done, but he knew things might look different to her once she was away from him. Asking for her promise-Do you swear to come back for me, sat? Do you swear on this boy's stilled heart?-would do no good.
She could mean every word here and then think better of it once she was over the first hill.
Yet when he'd had a chance to take the shopkeeper who owned the truck, he didn't. Nor had he swapped her for the old man cutting the grass at the writer's house.
"Later will do," he said. "For now, hurry on your way. If for some reason you feel you can't come back here, I'll not hold it against you."
"Where would you go on your own?" she asked him.
"Where would you know to go? This isn't your world. Is it?"
Roland ignored the question. "If there are people still here the first time you come back-peace officers, guards O'The watch, bluebacks, I don't know-drive past without stopping.
Come back again in half an hour's time. If they're still here, drive on again. Keep doing that until they're gone."
"Will they notice me going back and forth?"
"I don't know," he said. "Will they?"
She considered, then almost smiled. "The cops in this part of the world? Probably not."
He nodded, accepting her judgment. "When you feel it's safe, stop. You won't see me, but I'll see you. I'll wait until dark. If you're not here by then, I go."
"I'll come for you, but I won't be driving that miserable excuse for a truck when I do," she said. "I'll be driving a Mercedes-Benz S600." She said this with some pride.
Roland had no idea what a Mercedes-Bends was, but he nodded as though he did. "Go. We'll talk later, after you come back."
If you come back, he thought.
"I think you may want this," she said, and slipped his revolver back into its holster.
"Thankee-sai."
"You're welcome."
He watched her go to the old truck (which he thought she'd rather come to like, despite her dismissive words) and haul herself up by the wheel. And as she did, he realized there was something he needed, something that might be in the truck. "Whoa!"
Mrs. Tassenbaum had put her hand on the key in the ignition.
Now she took it off and looked at him inquiringly. Roland settled Jake gently back to the earth beneath which he must soon lie (it was that thought which had caused him to call out)
and got to his feet. He winced and put his hand to his hip, but that was only habit. There was no pain.
"What?" she asked as he approached. "If I don't go soon-"
It wouldn't matter if she went at all. 'Yes. I know."
He looked in the bed of the truck. Along with the careless scatter of tools there was a square shape under a blue tarpaulin.
The edges of the tarp had been folded beneath the object to keep it from blowing away. When Roland pulled the tarp free, he saw eight or ten boxes made of the stiff paper Eddie called
"card-board." They'd been pushed together to make the square shape. The pictures printed on the card-board told him they were boxes of beer. He wouldn't have cared if they had been boxes of high explosive.
It was the tarpaulin he wanted.
He stepped back from the truck with it in his arms and said,
"Wow you can go."
She grasped the key that started the engine once more, but did not immediately turn it. "Sir," said she, "I am sorry for your loss. I just wanted to tell yovi that. I can see what that boy meant to you."
Roland Deschain bowed his head and said nothing.
Irene Tassenbaum looked at him for a moment longer, reminded herself that sometimes words were useless things, then started the engine and slammed the door. He watched her drive into the road (her use of the clutch had already grown smooth and sure), making a tight turn so she could drive north, back toward East Stoneham.
Sorry for your loss.
And now he was alone with that loss. Alone with Jake. For a moment Roland stood surveying the litde grove of trees beside the highway, looking at two of the three who had been drawn to this place: a man, unconscious, and a boy dead. Roland's eyes were dry and hot, throbbing in their sockets, and for a moment he was sure that he had again lost the ability to weep. The idea horrified him. If he was incapable of tears after all of this-after what he'd regained and then