Sam's Legacy by Jay Neugeboren Page A

after the rest had stopped.
    A woman’s cart banged into Ben’s, but he didn’t budge. Sam watched him put one box of tissues back on the shelf and place the other on top of his shopping cart. Don’t! he wanted to call out. It’s too full, Ben! He felt wide awake now. Ben seemed stuck—between his basket and the shelf. Sam moved forward, past toilet paper, sandwich bags, plastic wrap, aluminum foil, paper toweling, hot cups, paper plates, plastic silverware. Ben turned to the shelf, his elbow knocking the box of tissues to the floor.
    Sam moved quickly, but Ben had already bent over—and as he retrieved the box of tissues, Sam saw that his father had had something in his right hand all the while, palmed, and that, shielded now by the tissues and the shopping cart, his face to the shelves, he had slipped it quickly into his coat pocket.
    Ben wheeled off, turned right. The guy was out of his mind, Sam told himself. What if…he stopped: the questions spun around inside his skull, but they made him angry, not dizzy. He pushed to the end of the aisle, turned right around the stack of cereal boxes, and saw Ben, in front of the gourmet specialties. A small black jar dropped into his left coat pocket. Sam watched Ben’s face: it was flushed, happy—the gray color was gone. Sam lagged behind. Ben went past frozen food, ice cream. Sam moved closer. Ben looked over his shoulder, smiled.
    â€œSure,” Sam said.
    â€œI know,” Ben said at once. “I said a half-hour. But Mr. Kwestel stopped me on the way here, to talk about his daughter. She’s in the hospital. You went to school with her, didn’t you?” Ben wheeled away, Sam following him, cutting around cartons filled with boxes of soap flakes. “At any rate, she’s in Meadowbrook Hospital, on the Island, and it’s such a long trip for him….”
    Ben shrugged, let his eyelids close, indicating by the expression on his face the difficulties life could bring. “Listen,” Sam began. “As long as—”
    Ben’s expression changed. “I know. On my trail, Sam Junior—but you didn’t escape Ben Berman’s eagle eye.” He lifted a can of peaches from its pyramid, on sale at forty-one cents, and dropped it into his cart. “I know you don’t like to come inside, and that is the reason I apologized.”
    â€œListen—”
    Ben shook his head sideways, his eyes closed. He moved an index finger to his lips, the fingertip grazing his nose. “Shh. We’ll talk later. Dairy products now—I always buy them last. To minimize spoilage.”
    Sam breathed through his lips, unable to hide his irritation. The sooner his father flew away, the better. If he loved Tidewater so much, he could take him with him, let him sweep out the shuffleboard courts. Ben put a container of milk, a half-pound of whipped butter, a container of sour cream, and a package of farmer cheese into his cart. “Do you want anything special—some cheese? The longhorn is good, as is the mild cheddar—”
    â€œI just want to get my butt out of here.”
    â€œRelax,” Ben said.
    â€œYeah. I’ll live longer. I know all about it.”
    â€œSome pickled herring, though,” Ben said, taking a jar of Vita herring, cream-style. “Nothing else—you’re sure?” Sam glared. “I bought a leg of lamb, we can have it tonight. And some—but you’re tired of waiting, aren’t you? Come.”
    They moved toward the checkout registers, Ben in front, humming. When it was their turn and Ben had begun unloading the cart, one of the kids who had been hanging around approached them. “Carry your stuff home for you, mister?”
    Ben smiled. “I have my son with me,” he said.
    The kid looked at Sam, showing nothing, then moved away. The old woman, Sam saw, was still there, sitting on her Pepsi-Cola case. He heard the sound of the