"I know how you feel about her," Danny said, and sighed.
"How do I feel?"
"Bad," Danny said, and then rhyming, singsong, frightening her: "Bad. Sad. Mad. It's like she wasn't your mommy at all. Like she wanted to eat you." He looked at her, frightened. "And I don't like it there. She's always thinking about how she would be better for me than you. And how she could get me away from you. Mommy, I don't want to go there. I'd rather be at the Overlook than there."
Wendy was shaken. Was it that bad between her and hermother? God, what hell for the boy if it was and he could really read their thoughts for each other. She suddenly felt more naked than naked, as if she had been caught in an obscene act.
"All right," she said. "All right, Danny."
"You're mad at me," he said in a small, near-to-tears voice.
"No, I'm not. Really I'm not. I'm just sort of shook up." They were passing a SIDEWINDER 15 mi. sign, and Wendy relaxed a little. From here on in the road was better.
"I want to ask you one more question, Danny. I want you to answer it as truthfully as you can. Will you do that?"
"Yes, Mommy," he said, almost whispering.
"Has your daddy been drinking again?"
"No," he said, and smothered the two words that rose behind his lips after that simple negative: Not yet.
Wendy relaxed a little more. She put a hand on Danny's jeans-clad leg and squeezed it. "Your daddy has tried very hard," she said softly. "Because he loves us. And we love him, don't we?"
He nodded gravely.
Speaking almost to herself she went on: "He's not a perfect man, but he has tried... Danny, he's tried so hard! When he... stopped... he went through a kind of hell. He's still going through it. I think if it hadn't been for us, he would have just let go. I want to do what's right. And I don't know. Should we go? Stay? It's like a choice between the fat and the fire."
"I know."
"Would you do something for me, doc?"
"What?"
"Try to make Tony come. Right now. Ask him if we're safe at the Overlook."
"I already tried," Danny said slowly. "This morning."
"What happened?" Wendy asked. "What did he say?"
"He didn't come," Danny said. "Tony didn't come." And he suddenly burst into tears.
"Danny," she said, alarmed. "Honey, don't do that. Please-" The truck swerved across the double yellow line and she pulled it back, scared.
"Don't take me to Gramma's," Danny said through his tears. "Please, Mommy, I don't want to go there, I want to stay with Daddy-"
"All right," she said softly. "All right, that's what we'll do." She took a Kleenex out of the pocket of her Western-style shirt and handed it to him. "We'll stay. And everything will be fine. Just fine."
"Bad Moon Rising," by J. C. Fogerty, (c) 1969 Jondora Music, Berkeley, California. Used by permission. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.
Chapter 23. In the Playground
Jack came out onto the porch, tugging the tab of his zipper up under his chin, blinking into the bright air. In his left hand he was holding a battery-powered hedge-clipper. He tugged a fresh handkerchief out of his back pocket with his right hand, wiped his lips with it, and tucked it away. Snow, they had said on the radio. It was hard to believe, even though he could see the clouds building up on the far horizon.
He started down the path to the topiary, switching the hedge-clipper over to the other hand. It wouldn't be a long job, he thought; a little touch-up would do it. The cold nights had surely stunted their growth. The rabbit's ears looked a little fuzzy, and two of the dog's legs had grown fuzzy green bonespurs, but the lions and the buffalo looked fine. Just a little haircut would do the trick, and then let the snow come.
The concrete path ended as abruptly as a diving board. He stepped off it and walked past the drained pool to the gravel path which wound through the hedge sculptures and into the playground itself. He walked over to the rabbit and pushed the button on the handle of the clippers. It hummed into quiet life.
"Hi, Br'er Rabbit," Jack said. "How are you today? A little off the top and get some of the extra off your ears? Fine. Say, did you hear the one about the traveling salesman and the old lady with a pet poodle?"
His voice sounded unnatural and stupid in his ears, and he stopped. It occurred to him that he didn't care much for these hedge animals. It had always seemed slightly perverted to him to clip and torture a plain old hedge into something that it wasn't. Along one of the highways in Vermont there had been a hedge billboard on a high slope overlooking the road, advertising some kind of ice cream. Making nature peddle ice cream, that was just wrong. It was grotesque.
(You weren't hired to philosophize, Torrance.)