JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 85 из 425They say at thebookstore in Castle Rock that you’ve got a new one coming out this summer.” I nodded. “It’s called Helen’s Promise.”
She grinned. “Good title.”
“Thanks. You better get your buddy back home before she breaks your arm.”
“Yeah.” There are people in this world who have a knack for asking embarrassing, awkward questions without meaning to—it’s like a talent for walking into doors. I am one of that tribe, and as I walked with her toward the passenger side of the Scout, I found a good one. And yet it was hard to blame myself too enthusiastically. I had seen the wedding ring on her hand, after all. “Will you tell your husband?” Her smile stayed on, but it paled somehow. And tightened. If it were possible to delete a spoken question the way you can delete a line of type when you’re writing a story, I would have done it. “He died last August.”
“Mattie, I’m sorry. Open mouth, insert foot.”
“You couldn’t know. A girl my age isn’t even supposed to be married, is she? And if she is, her husband’s supposed to be in the army, or something.” There was a pink baby-seat—also Kmart, I guessed in the passenger side of the Scout.
Mattie tried to boost Kyra in, but I could see she was struggling. I stepped forward to help her, and for just a moment, as I reached past her to grab a plump leg, the back of my hand brushed her breast. She couldn’t step back unless she wanted to risk Kyra’s slithering out of the seat and onto the floor, but I could feel her recording the touch.
My husband’s dead, not a threat, so the big-deal writer thinks it’s okay to cop a little feel on a hot summer morning. And what can I say? Mr. Big Deal came along and hauled my kid out of the road, maybe saved her life. No, Mattie, I may be forty going on a hundred, but I was not copping a el. Except I couldn’t say that; it would only make things worse. I felt my cheeks flush a little. “How old are you?” I asked, when we had the baby squared away and were back at a safe distance. She gave me a look. Tired or not, she had it together again. “Old enough to know the situation I’m in.” She held out her hand. “Thanks again, Mr. Noonan.
God sent you along at the right time.”
“Nah, God just told me I needed a hamburger at the Village Cafe,” I said. “Or maybe it was His opposite number. Please say Buddy’s still doing business at the same old stand.” She smiled. It warmed her face back up again, and I was happy to see it. “He’ll still be there when Ki’s kids are old enough to try buying beer with fake IDS.
She grinned. “Good title.”
“Thanks. You better get your buddy back home before she breaks your arm.”
“Yeah.” There are people in this world who have a knack for asking embarrassing, awkward questions without meaning to—it’s like a talent for walking into doors. I am one of that tribe, and as I walked with her toward the passenger side of the Scout, I found a good one. And yet it was hard to blame myself too enthusiastically. I had seen the wedding ring on her hand, after all. “Will you tell your husband?” Her smile stayed on, but it paled somehow. And tightened. If it were possible to delete a spoken question the way you can delete a line of type when you’re writing a story, I would have done it. “He died last August.”
“Mattie, I’m sorry. Open mouth, insert foot.”
“You couldn’t know. A girl my age isn’t even supposed to be married, is she? And if she is, her husband’s supposed to be in the army, or something.” There was a pink baby-seat—also Kmart, I guessed in the passenger side of the Scout.
Mattie tried to boost Kyra in, but I could see she was struggling. I stepped forward to help her, and for just a moment, as I reached past her to grab a plump leg, the back of my hand brushed her breast. She couldn’t step back unless she wanted to risk Kyra’s slithering out of the seat and onto the floor, but I could feel her recording the touch.
My husband’s dead, not a threat, so the big-deal writer thinks it’s okay to cop a little feel on a hot summer morning. And what can I say? Mr. Big Deal came along and hauled my kid out of the road, maybe saved her life. No, Mattie, I may be forty going on a hundred, but I was not copping a el. Except I couldn’t say that; it would only make things worse. I felt my cheeks flush a little. “How old are you?” I asked, when we had the baby squared away and were back at a safe distance. She gave me a look. Tired or not, she had it together again. “Old enough to know the situation I’m in.” She held out her hand. “Thanks again, Mr. Noonan.
God sent you along at the right time.”
“Nah, God just told me I needed a hamburger at the Village Cafe,” I said. “Or maybe it was His opposite number. Please say Buddy’s still doing business at the same old stand.” She smiled. It warmed her face back up again, and I was happy to see it. “He’ll still be there when Ki’s kids are old enough to try buying beer with fake IDS.