JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 170 из 425What meetings had Jo put on her calendar for that month? What excuses to be out of Derry? And once I had finished with Ward, I could tackle Jo’s friend Bonnie Amudson, ask her if anything had been going on with Jo in the last summer of her life. Let her rest in peace, why don’t you? It was the UFO voice. What good will it do you to do otherwise? Assume she popped over to the TR after one of her board meetings, maybe just on a whim, met an old friend, took him back to the housejr a bite of dinner.
Just dinner. And never told me? I asked the UFO voice, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste and then rinsing. Never said a single word? How do you know she didn’t? the voice returned, and that froze me in the act of putting my toothbrush back in the medicine cabinet. The UFO voice had a point. I had been deep into All the Wayjqom the 3p by July of ’94. Jo could have come in and told me she’d seen Lon Chaney Junior dancing with the queen, doing the Werewolves of London, and I probably would have said “Uh-huh, honey, that’s nice” as I went on proofing copy.
“Bullshit,” I said to my reflection. “That’s just bullshit.”
Except it wasn’t. When I was really driving on a book I more or less fell out of the world; other than a quick scan of the sports pages, I didn’t even read the newspaper. So yes—it was possible that Jo had told me she’d run over to the TR after a board meeting in Lewiston or Freeport, it was possible that she’d told me she’d run into an old friend—perhaps another student from the photography seminar she’d attended at Bates in 1991—and it was possible she’d told me they’d had dinner together on our deck, eating black trumpet mushrooms she’d picked herself as the sun went down. It was possible she’d told me these things and I hadn’t registered a word of what she was saying. And did I really think I’d get anything I could trust out of Bonnie Amudson? She’d been Jo’s friend, not mine, and Bonnie might feel the statute of limitations hadn’t run out on any secrets my wife had told her. The bottom line was as simple as it was brutal: Jo was four years dead. Best to love her and let all troubling questions lapse. I took a final mouthful of water directly from the tap, swished it around in my mouth, and spat it out.
When I returned to the kitchen to set the coffee-maker for seven A.M… I saw a new message in a new circle of magnets. It read blue rose liar ha ha I looked at it for a second or two, wondering what had put it there, and why. Wondering if it was true. I stretched out a hand and scattered all the letters far and wide. Then I went to bed.
Just dinner. And never told me? I asked the UFO voice, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste and then rinsing. Never said a single word? How do you know she didn’t? the voice returned, and that froze me in the act of putting my toothbrush back in the medicine cabinet. The UFO voice had a point. I had been deep into All the Wayjqom the 3p by July of ’94. Jo could have come in and told me she’d seen Lon Chaney Junior dancing with the queen, doing the Werewolves of London, and I probably would have said “Uh-huh, honey, that’s nice” as I went on proofing copy.
“Bullshit,” I said to my reflection. “That’s just bullshit.”
Except it wasn’t. When I was really driving on a book I more or less fell out of the world; other than a quick scan of the sports pages, I didn’t even read the newspaper. So yes—it was possible that Jo had told me she’d run over to the TR after a board meeting in Lewiston or Freeport, it was possible that she’d told me she’d run into an old friend—perhaps another student from the photography seminar she’d attended at Bates in 1991—and it was possible she’d told me they’d had dinner together on our deck, eating black trumpet mushrooms she’d picked herself as the sun went down. It was possible she’d told me these things and I hadn’t registered a word of what she was saying. And did I really think I’d get anything I could trust out of Bonnie Amudson? She’d been Jo’s friend, not mine, and Bonnie might feel the statute of limitations hadn’t run out on any secrets my wife had told her. The bottom line was as simple as it was brutal: Jo was four years dead. Best to love her and let all troubling questions lapse. I took a final mouthful of water directly from the tap, swished it around in my mouth, and spat it out.
When I returned to the kitchen to set the coffee-maker for seven A.M… I saw a new message in a new circle of magnets. It read blue rose liar ha ha I looked at it for a second or two, wondering what had put it there, and why. Wondering if it was true. I stretched out a hand and scattered all the letters far and wide. Then I went to bed.