Read Online Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Beth Keane
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she walked over to the pyramid of crackers—stone ground, whole wheat, sesame, plain—and bumped it with her hip. When it toppled she wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed her eyes shut. There’d been a dozen people standing around but now there were two dozen. More. No one said a word. “Stop looking at me,” she said at a normal volume. Then she covered her ears and began to howl.
Over the loudspeaker, someone paged the manager for a second time.
----
Peter, who’d opted to wait in the car listening to the top one hundred countdown, had just looked at the dashboard clock when he heard an ambulance in the distance. When it seemed that the siren couldn’t get any louder, it got just a little bit louder until it pulled up to the front of the supermarket and went abruptly silent. He watched in the side-view mirror for a moment, and then he turned and watched out the back windshield of the car. There were people gathered and the EMTs were waving them back. A police cruiser pulled up behind the ambulance. A second cruiser approached from the south lot. Peter had been at Food King once when a man had a heart attack. The man had been holding a gallon of milk, and though Peter hadn’t seen him fall, he’d seen the gallon container glug-glug-glugging milk from its throat, spreading down the dairy aisle while the man on the ground clutched his shoulder. His father had pulled him away before Peter could see what happened next. Thinking about it, Peter wondered why he hadn’t thought of the man again until now. Death was something for grown-ups to worry about but, still, he knew that when his time came he didn’t want it to come at Food King. Janet Jackson was up for the second time, and Peter slumped down in his seat. He didn’t see how they’d get through all one hundred songs before midnight, as the DJ had promised. When he looked up an old man he recognized as Chris Smith’s grandfather was standing at the driver’s side window. Mr. Smith made a cycle motion with his fist and Peter rolled down the window.
“It’s Peter, right? You know me? My grandson is in your class? Listen. Your mom wasn’t feeling well in the store. Nothing to worry about but they’re going to take her over to the hospital. Can I give you a lift home? I’m glad I spotted you.”
Peter blinked at Mr. Smith for a moment, and then he got out of the car so fast that he left the keys in the ignition. “What happened?” he asked, looking now at the crowd at the front of the store in adifferent light. He began jogging through the parking lot. When he saw that someone was being carried out on a stretcher, he began to run.
“Mom?” he called from the back of the crowd that had gathered. She bucked when she heard his voice, and one of the EMTs stumbled. “Peter!” she shouted, her voice thin with urgency, and Peter felt every face in the crowd turn to look at him. They stepped back so that he could make his way. “Quickly!” she shouted to him, but he didn’t know what she meant. He noticed that a third EMT was carrying her shoes and her scarf. The tips of her fingers looked bluish and cold, and her hair was parted differently than it had been when she walked away from the car. He wondered if they’d forced her onto the stretcher, and if she’d fought them. Her coat was draped over her like a blanket. “Quickly!” she shouted again, her eyes wild and locked on his, but he froze in place, having no idea what to do. The same faces that had turned to look at him now turned away. The coat shifted and he saw that her hands were strapped down. Her ankles, too. He began to shiver. They lifted her into the back of the ambulance and a police officer waved everyone back, including Peter.
“Peter! Quickly!” she shrieked.
Peter looked at the officer blocking his way. “That’s me,” he whispered. “I’m Peter. Can’t I go in there with her?”
“Peter,” Mr. Smith said, coming up beside him. “Why don’t I take you home and
Over the loudspeaker, someone paged the manager for a second time.
----
Peter, who’d opted to wait in the car listening to the top one hundred countdown, had just looked at the dashboard clock when he heard an ambulance in the distance. When it seemed that the siren couldn’t get any louder, it got just a little bit louder until it pulled up to the front of the supermarket and went abruptly silent. He watched in the side-view mirror for a moment, and then he turned and watched out the back windshield of the car. There were people gathered and the EMTs were waving them back. A police cruiser pulled up behind the ambulance. A second cruiser approached from the south lot. Peter had been at Food King once when a man had a heart attack. The man had been holding a gallon of milk, and though Peter hadn’t seen him fall, he’d seen the gallon container glug-glug-glugging milk from its throat, spreading down the dairy aisle while the man on the ground clutched his shoulder. His father had pulled him away before Peter could see what happened next. Thinking about it, Peter wondered why he hadn’t thought of the man again until now. Death was something for grown-ups to worry about but, still, he knew that when his time came he didn’t want it to come at Food King. Janet Jackson was up for the second time, and Peter slumped down in his seat. He didn’t see how they’d get through all one hundred songs before midnight, as the DJ had promised. When he looked up an old man he recognized as Chris Smith’s grandfather was standing at the driver’s side window. Mr. Smith made a cycle motion with his fist and Peter rolled down the window.
“It’s Peter, right? You know me? My grandson is in your class? Listen. Your mom wasn’t feeling well in the store. Nothing to worry about but they’re going to take her over to the hospital. Can I give you a lift home? I’m glad I spotted you.”
Peter blinked at Mr. Smith for a moment, and then he got out of the car so fast that he left the keys in the ignition. “What happened?” he asked, looking now at the crowd at the front of the store in adifferent light. He began jogging through the parking lot. When he saw that someone was being carried out on a stretcher, he began to run.
“Mom?” he called from the back of the crowd that had gathered. She bucked when she heard his voice, and one of the EMTs stumbled. “Peter!” she shouted, her voice thin with urgency, and Peter felt every face in the crowd turn to look at him. They stepped back so that he could make his way. “Quickly!” she shouted to him, but he didn’t know what she meant. He noticed that a third EMT was carrying her shoes and her scarf. The tips of her fingers looked bluish and cold, and her hair was parted differently than it had been when she walked away from the car. He wondered if they’d forced her onto the stretcher, and if she’d fought them. Her coat was draped over her like a blanket. “Quickly!” she shouted again, her eyes wild and locked on his, but he froze in place, having no idea what to do. The same faces that had turned to look at him now turned away. The coat shifted and he saw that her hands were strapped down. Her ankles, too. He began to shiver. They lifted her into the back of the ambulance and a police officer waved everyone back, including Peter.
“Peter! Quickly!” she shrieked.
Peter looked at the officer blocking his way. “That’s me,” he whispered. “I’m Peter. Can’t I go in there with her?”
“Peter,” Mr. Smith said, coming up beside him. “Why don’t I take you home and
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