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“Do you really think so?” Da
“Why not?”
“Because he's worried about us,” Da
“He thinks…” Da
“He thinks maybe we'll be lonely. And then he thinks that he likes it here and it's a good place for us. He loves us and doesn't want us to be lonely… or sad… but he thinks even if we are, it might be okay in the LONGRUN. Do you know LONGRUN?”
She nodded. “Yes, dear. I do.”
“He's worried that if we left he couldn't get another job. That we'd have to beg, or something.”
“Is that all?”
“No, but the rest is all mixed up. Because he's different now.”
“Yes,” she said, almost sighing. The grade eased a little and she shifted cautiously back to third gear.
“I'm not making this up, Mommy. Honest to God.”
“I know that,” she said, and smiled. “Did Tony tell you?”
“No,” he said. “I just know. That doctor didn't believe in Tony, did he?”
“Never mind that doctor,” she said. “I believe in Tony. I don't know what he is or who he is, if he's a part of you that's special or if he comes from… somewhere outside, but I do believe in him, Da
He looked at her with sharp hope. “Where? A motel?”
“Hon, we couldn't afford a motel. It would have to be at my mother's.”
The hope in Da
“What?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
She shifted back to second as the grade steepened again. “No, doc, please don't say that. This talk is something we should have had weeks ago, I think. So please. What is it you know? I won't be mad. I can't be mad, because this is too important. Talk straight to me.”
“I know how you feel about her,” Da
“How do I feel?”
“Bad,” Da
Wendy was shaken. Was it that bad between her and hermother? God, what hell for the boy if it was and he could really read their thoughts for each other. She suddenly felt more naked than naked, as if she had been caught in an obscene act.
“All right,” she said. “All right, Da
“You're mad at me,” he said in a small, near-to-tears voice.
“No, I'm not. Really I'm not. I'm just sort of shook up.” They were passing a SIDEWINDER 15 mi. sign, and Wendy relaxed a little. From here on in the road was better.
“I want to ask you one more question, Da
“Yes, Mommy,” he said, almost whispering.
“Has your daddy been drinking again?”
“No,” he said, and smothered the two words that rose behind his lips after that simple negative: Not yet.
Wendy relaxed a little more. She put a hand on Da
He nodded gravely.
Speaking almost to herself she went on: “He's not a perfect man, but he has tried… Da
“I know.”
“Would you do something for me, doc?”
“What?”
“Try to make Tony come. Right now. Ask him if we're safe at the Overlook.”
“I already tried,” Da
“What happened?” Wendy asked. “What did he say?”
“He didn't come,” Da
“Da
“Don't take me to Gramma's,” Da
“All right,” she said softly. “All right, that's what we'll do.” She took a Kleenex out of the pocket of her Western-style shirt and handed it to him. “We'll stay. And everything will be fine. Just fine.”
“Bad Moon Rising,” by J. C. Fogerty, (c) 1969 Jondora Music, Berkeley, California. Used by permission. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.
23. In the Playground
Jack came out onto the porch, tugging the tab of his zipper up under his chin, blinking into the bright air. In his left hand he was holding a battery-powered hedge-clipper. He tugged a fresh handkerchief out of his back pocket with his right hand, wiped his lips with it, and tucked it away. Snow, they had said on the radio. It was hard to believe, even though he could see the clouds building up on the far horizon.
He started down the path to the topiary, switching the hedge-clipper over to the other hand. It wouldn't be a long job, he thought; a little touch-up would do it. The cold nights had surely stunted their growth. The rabbit's ears looked a little fuzzy, and two of the dog's legs had grown fuzzy green bonespurs, but the lions and the buffalo looked fine. Just a little haircut would do the trick, and then let the snow come.
The concrete path ended as abruptly as a diving board. He stepped off it and walked past the drained pool to the gravel path which wound through the hedge sculptures and into the playground itself. He walked over to the rabbit and pushed the button on the handle of the clippers. It hummed into quiet life.
“Hi, Br'er Rabbit,” Jack said. “How are you today? A little off the top and get some of the extra off your ears? Fine. Say, did you hear the one about the traveling salesman and the old lady with a pet poodle?”
His voice sounded u
(You weren't hired to philosophize, Torrance.)
Ah, that was true. So true. He clipped along the rabbit's ears, brushing a small litter of sticks and twigs off onto the grass. The hedge-clipper hummed in that low and rather disgustingly metallic way that all battery-powered appliances seem to have. The sun was brilliant but it held no warmth, and now it wasn't so hard to believe that snow was coming.
Working quickly, knowing that to stop and think when you were at this kind of a task usually meant making a mistake, Jack touched up the rabbit's “face” (up this close it didn't look like a face at all, but he knew that at a distance of twenty paces or so light and shadow would seem to suggest one; that, and the viewer's imagination) and then zipped the clippers along its belly.