"I don't know," she said, thoughtfully. "I think I'll call Lucille, see what she and Corey think."
Her husband nodded, then lifted his beer and sipped it slowly, savoring the taste as though he might not have the chance again, his eyes returning to—but no longer witnessing—the western which the bulletin had interrupted. Beth rose from her chair, smoothed her dress, then made her way to the phone. Lucille's was a number Beth called at least once every day, but she had to look it up after dialling two wrong numbers.
"Corey thinks so, too," her friend said, when Beth had told the reason for her call. "He's out checking the shelter. We've got plenty of water and food, but he thinks we need more books, just in case."
"I wonder why we think this is it," Beth mused. "We both felt it, and I guess you and Corey did, too. It's like that last straw on the camel's back. That kind of feeling."
Lucille, however, was in no mood for philosophizing. "Corey's coming in, honey. I've got to help him with the books. I'll call back later—" She gave a funny, short laugh. "If there is a later." Lucille hung up.
Pete had finished his beer, and was standing beside the silent TV, staring at the wall, when she returned. Beth took him by the arm, and he turned to face in her direction without resistance. "Pete," she said, then louder, "Pete!" Some of the far-awayness cleared from his eyes, and he saw her.
"Oh. What'd Lucille have to say?"
Beth gave a funny kind of smile and a half-shrug.
Pete nodded. "Them, too. I guess I knew they'd feel it. Everybody will. I wonder how long we've got."