning and ritualistically prayed to the painting of a millionaire creeped her out.