Stephen King - Hearts in Atlantis

SCRIBNER

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 1999 by Stephen King

ISBN 0-684-84490-7

Bobby and Ted exchanged a guilty look. Both of them sat back on their respective sides of the table, as if they had been doing some-thing crazy instead of just talking about crazy stuff.

Shell see weve been up to something, Bobby thought with dis-may. Its all over my face.

No, Ted said to him. It is not. T hat is her power over you, that you believe it. Its a mothers power.

Bobby stared at him, amazed. Did you read my mind? Did you read my mind just then?

Now his mom was almost to the third-floor landing and there was no time for a reply even if Ted had wanted to make one. But there was no look on his face saying he would have replied if there had been time, either. And Bobby at once began to doubt what he had heard.

Then his mother was in the open doorway, looking from her son to Ted and back to her son again, her eyes assessing. So here you are after all, she said. My goodness, Bobby, didnt you hear me calling?

You were up here before I got a chance to say boo, Mom.

She snorted. Her mouth made a small, meaningless smileher automatic social smile. Her eyes went back and forth between the two of them, back and forth, looking for something out of place, something she didnt like, something wrong. I didnt hear you come in from outdoors.

You were asleep on your bed.

How are you today, Mrs. Garfield? Ted asked.

Fine as paint. Back and forth went her eyes. Bobby had no idea what she was looking for, but that expression of dismayed guilt must have left his face. If she had seen it, he would know already; would know that she knew.

Would you like a bottle of pop? Ted asked. I have rootbeer. Its not much, but its cold.

That would be nice, Liz said. Thanks. She came all the way in and sat down next to Bobby at the kitchen table. She patted him absently on the leg, watching Ted as he opened his little fridge and got out the rootbeer. Its not hot up here yet, Mr. Brattigan, but I guar-antee you it will be in another month. You want to get yourself a fan.

Theres an idea. Ted poured rootbeer into a clean glass, then stood in front of the fridge holding the glass up to the light, waiting for the foam to go down. To Bobby he looked like a scientist in a T V commercial, one of those guys obsessed with Brand X and Brand Y and how Rolaids consumed fifty-seven times its own weight in excess stomach acid, amazing but true.

I dont need a full glass, that will be fine, she said a little impa-tiently. Ted brought the glass to her, and she raised it to him. Heres how. She took a swallow and grimaced as if it had been rye instead of rootbeer. Then she watched over the top of the glass as Ted sat down, tapped the ash from his smoke, and tucked the stub of the cig-arette back into the corner of his mouth.

You two have gotten thicker than thieves, she remarked. Sit-ting here at the kitchen table, drinking rootbeercozy, thinks I! Whatve you been talking about today?

The book Mr. Brautigan gave me, Bobby said. His voice sounded natural and calm, a voice with no secrets behind it. Lord of the Flies. I couldnt figure out if the ending was happy or sad, so I thought Id ask him.

Oh? And what did he say?

That it was both. Then he told me to consider it.

Liz laughed without a great deal of humor. I read mysteries, Mr. Brattigan, and save my consideration for real life. But of course Im not retired.

No, Ted said. You are obviously in the very prime of life.

She gave him her flattery-will-get-you-nowhere look. Bobby knew it well.

I also offered Bobby a small job, Ted told her. He has agreed to take it... with your permission, of course.

Her brow furrowed at the mention of a job, smoothed at the men-tion of permission. She reached out and briefly touched Bobbys red hair, a gesture so unusual that Bobbys eyes widened a little. Her eyes never left Teds face as she did it. Not only did she not trust the man, Bobby realized, she was likely never going to trust him. What sort of job did you have in mind?

He wants me to

Hush, she said, and still her eyes peered over the top of her glass, never leaving Ted.

Id like him to read me the paper, perhaps in the afternoons, Ted said, then explained how his eyes werent what they used to be and how he had worse problems every day with the finer print. But he liked to keep up with the newsthese were very interesting times, didnt Mrs. Garfield think so?and he liked to keep up with the columns, as well, Stewart Alsop and Walter Winchell and such. Winchell was a gossip, of course, but an interesting gossip, didnt Mrs. Garfield agree?

Bobby listened, increasingly tense even though he could tell from his mothers face and postureeven from the way she sipped her rootbeerthat she believed what Ted was telling her. T hat part of it was all right, but what if Ted went blank again? Went blank and started babbling about low men in yellow coats or the tails of kites hanging from telephone wires, all the time gazing off into space?

But nothing like that happened. Ted finished by saying he also liked to know how the Dodgers were doingMaury Wills, espe-ciallyeven though they had gone to L.A. He said this with the air of one who is determined to tell the truth even if the truth is a bit shameful. Bobby thought it was a nice touch.

I suppose that would be fine, his mother said (almost grudg-ingly, Bobby thought). In fact it sounds like a plum. I wish I could have a plum job like that.

Ill bet youre excellent at your job, Mrs. Garfield.

She flashed him her dry flattery-wont-work-with-me expression again. Youll have to pay him extra to do the crossword for you, she said, getting up, and although Bobby didnt understand the remark, he was astonished by the cruelty he sensed in it, embedded like a piece of glass in a marshmallow. It was as if she wanted to make fun of Teds failing eyesight and his intellect at the same time; as if she wanted to hurt him for being nice to her son. Bobby was still ashamed at deceiving her and frightened that she would find out, but now he was also glad... almost viciously glad. She deserved it. Hes good at the crossword, my Bobby.

Ted smiled. Im sure he is.

Come on downstairs, Bob. Its time to give Mr. Brattigan a rest.

But

I think I would like to lie down awhile, Bobby. Ive a little bit of a headache. Im glad you liked Lord of the Flies. You can start your job tomorrow, if you like, with the feature section of the Sunday paper. I warn you its apt to be a trial by fire.

Okay.

Mom had reached the little landing outside of Teds door. Bobby was behind her. Now she turned back and looked at Ted over Bobbys head. Why not outside on the porch? she asked. The fresh air will be nice for both of you. Better than this stuffy room. And Ill be able to hear, too, if Im in the living room.

Bobby thought some message was passing between them. Not via telepathy, exactly... only it was telepathy, in a way. The humdrum sort adults practiced.

A fine idea, Ted said. T he front porch would be lovely. Good afternoon, Bobby. Good afternoon, Mrs. Garfield.

Bobby came very close to saying Seeya, Ted and substituted See you, Mr. Brautigan at the last moment. He moved toward the stairs, smiling vaguely, with the sweaty feeling of someone who has just avoided a nasty accident.