Joyland(64)

Back and forth I went, from the Whirly Cups to the Shootin'

Gallery and then back to the Whirly Cups again. At last I tossed the photos in the folder and threw the folder on my little desk.

I read until Tom and Erin came in, then went to bed.

Maybe it'll come to me in the morning, I thought. I'll wake up and say, "Oh shit, of course. "

The sound of the incoming waves slipped me into sleep. I dreamed I was on the beach with Annie and Mike. Annie and I were standing with our feet in the surf, our arms around each other, watching Mike fly his kite. He was paying out twine and 212

STEPHEN KING

running after it. He could do that because there was nothing wrong with him . He was fine. I had only dreamed that stuff about Duchenne's muscular dystrophy.

I woke early because I'd forgotten to pull down the shade.

I went to the folder, pulled out those two photographs, and stared at them in the day's first sunlight, positive I'd see the answer.

But I didn't.

?

A harmony of scheduling had allowed Tom and Erin to travel from New Jersey to North Carolina together, but when it comes to train schedules, harmony is the exception rather than the rule. The only ride they got together on Sunday was the one from Heaven's Bay to Wilmington, in my Ford. Erin's train left for upstate New York and Annandale-on-Hudson two hours before Tom's Coastal Express was due to whisk him back to New Jersey.

I tucked a check in her jacket pocket. "Interlibrary loans and long distance."

She fished it out, looked at the amount, and tried to hand it back. "Eighty dollars is too much, Dev."

"Considering all you found out, it's not enough. Take it, Lieutenant Columbo."

She laughed, put it back in her pocket, and kissed me goodbye

-another brother-sister quickie, nothing like the one we'd shared that night at the end of the summer. She spent considerably longer in Tom's arms. Promises were made about Thanksgiving at Tom's parents' home in western Pennsylvania. I could tell he didn't want to let her go, but when the loudspeakers announced Joy land





213


last call for Richmond, Baltimore, Wilkes-Barre, and points north, he finally did.

When she was gone, Tom and I strolled across the street and had an early dinner in a not-too-bad ribs joint. I was contemplating the dessert selection when he cleared his throat and said, "Listen, Dev."

Something in his voice made me look up in a hurry. His cheeks were even more flushed than usual. I put the menu down.

"This stuff you've had Erin doing .. . I think it should stop. It's bothering her, and I think she's been neglecting her coursework." He laughed, glanced out the window at the train-station bustle, looked back at me. "I sound more like her dad than her boyfriend, don't I?"

"You sound concerned, that's all. Like you care for her."

"Care for her? Buddy, I'm head-over-heels in love. She's the most important thing in my life. What I'm saying here isn't jealousy talking, though. I don't want you to get that idea.

Here's the thing: if she's going to transfer and still hold onto her financial aid, she can't let her grades slip. You see that, don't you?"

Yes, I could see that. I could see something else, too, even if Tom couldn't. He wanted her away from Joyland in mind as well as body, because something had happened to him there that he couldn't understand. Nor did he want to, which in my opinion made him sort of a fool. That dour flush of envy ran through me again, causing my stomach to clench around the food it was trying to digest.

Then I smiled-it was an effort, I won't kid you about thatand said, "Message received. As far as I'm concerned, our little 214

STEPHEN KING

research project is over." So relax, Thomas. You can stop thinking about what happened in Horror House. About what you saw there.

"Good. We're still friends, right?"

I reached across the table. "Friends to the end," I said.

We shook on it.

?

The Wiggle-Waggle Village's Story Stage had three backdrops: Prince Charming's Castle, Jack's Magic Beanstalk, and a starry night sky featuring the Carolina Spin outlined in red neon. All three had sun-faded over the course of the summer. I was in the Wiggle-Waggle's small backstage area on Monday morning, touching them up (and hoping not to f*ck them up-I was no Van Gogh) when one of the part-time gazoonies arrived with a message from Fred Dean. I was wanted in his office.

I went with some unease, wondering if I was going to get a reaming for bringing Erin into the park on Saturday. I was surprised to find Fred dressed not in one of his suits or his amusing golf outfit, but in faded jeans and an equally faded Joyland tee-shirt, the short sleeves rolled to show some real muscle. There was a paisley sweatband cinched around his brow. He didn't look like an accountant or the park's chief employment officer; he looked like a ride-jock.

He registered my surprise and smiled. "Like the outfit? I must admit I do. It's the way I dressed when I caught on with the Blitz Brothers show in the Midwest, back in the fifties. My mother was okay with the Blitzies, but my dad was horrified.

And he was carny."

"I know," I said.



Joyland





215


He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Word gets around, doesn't it? Anyway, there's a lot to do this afternoon."