JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 415 из 425“Where’s Alan Pangborn these days, Sheriff?.”
“Over New Hampshire,” Ridgewick said, lowering his pistol a little (a minute or two later he holstered it without even seeming to be aware he had done so). “He and Polly are doing real well. Except for her arthritis. That’s nasty, I guess, but she still has her good days. A person can go along quite awhile if they get a good day every once and again, that’s what I think. Mr. Noonan, I have a lot of questions for you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“First off and most important, do you have the child? Kyra Devore?”
“Where is she?”
“I’ll be happy to show you.” We walked down the north-wing corridor and stood just outside the bedroom doorway, looking in. The duvet was pulled up to her chin and she was sleeping deeply. The stuffed dog was curled in one hand we could just see its muddy tail poking out of her fist at one end and its nose poking out at the other.
We stood there for a long time, neither of us saying anything, watching her sleep in the light of a summer evening. In the woods the trees had stopped falling, but the wind still blew. Around the eaves of Sara Laughs it made a sound like ancient music.
EPILOGUE It snowed for Christmas—a polite six inches of powder that made the carollers working the streets of Sanford look like they belonged in It’s a Wonderful Lij. By the time I came back from checking Kyra for the third time, it was quarter past one on the morning of the twenty-sixth, and the snow had stopped. A late moon, plump but pale, was peeking through the unravelling fluff of clouds.
I was Christmasing with Frank again, and we were the last two up. The kids, Ki included, were dead to the world, sleeping off the annual bacchanal of food and presents. Frank was on his third Scotch—it had been a three-Scotch story if there ever was one, I guess—but I’d barely drunk the top off my first one. I think I might have gotten into the bottle quite heavily if not for Ki. On the days when I have her I usually don’t drink so much as a glass of beer. And to have her three days in a row… but shit, kemo sabe, if you can’t spend Christmas with your kid, what the hell is Christmas for?
“Are you all right?” Frank asked when I sat down again and took another little token sip from my glass.
I grinned at that. Not is she all right but are you all right. Well, nobody ever said Frank was stupid. “You should’ve seen me when the Department of Human Services let me have her for a weekend in October.
“Over New Hampshire,” Ridgewick said, lowering his pistol a little (a minute or two later he holstered it without even seeming to be aware he had done so). “He and Polly are doing real well. Except for her arthritis. That’s nasty, I guess, but she still has her good days. A person can go along quite awhile if they get a good day every once and again, that’s what I think. Mr. Noonan, I have a lot of questions for you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“First off and most important, do you have the child? Kyra Devore?”
“Where is she?”
“I’ll be happy to show you.” We walked down the north-wing corridor and stood just outside the bedroom doorway, looking in. The duvet was pulled up to her chin and she was sleeping deeply. The stuffed dog was curled in one hand we could just see its muddy tail poking out of her fist at one end and its nose poking out at the other.
We stood there for a long time, neither of us saying anything, watching her sleep in the light of a summer evening. In the woods the trees had stopped falling, but the wind still blew. Around the eaves of Sara Laughs it made a sound like ancient music.
EPILOGUE It snowed for Christmas—a polite six inches of powder that made the carollers working the streets of Sanford look like they belonged in It’s a Wonderful Lij. By the time I came back from checking Kyra for the third time, it was quarter past one on the morning of the twenty-sixth, and the snow had stopped. A late moon, plump but pale, was peeking through the unravelling fluff of clouds.
I was Christmasing with Frank again, and we were the last two up. The kids, Ki included, were dead to the world, sleeping off the annual bacchanal of food and presents. Frank was on his third Scotch—it had been a three-Scotch story if there ever was one, I guess—but I’d barely drunk the top off my first one. I think I might have gotten into the bottle quite heavily if not for Ki. On the days when I have her I usually don’t drink so much as a glass of beer. And to have her three days in a row… but shit, kemo sabe, if you can’t spend Christmas with your kid, what the hell is Christmas for?
“Are you all right?” Frank asked when I sat down again and took another little token sip from my glass.
I grinned at that. Not is she all right but are you all right. Well, nobody ever said Frank was stupid. “You should’ve seen me when the Department of Human Services let me have her for a weekend in October.