Pet Sematary(66)

Now the cat slept like a stone. Like the dead.

No, he reminded himself, there was one exception. The night he had awakened on the hide-a-bed with Church curled up on his chest like a stinking blanket...

Church had been purring that night. It had been making some sound, anyway.

But as Jud Crandall had known-or guessed-it had not been all bad. Louis found a broken window down-cellar behind the furnace, and when the glazier fixed it, he had saved them yea bucks in wasted heating oil. For calling his attention to the broken pane, which he might not have discovered for weeks-months, maybe-he supposed he even owed Church a vote of thanks.

Ellie no longer wanted Church to sleep with her, that was true, but sometimes when she was watching TV, she would let the cat hop up on her lap and go to sleep. But just as often, he thought, hunting through the bag of plastic widgets that were supposed to hold Ellie's Bat-Cycle together, she would push him down after a few minutes, saying, "Go on, Church, you stink." She fed him regularly and with love, and even Gage was not above giving old Church an occasional tail tug... more in the spirit of friendliness than in one of meanness, Louis was convinced; he was like a tiny monk yanking a furry bell rope. At these times Church would crawl lackadaisically under one of the radiators where Gage couldn't get him.

We might have noticed more differences with a dog, Louis thought, but cats are such goddam independent animals anyway. Independent and odd. Fey even. It didn't surprise him that the old Egyptian queens and pharaohs had wanted their cats mummified and popped into their triangular tombs with them in order to serve as spirit guides in the next world. Cats were weird.

"How you doing with that Bat-Cycle, Chief?"

He held out the finished product. "Ta-dat"

Rachel pointed at the bag, which still had three or four plastic widgets in it.

"What are those?"

"Spares," Louis said, smiling guiltily.

"You better hope they're spares. The kid will break her rotten little neck."

"That comes later," Louis said maliciously. "When she's twelve and showing off on her new skateboard."

She groaned. "Come on, Doc, have a heart!"

Louis stood up, put his hands on the small of his back, and twisted his torso.

His spine crackled. "That's all the toys."

"And they're all together. Remember last year?" She giggled and Louis smiled.

Last year seemingly everything they'd gotten had to be assembled, and they'd been up until almost four o'clock Christmas morning, both of them finishing grouchy and out of sorts. And by midafternoon of Christmas, Ellie had decided the boxes were more fun than the toys.

"Gross-OUT!" Louis said, imitating Ellie.

"Well, come on to bed," Rachel said, "and I'll give you a present early."

"Woman," Louis said, drawing himself up to his full height, "that is mine by right."

"Don't you wish," she said and laughed through her hands. In that moment she looked amazingly like Ellie... and like Gage.

"Just a minute," he said. "There's one other thing I gotta do." He hurried into the front hail closet and brought back one of his boots. He removed the fire screen from in front of the dying fire.

"Louis, what are you-"

"You'll see."

On the left side of the hearth the fire was out and there was a thick bed of fluffy gray ashes. Louis stamped the boot into them, leaving a deep track. Then he tromped the boot down on the outer bricks, using it like a big rubber stamp.

"There," he said, after he had put the boot away in the closet again. "You like?"

Rachel was giggling again. "Louis, Ellie's going to go nuts."

During the last two weeks of school, Ellie had picked up a disquieting rumor around kindergarten, to wit, that Santa Claus was really parents. This idea had been reinforced by a rather skinny Santa at the Bangor Mall, whom Ellie had glimpsed in the Deering Ice Cream Parlor a few days ago. Santa had been sitting on a counter stool, his beard pulled to one side so he could eat a cheeseburger.

This had troubled Ellie mightily (it seemed to be the cheeseburger, somehow, even more than the false beard), in spite of Rachel's assurances that the department store and Salvation Army Santas were really "helpers," sent out by the real Santa, who was far too busy completing inventory and reading children's last-minute letters up north to be boogying around the world on public relations jaunts.

Louis replaced the fire screen carefully. Now there were two clear boot tracks in their fireplace, one in the ashes and one on the hearth. They both pointed toward the Christmas tree, as if Santa had hit bottom on one foot and immediately stepped out to leave the goodies assigned to the Creed household.

The illusion was perfect unless you happened to notice that they were both left feet... and Louis doubted if Ellie was that analytical.

"Louis Creed, I love you," Rachel said and kissed him.

"You married a winner, baby," Louis said, smiling sincerely. "Stick with me and I'll make you a star."

They started for the stairs. He pointed at the card table Ellie had set up in front of the TV. There were oatmeal cookies and two Ring-Dings on it. Also a can of Micheloeb. FOR YOU, SANNA, the note said in Ellie's large, sticklike printing. "You want a cookie or a Ring-Ding?"