The Storage Area. Problems with the Generators. What Happened to the Bag-Boy.

           Billybegantoacthystericalandtantrummy,screamingforhismotherinahoarse,demandingwaythroughhistears,instantlyregressingtotheageoftwo.Snotwaslatheredonhisupperlip.Iledhimaway,walkingdownoneofthemiddleaisleswithmyarmaroundhisshoulders,tryingtosoothehim.Itookhimbackbythelongwhitemeatcabinetthatranthelengthofthestoreattheback.Mr.McVey,thebutcher,wasstillthere.Wenoddedateachother,thebestwecoulddounderthecircumstances.

           IsatdownonthefloorandtookBillyonmylapandheldhisfaceagainstmychestandrockedhimandtalkedtohim.Itoldhimalltheliesparentskeepinreserveforbadsituations,theonesthatsoundsodamnplausibletoachild,andItoldtheminatoneofperfectconviction.

           "That’s,notregularfog,"Billysaid.Helookedupatmehiseyesdark-circledandtear-streaked."itisn’t,isitDaddy?"

           "No,Idon’tthinkso."Ididn’twanttolieaboutthat.

           Kidsdon’tfightshockthewayadultsdo;theygowithitmaybebecausekidsareinasemipermanentstateofshockuntilthey’rethirteenorso.Billystartedtodozeoff.Iheldhim,thinkinghemightsnapawakeagain,buthisdozedeepenedintoarealsleep.Maybehehadbeenawakepartofthenightbefore,whenwehadsleptthree-in-a-bedforthefirsttimesinceBillywasaninfant.Andmaybe-Ifeltacoldeddyslipthroughmeatthethought-maybehehadsensedsomethingcoming.

           WhenIwassurehewassolidlyout,Ilaidhimonthefloorandwentlookingforsomethingtocoverhimupwith.