Joyland(58)

She made a lovely armful, but it's impossible to mistake sisterly kisses for anything other than what they are. I let her go and allowed Tom to pull me into an enthusiastic back-thumping manhug. It was as if we hadn't seen each other in five years instead of five weeks. I was a working stiff now, and although I had put on my best chinos and a sport-shirt, I looked it. Even with my grease-spotted jeans and sun-faded dogtop back in the closet of my room at Mrs. S.'s, I looked it.

"It's so great to see you!" Erin said. "My God, what a tan!"



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I shrugged. 'What can I say? I'm working in the northernmost province of the Redneck Riviera."

"You made the right call," Tom said. "I never would have believed it when you said you weren't going back to school, but you made the right call. Maybe I should have stayed at Joyland."

He smiled-that I-French-kissed-the-Blarney-Stone smile of his that could charm the birdies down from the trees-but it didn't quite dispel the shadow that crossed his face. He could never have stayed at Joyland, not after our dark ride.

They stayed the weekend at Mrs. Shoplaw's Beachside Accommodations (Mrs. S. was delighted to have them, and Tina Ackerley was delighted to see them) and all five of us had a hilarious half-drunk picnic supper on the beach, with a roaring bonfire to provide warmth. But on Saturday afternoon, when it came time for Erin to share her troubling information with me, Tom declared his intention to whip Tina and Mrs. S. at Scrabble and sent us off alone. I thought that if Annie and Mike were at the end of their boardwalk, I'd introduce Erin to them. But the day was chilly, the wind off the ocean was downright cold, and the picnic table at the end of the boardwalk was deserted. Even the umbrella was gone, taken in and stored for the winter.

At Joyland, all four parking lots were empty save for the little fleet of service trucks . Erin-dressed in a heavy turtleneck sweater and wool pants, carrying a slim and very businesslike briefcase with her initials embossed on it-raised her eyebrows when I produced my keyring and used the biggest key to open the gate.

"So," she said. "You're one of them now."

That embarrassed me-aren't we all embarrassed (even if we don't know why) when someone says we're one of them?



194

STEPHEN KING

"Not really. I carry a gate-key in case I get here before anyone else, or if I'm the last to leave, but only Fred and Lane have all the Keys to the Kingdom."

She laughed as if I'd said something silly. "The key to the gate is the key to the kingdom, that's what I think." Then she sobered and gave me a long, measuring stare. "You look older, Devin. I thought so even before we got off the train, when I saw you waiting on the platform. Now I know why. You went to work and we went back to Never Never Land to play with the Lost Boys and Girls. The ones who will eventually turn up in suits from Brooks Brothers and with M BAs in their pockets ."

I pointed to the briefcase. "That would go with a suit from Brooks Brothers . . .if they really make suits for women, that is."

She sighed. "It was a gift from my parents. My father wants me to be a lawyer, like him. So far I haven't gotten up the nerve to tell him I want to be a freelance photographer. He'll blow his stack."

We walked up Joyland Avenue in silence-except for the bonelike rattle of the fallen leaves. She looked at the covered rides, the dry fountain, the frozen horses on the merry-goround, the empty Story Stage in the deserted Wiggle-Waggle Village.

"Kind of sad, seeing it this way. It makes me think mortal thoughts." She looked at me appraisingly. "We saw the paper.

Mrs. Shoplaw made sure to leave it in our room. You did it again."

"Eddie? I just happened to be there." We had reached Madame Fortuna's shy. The lawn chairs were still leaning against it. I unfolded two and gestured for Erin to sit down. I sat beside



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her, then pulled a pint bottle of Old Log Cabin from the pocket of my jacket. "Cheap whiskey, but it takes the chill off."

Looking amused, she took a small nip. I took one of my own, screwed on the cap, and stowed the bottle in my pocket. Fifty yards down Joyland Avenue-our midway-! could see the tall false front of Horror House and read the drippy green letters: C O M E IN IF YOU DARE .

Her small hand gripped my shoulder with surprising strength.

"You saved the old bastard. You did. Give yourself some credit, you."

I smiled, thinking of Lane saying I had a merit badge in modesty. M aybe; giving myself credit for stuff wasn't one of my strong points in those days.

"Will he live?"

"Probably. Freddy Dean talked to some doctors who said blah-blah-blah, patient must give up smoking, blah-blah-blah, patient must give up eating French fries, blah-blah-blah, patient must begin a regular exercise regimen."

"I can just see Eddie Parks jogging," Erin said.

"Uh-huh, with a cigarette in his mouth and a bag of pork rinds in his hand."

She giggled. The wind gusted and blew her hair around her face. In her heavy sweater and businesslike dark gray pants, she didn't look much like the flushed American beauty who'd run around J oyland in a little green dress, smiling her pretty Erin smile and coaxing people to let her take their picture with her old-fashioned camera.

"What have you got for me? What did you find out?"