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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 149 из 425It wasn’t an expression that looked particularly at home on her face. “I may only be twenty-one, but I’m not stupid,” she said. “He’s watching me. I know it, and you probably do, too. On another night I might be tempted to say fuck him if he can’t take a joke, but it’s cooler out there and the smoke from the hibachi will keep the worst of the bugs away. Have I shocked you? If so, I’m sorry.”
“You haven’t.” She had, a little. “No need to apologize.” We carried our drinks down the not-quite-steady cinderblock steps and sat side-by-side in a couple of lawn-chairs. To the left of us the coals in the hibachi glowed soft rose in the growing gloom. Mattie leaned back, placed the cold curve of her glass briefly against her forehead, then drank most of what was left, the ice cubes sliding against her teeth with a click and a rattle.
Crickets hummed in the woods behind the trailer and across the road.
Farther up Highway 68, I could see the bright white fluorescents over the gas island at the Lakeview General. The seat of my chair was a little baggy, the interwoven straps a little frayed, and the old girl canted pretty severely to the left, but there was still no place I’d rather have been sitting just then. This evening had turned out to be a quiet little miracle… at least, so far. We still had John Storrow to get to. “I’m glad you came on a Tuesday,” she said. “Tuesday nights are hard for me. I’m always thinking of the ballgame down at Warrington’s.
The guys’ll be picking up the gear by now—the bats and bases and catcher’s mask—and putting it back in the storage cabinet behind home plate. Drinking their last beers and smoking their last cigarettes.
That’s where I met my husband, you know. I’m sure you’ve been told all that by now.” I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I could hear the faint tinge of bitterness which had crept into her voice, and guessed she was still wearing the cynical expression. It was too old for her, but I thought she’d come by it honestly enough. Although if she didn’t watch out, it would take root and grow. “I heard a version from Bill, yes—Lindy’s brother-in-law.”
“Oh ayuh—our story’s on retail. You can get it at the store, or the Village Cafe, or at that old blabbermouth’s garage… which my father-in-law rescued from Western Savings, by the way. He stepped in just before the bank could foreclose. Now Dickie Brooks and his cronies think Max Devore is walking talking Jesus. I hope you got a fairer version from Mr. Dean than you’d get at the All-Purpose.
“You haven’t.” She had, a little. “No need to apologize.” We carried our drinks down the not-quite-steady cinderblock steps and sat side-by-side in a couple of lawn-chairs. To the left of us the coals in the hibachi glowed soft rose in the growing gloom. Mattie leaned back, placed the cold curve of her glass briefly against her forehead, then drank most of what was left, the ice cubes sliding against her teeth with a click and a rattle.
Crickets hummed in the woods behind the trailer and across the road.
Farther up Highway 68, I could see the bright white fluorescents over the gas island at the Lakeview General. The seat of my chair was a little baggy, the interwoven straps a little frayed, and the old girl canted pretty severely to the left, but there was still no place I’d rather have been sitting just then. This evening had turned out to be a quiet little miracle… at least, so far. We still had John Storrow to get to. “I’m glad you came on a Tuesday,” she said. “Tuesday nights are hard for me. I’m always thinking of the ballgame down at Warrington’s.
The guys’ll be picking up the gear by now—the bats and bases and catcher’s mask—and putting it back in the storage cabinet behind home plate. Drinking their last beers and smoking their last cigarettes.
That’s where I met my husband, you know. I’m sure you’ve been told all that by now.” I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I could hear the faint tinge of bitterness which had crept into her voice, and guessed she was still wearing the cynical expression. It was too old for her, but I thought she’d come by it honestly enough. Although if she didn’t watch out, it would take root and grow. “I heard a version from Bill, yes—Lindy’s brother-in-law.”
“Oh ayuh—our story’s on retail. You can get it at the store, or the Village Cafe, or at that old blabbermouth’s garage… which my father-in-law rescued from Western Savings, by the way. He stepped in just before the bank could foreclose. Now Dickie Brooks and his cronies think Max Devore is walking talking Jesus. I hope you got a fairer version from Mr. Dean than you’d get at the All-Purpose.