She had never seen the general store look so deserted, but then she'd never been on a Tuesday evening. Apart from Donald and herself there was only one customer, a little old lady who was looking at the day's sorry looking left over muffins and slices of pie on the shop's counter.

"I always do my shopping on Saturday," she told him.

"I guess you'd have to," Donald picked up a small plastic tub of baking powder and put it in her basket, she looked down at it.

"I've got some at home," she insisted, "I would have brought it if you'd said!"

"You have baking soda," he corrected, "that wouldn't have worked. Besides it's been there a million years."

"I don't know, Donald, do I really need it? I mean, when's the next time I'll use it?" she took the container from her basket and looked up at him.

He smiled a little at her and shook his head, "You'll use it," he told her. "If we're going to be friends Carrie, we're going to do a lot of baking." She grinned at him. She'd argued almost everything he'd put in the basket saying she didn't need it, but he had insisted she get them.

"Now this we definitely need," he told her as he picked up the red box and handed it to her.

"No, no, Donald, it's the last box!" she put it back.

"They'll get more at the end of the week."

"What if they don't? I can't take all those raisins, I don't need them."

"Jesus, Carrie," Donald picked them up again, "give them out to the kids in your class if you feel so bad about it."

Carrie sighed and looked down at the box in her basket, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had raisins, California was in the same way they were, things were having trouble growing, the raisins in the box were freeze-dried, she wondered how long it had been since they had been grapes.

Donald had walked away but he came back to her and looked down, "I'm sorry I snapped," he apologized. "You being selfless shouldn't be reason for me to get angry, but I don't think it's selfish for us to buy these, especially as I know you'll share them."

She shrugged, "ok."

They walked to the checkout. The old lady had bought a muffin and gone on her way, they were the last ones in and it was nearing seven o'clock, closing time.

"Ok, Stan, this lady would like to pick up her sugar ration," Donald spoke to the mousey looking man behind the counter.

"Miss Hanley, you- you know you can only have two weeks, right?" he swallowed and looked at them both, "just because you haven't used it in a while doesn't mean it's waiting for you."

"I know," she said calmly and he relaxed a little but still looked at Donald as though he expected a fight.

"Two weeks is fine, it's still more than I'd ever need," she smiled.

Donald said nothing, he had argued plenty with the store about rations but lately with Murph gone most of the time but not all the time he'd been quiet about missing pick-up days and what his family was entitled to. He still used Murph's ration book and he collected three people's sugar, powdered milk and eggs each week, and when Murph came home she made appearances with him in the store and in the town to show face and not ruin his scheme.

Donald was an honest person but rationing had never been a fair system, he agreed that families and children should have more than single folk but he had written lots of letters in the past four years about the rationing rights of farm workers and other hard labourers, he believed his grandson should be given more of an allowance than a single man in an office. His grandson burned more energy working with his hands and his body in the outdoors, he worked hard so that others could have potatoes, okra and corn and not have to worry that everything was rationed. If certain people were expected to stay strong and healthy for the good of the country the rations should be appropriate.

Donald's letters hadn't led to much, countrywide there had been a small extra allowance on farm labourers' papers but it wasn't enough. With Murph's rations Donald could ensure his grandson was healthy and the farm would prosper.

The shopkeeper filled Carrie's old Tupperware box for her and she smiled in thanks and put her basket on the tabletop. "Do you want your eggs and milk too?" he asked her and she shook her head.

"No, I've hardly used them," she smiled, "I'll still be in on Saturday as usual."

"We're going to need oats," Donald told the man, breaking his silence, "I couldn't see any."

"Mr Clark, we don't have any, he haven't had any for almost three months, I'm sorry."

"I didn't hear anything on the line about oat shortages," Donald said in surprise.

"We have written," the man assured him, "I really hope there will be some soon."

"That's a shame," Donald shrugged and looked down at Carrie who looked unsure now about the whole lot. "Ok, ring it up, Stan," he told him and Carrie stayed silent and paid the forty two fifty for her groceries.

Food was expensive. She didn't resent paying for it, she could afford it, but she knew she didn't need such luxury items, buying the raisins had been pushed her further than she would have liked to go, but she stayed silent, she didn't want her friend to think she was a cheapskate. "Right, one more stop," Donald told her as they got into his truck.

"I thought we had everything," she put her seatbelt on and looked at the Tupperware boxes on the back seat, when he'd picked her up from her place they'd brought her egg and milk powders with them.

"We need oats," he told her as he started the engine.

"So what, we're going to knock on every door in town asking if anyone's got any? Donald, I'm sure they'll be fine without them. And- and I've got school tomorrow I can't play out late anyway," she tried and she grinned at him as he smiled back at her. She always called it that. He supposed that's because that's what it was. "Ok," he told her with a raised eyebrow and he pointed at the clock on the dash, "It's seven pm, give me until quarter past, then we give up and make cookies without oats." She looked at the clock and smiled and nodded in agreement.

They drove into town and Donald parked the truck on the sidewalk across the road from McKeller's bar, a quiet run-down sort of place in between a couple of closed stores. "I'll be back in five minutes," he told her.

