Joyland(65)

"Just give me a list. I'm almost done painting the backdrops in the-"

"Not at all, Jonesy. You're signing out at noon today, and I don't want to see you until tomorrow morning at nine, when you turn up with your guests . Don't worry about your paycheck, either. I'll see you're not docked for the hours you miss."

"What's this about, Fred?"

He gave me a smile I couldn't interpret. "It's a surprise."

?

That Monday was warm and sunny, and Annie and Mike were having lunch at the end of the boardwalk when I walked back to Heaven's Bay. Milo saw me coming and raced to meet me.

"Dev!" Mike called. "Come and have a sandwich! We've got plenty!"

"No, I really shouldn't-"

"We insist," Annie said. Then her brow furrowed. "Unless you're sick, or something. I don't want Mike to catch a bug."

"''m fine, just got sent home early. Mr. Dean-he's my bosswouldn't tell me why. He said it was a surprise. It's got something to do with tomorrow, I guess." I looked at her with some anxiety. "We're still on for tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," she said. "When I surrender, I surrender. Just . . . we're not going to tire him out. Are we, Dev?"

"Mom," Mike said.

She paid him no mind. "Are we?"

"No, ma'am." Although seeing Fred Dean dressed up like a carny road dog, with all those unsuspected muscles showing, 216

STEPHEN KING

had made me uneasy. Had I made it clear to him how fragile Mike's health was? I thought so, but-

"Then come on up here and have a sandwich," she said. "I hope you like egg salad."

?

I didn't sleep well on Monday night, half-convinced that the tropical storm Fred had mentioned would arrive early and wash out Mike's trip to the park, but Tuesday dawned cloudless. I crept down to the parlor and turned on the TV in time to get the six forty-five weathercast on WECT. The storm was still coming, but the only people who were going to feel it today were the ones living in coastal Florida and Georgia. I hoped Mr. Easterbrook had packed his galoshes.

"You're up early," Mrs. Shoplaw said, poking her head in from the kitchen. "I was just making scrambled eggs and bacon.

Come have some."

''I'm not that hungry, Mrs. S."

"Nonsense. You're still a growing boy, Devin, and you need to eat. Erin told me what you've got going on today, and I think you're doing a wonderful thing. It will be fine."

"I hope you're right," I said, but I kept thinking of Fred Dean in his work-clothes. Fred, who'd sent me home early. Fred, who had a surprise planned.

?

We had made our arrangements at lunch the day before, and when I turned my old car into the driveway of the big green Victorian at eight-thirty on Tuesday morning, Annie and Mike were ready to go. So was Milo.



Joy land





217


"Are you sure nobody will mind us bringing him?" Mike had asked on Monday. "I don't want to get into trouble."

"Service dogs are allowed in Joyland," I said, "and Milo's going to be a service dog. Aren't you, Milo?"

Milo had cocked his head, apparently unfamiliar with the service dog concept.

Today Mike was wearing his huge, clanky braces. I moved to help him into the van, but he waved me off and did it himself.

It took a lot of effort and I expected a coughing fit, but none came. He was practically bouncing with excitement. Annie, looking impossibly long-legged in Lee Riders, handed me the van keys. "You drive." And lowering her voice so Mike wouldn't hear: ''I'm too goddam nervous to do it."

I was nervous, too. I'd bulldozed her into this, after all. I'd had help from Mike, true, but I was the adult. If it went wrong, it would be on me. I wasn't much for prayer, but as I loaded Mike's crutches and wheelchair into the back of the van, I sent one up that nothing would go wrong. Then I backed out of the driveway, turned onto Beach Drive, and drove past the billboard reading BRING YOUR KIDS TO JOYLAND FOR THE TIME

OF THEIR LIVES !

Annie was in the passenger seat, and I thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did that October morning, in her faded jeans and a light sweater, her hair tied back with a hank of blue yarn.

"Thank you for this, Dev," she said. "I just hope we're doing the right thing."

"We are," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Because, now that it was a done deal, I had my doubts .

?





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The Joyland sign was lit up-that was the first thing I noticed.

The second was that the summertime get-happy music was playing through the loudspeakers: a sonic parade of late sixties and early seventies hits. I had intended to park in one of the Lot A handicapped spaces-they were only fifty feet or so from the park entrance-but before I could do so, Fred Dean stepped through the open gate and beckoned us forward. Today he wasn't wearing just any suit but the three-piecer he saved for the occasional celebrity who rated a VIP tour. The suit I had seen, but never the black silk top hat, which looked like the kind you saw diplomats wearing in old newsreel footage.