In his Ford pick-up truck he drove with Elsie on the seat beside him, bouncing up and down as they turned across the gravel, from the asphalt, using the shoulders of the road. On the hillside sheep grazed. A white farmhouse below them.

“Will you get me some gum?” Elsie asked. “At the store? Will you get me some Black Jack gum?”

“Gum,” he said, clutching the wheel. He drove faster; the steering wheel spun in his hands. I have to get a box of Tampax, he said to himself. Tampax and chewing gum. What will they say down at the Mayfair Market? How can I do it?

He thought, How can she make me do it? Buy her Tampax for her.

“What do we have to get at the store?” Elsie chanted.

“Tampax,” he said. “And your gum.” He spoke with such fury that the baby turned to peer fearfully up at him.

“W-what?” she murmured, shrinking away to lean against the door.

“She’s embarrassed to buy it,” he said, “so I have to buy it for her. She makes me walk in and buy it.” And he thought, I’m going to kill her.

Of course, she had a good excuse. He had had the car—had been at friends’, down in Olema… .she phoned, said would he pick it up on his drive back. And the Mayfair closed in an hour or so; it closed either at five or six, he could not remember exactly. Sometimes one time, some days—weekdays—another.

What happens? he wondered, if she doesn’t get it? Do they bleed to death? Tampax a stopper, like a cork. Or—he tried to imagine it. But he did not know where the blood came from. One of those regions. Hell, I’m not supposed to know about that. That’s her business.

But, he thought, when they need it they need it. They have to get hold of it.

Buildings with signs appeared. He entered Point Reyes Station by crossing the bridge over Paper Mill Creek. Then the marsh lands to his left… the road swung to the left, past Cheda’s Garage and Harold’s Market. Then the old abandoned hotel.