"Can't I come too?" she asked with interest, "or are you going to get wasted?"

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically then he thought, "well, ok, I guess you can be trusted."

"Gee, thanks," her eyes widened as she rolled them and they got out of the truck and walked across the road to the bar.

The walked inside through the two sets of dirty doors, it was dark and warm and it smelled stale in there, there were two guys propped at opposite ends of the bar and a third sat in a booth on his own. It was not a busy night anywhere in town on a Tuesday.

"Hey, Donald," the young man at the bar spoke to him familiarly, casually but his eyes widened as he saw the woman. "Miss Hanley," said Johnny McKeller as he nearly dropped the glass he was polishing, "How- how are you, I mean, can I get you something?"

"You're ok, Johnny," Carrie declined and smiled at the flustered boy, twenty four years old, it had been eight years since he'd been a student of hers.

Donald walked to the bar and leaned over it to Johnny, "I know it's not much notice, John, but I told the lady I'd be help her with a baking project. It's for the school," he added.

"Sure, sure, whatever you need," Johnny said quietly but helpfully.

"Store's out of oats."

"Oats, sure thing. Hold on, I'll get Evie," he walked to the backdoor of his bar and called out to his sister. The girl came to the door and looked at him as he whispered to her. Evie craned her neck round into the room and with wide eyes stared at Carrie.

"Hey, Evie," Carrie smiled and spoke quietly.

"Hey, Miss Hanley," she said back automatically and she blushed crimson in the light coming from the backroom.

"You still working at the drugstore?"

"Just weekends and Fridays," she answered nervously and her brother shooed her away.

"She'll be a minute," Johnny told them and he smiled politely then poured Donald a courtesy half which he took and drank.

"Thanks," Donald told him and they stood quietly, Carrie stood with her hands in front of her and a smile fixed on her face as her eyes circled the room slowly. Donald stood and watched her with a different sort of smile as he held his beer glass but didn't drink any more than the first gulp.

After a couple of silent minutes, apart from the clunking of glass on wood from the silent man in the booth Evie returned with a brown bag in her hand and she whispered to her bother at the door, Johnny nodded and whispered back and then closed the door on her as she attempted a little wave to her former teacher.

"There's something else in there for you," Johnny told Donald as he handed him the bag, "no charge for Miss Hanley," he told him and he winked and smiled at the lady.

"Thank you, Johnny," Carrie spoke.

"Here, you take this," Donald told her, "put it in your purse," he handed her the paper bag and she did so without looking and without question, while she did so Donald turned back to the bartender and handed him a couple of twenties. "Don't be stupid, you deserve it," he told him and made him take the money.

Carrie was silent to begin with in the truck as they drove to his place and so he was silent too but when they'd come out of the town and they were on the open road driving through the fields of corn he looked up at her expectantly. She smiled a wry sideways smile at him and shook her head. "Johnny McKeller," she said quietly, "he's your secret source?" she laughed a little. "And to think, I thought you were sophisticated."

"I have never pretended to be sophisticated," he smiled and drove.

She giggled. "What's the racket? Evie picks up extras at the drugstore?"

Donald laughed a loud bark, "They respect you Miss Hanley and you give them no credit whatsoever!" he shook his head and laughed, "Evie's a good girl, Johnny's a bright boy. You should be proud of them."

"For dealing black market oats and tins of crabmeat?" she scoffed and she laughed, "be serious!"

They drove up to the farm and Donald stopped the truck and turned in his seat to look at her, she took her belt off and made to get out of the car. "Wait a second," he told her and she sat and looked at him. "Martin McKeller was a drunk, he died stupidly because he was stupid." Donald told her, "Lots of folk didn't like the idea of Johnny keeping that bar open, too many bad memories, and he was a bright kid, it would be a shame if he went the same way. Johnny doesn't drink, Evie neither. But there's a lot of folk out there like to drink, Johnny gets a lot of business in that bar."

"Yeah, great," Carrie said blankly, "what, he uses the money he makes out of alcoholics to buy oats?"

Donald shook his head and smiled, "You going to listen or are you just going to smart-mouth me?" She was silent but she grinned at him. "You don't use your sugar ration. How many people do you reckon are out there who don't use their sugar rations or their eggs or milk? How many drunks do you think would rather have cheap beer than sugar, eggs and milk? Beer in the store costs fifteen dollars a bottle, it's one of the things in this state we get cheap, but when you're an alcoholic fifteen bucks is not cheap enough. Johnny is able to sell a beer for eight dollars a bottle. Cheaper still if you're a regular and his sister only has to work three days a week yet they live pretty comfortably, how d'you think they manage that?"

Carrie screwed her face up. "He swaps winos drink for their food rations?"

"Sure that's how it started, but Johnny knows his stuff, these last four years with a little investment from people who are interested he's been able to get ahold of a lot of things that might not be available in stores."

"You want me to be proud that they're exploiting drunks?" she said bluntly.

"He runs a bar. Business is business," he said simply and he got out of the truck.

