The blinding fluorescent-lit expanse of Wal-Mart spread before Isla as the automatic doors sealed behind her with a hiss. Ordinarily, she would be poised to get in and out as quickly as possible; wandering endlessly in a giant warehouse had a nightmarish quality for her. But today it was “threshold of hell” hot outside, and, even though she could mostly avoid the heat now, she was never eager to leave the air conditioning, even for just a quick walk to the car. Besides, the patterns of her youth would always be a part of her. Summer was drawn shades and closing the windows to trap the vestiges of the evening cool as long as possible. Summer was a trip to the spidery cellar for moments of relief. Summer was a cold supper of fruit salad, cheese and crackers or, on days like this, escape to an air-conditioned store or restaurant for a few hours of cool before a bath and lying down in bed in front of a fan, wet washcloth on your forehead. She remembered her pride when a visitor from the Deep South, land of central air, fanned themselves and said, “You people really suffer!” But, alas, she’d gone soft and, though still without central air, she was able to hop from air-conditioned living room to air-conditioned car to air-conditioned store at will.