the final reckoning than it would on Brett himself.
There would be no divorce. She would continue to fight her unceasing guerrilla war with Joe for the boy’s soul . . . for whatever good that would do. In her worry over Brett’s wanting to emulate his father, she had perhaps forgotten—or overlooked—the fact that there comes a time when children stand in judgment and their parents—mother as well as father—must stand in the dock. Brett had noticed Holly’s ostentatious display of credit cards. Charity could only hope Brett would notice that his father ate with his hat on . . . among other things.
The dawn was brightening. She took her robe from the back of the door and put it on. She wanted a shower but would not take one until the others in the house were stirring. The strangers. That was what they were. Even Holly’s face was strange to her now, a face that bore only a faint resemblance to the snapshots in the family albums she had brought with them . . . even Holly herself had looked at those photographs with a faint air of puzzlement.
They would go back to Castle Rock, back to the house at the end of Town Road No. 3, back to Joe. She would pick up the threads of her life, and things would continue. That would be best.
She reminded herself to call Alva just before seven o’clock, when he would be at breakfast.
It was just past 6 A.M. and the day was coming bright when Tad had his convulsion.
He had awakened from an apparently sound sleep around 5:15 and had roused Donna from a low doze, complaining of being hungry and thirsty. As if he had pressed a button deep down inside her, Donna had become aware for the first time that she was hungry too. The thirst she had been aware of—it was more or less constant—but she could not remember actually thinking of food since sometime yesterday morning. Now she was suddenly ravenous.
She soothed Tad as best she could, telling him hollow things that no longer meant anything real to her one way or another—that people would show up soon, the bad dog would be taken away, they would be rescued.
The real thing was the thought of food.
Breakfasts, for instance, take breakfasts: two eggs fried in butter, over easy if you don’t mind, waiter. French toast. Big glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice so cold that moisture beaded the glass. Canadian bacon. Home fries. Bran flakes in cream with a sprinkle of blueberries on top—bloobies, her father had always called them, another one of those comic irrationalities that had irritated her mother out of all proportion.
Her stomach made a loud rumbling sound, and Tad laughed. The sound of his laughter startled her and pleased her with its unexpectedness. It was like finding a rose growing in a rubbish heap, and she smiled back. The smile hurt her lips.
“Heard that, huh?”
“I think you must be hungry too.”
“Well, I wouldn’t turn down an Egg McMuffin if someone threw it my way.”
Tad groaned, and that made them both laugh again. In the yard, Cujo had pricked up his ears. He growled at the sound of their laughter. For a moment he made as if to get to his feet, perhaps to charge the car again; then he settled wearily back on his haunches, head dropping.
Donna felt that irrational lift in her spirits that almost always comes with daybreak. Surely it would be over soon; surely they had passed the worst. All the luck had been against them, but sooner or later even the worst luck changes.
Tad seemed almost his old self. Too pale, badly used, terribly tired in spite of his sleep, but still indubitably the Tadder. She hugged him, and he hugged her back. The pain in her belly had subsided somewhat, although the scrapes and gouges there had a puffy, inflamed look. Her leg was worse, but she found she was able to flex it, although it hurt to do so and the bleeding started again. She would have a scar.
The two of them talked for the next forty minutes or so Donna, hunting for a way to keep Tad alert and to also pass the time for both of them, suggested Twenty Questions. Tad agreed eagerly. He had never been able to get enough of the game; the only problem had always been getting one or the other of his parents to play it with him. They were on