Doctor Sleep (The Shining #2)(55)

“Could have been even further. Could have been way the hell and gone up in Canada.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Probably a girl, but it was only a flash. Three seconds at most. Does it matter?”

It didn’t. “How many canisters could you fill from a kid with that much steam in the boiler?”

“Hard to say. Three, at least.” This time it was Rose who was lowballing. She guessed the unknown looker might fill ten canisters, maybe even a dozen. The presence had been brief but muscular. The looker had seen what they were doing, and her horror (if it was a her) had been strong enough to freeze Rose’s hands and make her feel a momentary loathing. It wasn’t her own feeling, of course—gutting a rube was no more loathsome than gutting a deer—but a kind of psychic ricochet.

“Maybe we ought to turn around,” Crow said. “Get her while the getting’s good.”

“No. I think this one’s still getting stronger. We’ll let her ripen a bit.”

“Is that something you know or just intuition?”

Rose waggled her hand in the air.

“An intuition strong enough to risk her getting killed by a hit-and-run driver or grabbed by some child-molesting perv?” Crow said this without irony. “Or what about leukemia, or some other cancer? You know they’re susceptible to stuff like that.”

“If you asked Jimmy Numbers, he’d say the actuarial tables are on our side.” Rose smiled and gave his thigh an affectionate pat. “You worry too much, Daddy. We’ll go on to Sidewinder, as planned, then head down to Florida in a couple of months. Both Barry and Grampa Flick think this might be a big year for hurricanes.”

Crow made a face. “That’s like scavenging out of Dumpsters.”

“Maybe, but the scraps in some of those Dumpsters are pretty tasty. And nourishing. I’m still kicking myself that we missed that tornado in Joplin. But of course we get less warning on sudden storms like that.”

“This kid. She saw us.”

“Yes.”

“And what we were doing.”

“Your point, Crow?”

“Could she nail us?”

“Honey, if she’s more than eleven, I’ll eat my hat.” Rose tapped it for emphasis. “Her parents probably don’t know what she is or what she can do. Even if they do, they’re probably minimizing it like hell in their own minds so they don’t have to think about it too much.”

“Or they’ll send her to a psychiatrist who’ll give her pills,” Crow said. “Which will muffle her and make her harder to find.”

Rose smiled. “If I got it right, and I’m pretty sure I did, giving Paxil to this kid would be like throwing a piece of Saran Wrap over a searchlight. We’ll find her when it’s time. Don’t worry.”

“If you say so. You’re the boss.”

“That’s right, honeybunch.” This time instead of patting his thigh, she squeezed his basket. “Omaha tonight?”

“It’s a La Quinta Inn. I reserved the entire back end of the first floor.”

“Good. My intent is to ride you like a roller coaster.”

“We’ll see who rides who,” Crow said. He was feeling frisky from the Trevor kid. So was Rose. So were they all. He turned the radio on again. Got Cross Canadian Ragweed singing about the boys from Oklahoma who rolled their joints all wrong.

The True rolled west.

3

There were easy AA sponsors, and hard AA sponsors, and then there were ones like Casey Kingsley, who took absolutely zero shit from their pigeons. At the beginning of their relationship, Casey ordered Dan to do ninety-in-ninety, and instructed him to telephone every morning at seven o’clock. When Dan completed his ninety consecutive meetings, he was allowed to drop the morning calls. Then they met three times a week for coffee at the Sunspot Café.

Casey was sitting in a booth when Dan came in on a July afternoon in 2011, and although Casey hadn’t made it to retirement just yet, to Dan his longtime AA sponsor (and first New Hampshire employer) looked very old. Most of his hair was gone, and he walked with a pronounced limp. He needed a hip replacement, but kept putting it off.

Dan said hi, sat down, folded his hands, and waited for what Casey called The Catechism.

“You sober today, Danno?”

“Yes.”

“How did that miracle of restraint happen?”

He recited, “Thanks to the program of Alcoholics Anonymous and the God of my understanding. My sponsor may also have played a small part.”

“Lovely compliment, but don’t blow smoke up my dress and I won’t blow any up yours.”

Patty Noyes came over with the coffeepot and poured Dan a cup, unasked. “How are you, handsome?”

Dan grinned at her. “I’m good.”

She ruffled his hair, then headed back to the counter, with a little extra swing in her stride. The men followed the sweet tick-tock of her hips, as men do, then Casey returned his gaze to Dan.

“Made any progress with that God-of-my-understanding stuff  ?”

“Not much,” Dan said. “I’ve got an idea it may be a lifetime work.”

“But you ask for help to stay away from a drink in the morning?”

“Yes.”