At the superstore Andy's so excited -- "Total roaming, gypsy-style shenanigans, mad play from the ladies in strange new towns, strange new beds" -- that Silas can barely stand him. They put on hats to hide from the cameras, and Silas finally asks the only real question you should ever ask, when it's Nancy: "Who, exactly, is after us?"
The bear. Just like every time.
Andy doesn't know, can't know what it really entails, isn't really in this for the truth anyway, so he's just like, "Your Mom has a better handle on that," and fills up the carts: Phones, batteries, giftcards of all kinds to burn through the credit cards faster. It's just like Nova Scotia in '89, he says: "I'll be frank... This is my wheelhouse. I'm the king of off-grid living." There's a creepy goth girl with vamp bites in her neck and a bunch of Hot Topic bling working the register; she can't give them more than $80 cash back but because Silas is beautiful she closes the line and rings up everything separately. Silas asks her about the bites in her neck, and she's horrible some more and flirts with Silas and hisses hilariously at Andy, who finds her and her interest in Silas quite entertaining indeed, and they're done.
Driving away from the big-box Shane says some unnecessary thing that's not even that snotty, but it's the last straw for old Nancy, so she pulls over yet again and drags him out to a rest stop to, I guess, attempt to parent for the first time. Andy and Silas watch from the car, hands on chins. "Well, he bludgeoned a woman to death with a mallet. He should be chastised."
Since Shane doesn't seem to understand the actual moral issue here, Nancy tries to explain in a more pragmatic way why murder is not okay; like this one, for e.g., it was in fact dangerous and foolish, and now the whole family is paying for it. Shane finds this ungrateful: "I saved your ass. I saved all our asses." Nancy slaps him upside the head, and the peanut gallery quietly goes ooooh shit.
Nancy realizes that perhaps she shares some of the blame: "Do you even hear yourself? You're a kid. You're supposed to be out playing baseball, not clubbing people to death. I'm the mother, I decide who gets clubbed. I do the clubbing, not you." When he's 18, or better yet 21, he can take whatever sporting good he desires, club whomever he likes, go to prison for the rest of his life. But for now it's kid stuff: "Video games, broken curfews, Peeps in the microwave." She wants him to love his life; he's been sad for so long and hasn't even started yet. He needs to learn it, before it's gone.