Sitting Duck

SITTING DUCK

SARAH MCKAY MCCONKIE pulled her mini-van into the parking lot of the strip mall, easily found a parking place, stopped the car, and took a deep breath. She waited a moment. There was no silence. The car engine was cut, but outside more car engines were turning and burning up the unleaded gasoline. The hum of the rotating signs of the Burger King on one corner, the McDonalds on another, and Taco Bell on yet another worked its way into Sarah's mind. The hum of the electric signs in front of Office Max, Albertson's, ShopCo, Petsmart, Radio Shack, Kinkos, and the half-dozen other stores beside the parking lot found its way to Sarah's ear. Everything found a way into Sarah's head. The breathing of the five children who surrounded her resonated throughout the car: the baby beside her in the car-seat, the one- and two-year-old in the next row, and the older kids--four and five--in the row behind. None of them fussed; they were all very obedient, and Sarah McKay McConkie, though very tired this morning, loved them entirely.
The time was one minute after ten o'clock in the morning on April 15.
Taking another breath, Sarah opened the door of the van, walked to the back, popped the hood, got out the two-seat stroller and back-pack, walked to the passenger side of the car, opened the sliding door, secured the one- and the two-year-old into the stroller, took a step to the front door, opened it, got the baby from the car seat, placed her in the back-pack, shouldered it, closed the front door, went back to the sliding door, encouraged the older kids out, closed the door, took a hand from each one and held it in each of her own hands, and, skillfully pushing the stroller, walked toward the grocery store.
The time was ten minutes after ten o'clock in the morning of the same day.
Inside the store, Sarah pulled loose a shopping cart, lifted the four-year-old up and into the seat, put the five-year-old in charge of the stroller, and began her shopping for the day. Everything went smoothly: Sarah knew the location of every item in the supermarket; the children were obedient, never asking for anything they shouldn't; the baby in the backpack slept the entire time; the check-out clerk rang up every item accurately and subtracted the coupons without Sarah having to remind her.
At eleven minutes after eleven o'clock, Sarah walked back into the sunlight and returned to her car, repeating, in reverse order, the loading process. The kids and groceries all settled, she closed the car doors--all except her own, of course, which she now opened--took a deep breath and squeezed herself into the driver's seat, the little movement of life inside stirring as her belly brushed the steering wheel.