"Jeez, well, I'm glad my students have gone on to be such ruthless entrepreneurs," Carrie helped him get the Tupperware out of the truck and she carried it to the porch.

"I thought you'd like that story," he smiled as they entered the house, "those two are thriving and no one will ever report it because we all get something out of it. What did he put in the bag?" he asked her as she set the things down on the table, her purse included.

"I daren't look." She opened the brown paper bag and took out the contents; a small box of rolled oats and a tub of chocolate chips with a red Christmas ribbon on them. She looked down at the chocolate sadly. "Well, now I feel like a heel," she said quietly.

"Good."

She looked up at him in surprise and he smiled at her, she reached over and hit his arm. "I should have given them something," she said quietly, "they thought it was for the kids at school."

"Don't worry, honey, I gave them something."

She nodded and smiled up at him, "Do- do you think we've got enough ingredients to give a cookie to everyone?"

"How many kids in your class?"

"Thirty four."

Donald smiled, "we'll do them half the size. Should make forty that way."

Tom opened the door to a heavenly smell, for a moment he wondered if Murph had returned midweek with another pie for them- a couple of weeks back she had brought home a real pie, made with real flour and apples and raisins, it had been wonderful. But he smiled seeing his grandfather and the schoolteacher baking kid-sized cookies.

On their wooden table were two wire racks covered in miniature cookies, besides the satisfying sight of the cookies the table was a bit of a mess, mixing bowls and spoons littered the surface with minimal dustings of flour and sugar, they were at least being careful with that. Carrie was carefully spooning teaspoon sized balls of the mixture from a bowl onto a baking tray while his grandfather oversaw the operation.

"Hi, Tom," Carrie looked up and smiled at him.

"Evening, all," Tom smiled at them both and at all the cookies, "what's this, a factory? You two going into business?"

"If I could afford to go into this kind of business I would," Carrie laughed as she looked back at her duties.

"Carrie's learning how to bake," Donald told him as he walked to the sink to get a glass of water. Carrie looked up, put her tiny spoons down and walked to him, stopping him midway through his drink.

"Tom, no, no, you must have a glass of milk and a cookie."

The tall boy laughed and looked down at her, "I'm sure I can manage that," he smiled, "how big's my milk? Thimble sized?"

"Ha ha," Carrie said as she moved to the glass of milk already on the table and picked it up for him, "we are making these cookies for the children in my class. Exams finish soon. This is a little pre-vacation treat."

"That's really nice," Tom smiled.

"We thought that part up afterward," Donald told him as he took the glass and waited to be presented with a cookie, "We realized we probably wouldn't be able to eat forty cookies on our own."

"Speak for yourself," Tom said, "they smell amazing, Carrie," he told her politely as she handed him one, it was dwarfed in his large hand, she looked disappointed as they all looked at how small it was.

"Well, if you guys weren't so big," Carrie started quietly, but she looked up at him and smiled, "Tell us what you think," she grinned as Tom raised it to his mouth, he paused and looked at her.

"Am I the Guinea pig?" he asked suspiciously.

"We've both tried one," Carrie assured him and she moved away from him and back to her spooning so as not to crowd him.

Tom ate his cookie, it was good, they had done well. "How many do we get?"

Donald laughed and clapped him on the arm. Carrie smiled up from her work and answered, "We're aiming for having six left over, but you're in luck, we might have more."

"Excellent, I might just stay up a little longer then," Tom smiled and he moved into the lounge and sat down on one of the sofas with that week's newspaper. Donald smiled at Carrie and they resumed their baking.

It had been a couple of months since Carrie had become a regular guest, a sort of fixture in their weekly schedule. Donald had promised her after she'd had a sudden bout of sadness that he would be the emotional support she needed, be there for her through friendship if nothing else. Most days were like the evening they were spending at that moment, they laughed and did something silly together, they played games, ate meals together. If they were at his place more often than not his grandson was there too and he was included, it was like she'd become part of their family.

At her place they drank wine and they looked at photographs, they did crosswords together and enjoyed being quiet and calm, knowing they would not be disturbed they were more grown-up at hers. They did not make love often, it had only happened three more times since the second sad time, but all three since then had been much more fun. Carrie enjoyed it but she didn't feel she needed it all the time. What she needed was the crossword puzzles together as he sat beside her with his arm around her, the laughter and the buzz of conversation that filled her kitchen and the general warmth of his presence in her life.

Donald himself was enjoying this unexpected relationship, it made him happy to see the joy and the contentment on the young woman's face each time he saw her and shared something with her. He was no longer bored, even on his own he felt happy because he had plans for that week, no matter how mundane, he just didn't feel useless anymore. And it was a huge bonus that his grandson did not seem to find any of it unusual.

Tom was polite and open and welcoming. He seemed to have accepted Carrie's existence in his grandfather's life as though she was just a long-lost family member. Tom had always been a strong silent type, Murph was the talker, Murph had asked questions on her return visits, but Tom didn't ask anything. Donald assumed it was because his grandson knew and respected the situation, but perhaps he didn't ask because he didn't want to acknowledge it. Whichever, Donald was glad he'd raised him to be polite and accepting.