Cujo

Charity knew perfectly well that Joe had gone over to the Thorntons' with the repaired tire the previous Thursday. She also knew that Bessie was apt to get her days mixed up. All of which left her in a pretty dilemma. She could ask Bessie if Joe had had a tractor tire with him when he came up 'yesterday or the day before,' and if Bessie said why yes, now that you mention it, he did, that would mean that Joe hadn't been up to see Alva since last Thursday, which would mean that Joe hadn't asked Alva to feed Cujo, which would also mean that Alva wouldn't have any information about Cujo's health and well-being.

Or she could just leave well enough alone and ease Brett's mind. They could enjoy the rest of their visit without thoughts of home intruding constantly. And ... well, she was a little jealous of Cujo right about now. Tell the truth and shame the devil. Cujo was distracting Brett's attention from what could be the most important trip he ever took. She wanted the boy to see a whole new life, a whole new set of possibilities, so that when the time came, a few years from now, for him to decide which doors he wanted to step through and which ones he would allow to swing closed, he could make those decisions with a bit of perspective. Perhaps she had been wrong to believe she could steer him, but let him at least have enough experience to make up his mind for himself.

Was it fair to let his worries about the damned dog stand in the way of that?

,Charity? You there? I said I thought

'Ayuh, I heard you, Bessie. He probably did ask Alva to feed him, then.'

'Well, I'll ask him when he gets home, Charity. And I'll let you know, too.'

'You do that. Thanks ever so much, Bessie.'

'Don't even mention it.'

'Fine. Good-bye.' And Charity hung up, realizing that Bessie had forgotten to ask for Jim and Holly's phone number. Which was fine. She turned toward Brett, composing her face. She would say nothing that was a lie. She would lie to her son.

'Bessie said your dad was over to see Alva Sunday night,' Charity said. 'Must have asked him to take care of Cujo then.'

'Oh.' Brett was looking at her in a speculative way that made her a little uneasy. 'But you didn't talk to Alva himself.'

'No, he was out bowling. But Bessie said she'd let us know if -'

She doesn't have our number down here.' Was Brett's tone now faintly accusatory? Or was that her own conscience talking?

'Well, I'll call her back in the morning, then,' Charity said, hoping to close the conversation and applying some salve to her conscience at the same time.

'Daddy took a tractor tire over last week,' Brett said thoughtfully. 'Maybe Mrs. Thornton got mixed up on which day Daddy was there.'

'I think Bessie Thornton can keep her days straighter in her head than that,' Charity said, not thinking so at all. 'Besides, she didn't mention anything to me about a tractor tire.'

'Yeah, but you didn't ask her.'

'Go ahead and call her back, then!' Charity flashed at him. A sudden helpless fury swept her, the same ugly feeling that had come when Brett had offered his wickedly exact observation about Holly and her deck of credit cards. When he had done that his father's intonation, even his father's pattern of speech, had crept into his voice, and it had seemed to her, then and now, that the only thing this trip was doing was to show her once and for all who Brett really belonged to -lock, stock, and barrel.

'Mom '

'No, go ahead, call her back, the number's right here on the scratchpad. just tell the operator to charge it to our phone so it won't go on Holly's bill. Ask Bessie all your questions. I only did the best I could.'

There, she thought with sad and bitter amusement. just five minutes ago I wasn't going to lie to him.

That afternoon her anger had sparked anger in him. Tonight he only said quietly, 'Naw, that's okay.'

'If you want, we'll call somebody else and have them go up and check,' Charity said. She was already sorry for her outburst.

'Who would we call?' Brett asked.

'Well, what about one of the Milliken brothers?'

Brett only looked at her.

'Maybe that's not such a good idea,' Charity agreed. Late last winter, Joe Camber and john Milliken had had a bitter argument over the charge on some repair work Joe had done on the Milliken brothers' old Chevy Bel Air. Since then, the Cambers and the Millikens hadn't been talking much. The last time Charity had gone to play Beano down at the Grange, she had tried to pass a friendly word with Kim Milliken, Freddy's daughter, but Kim wouldn't say a word to her; just walked away with her head up as if she hadn't been acting the slut with half the boys in Castle Rock High School.

It occurred to her now how really isolated they were, up at the end of Town Road No.3. It made her feel lonely and a little chilled. She could think of no one she could reasonably ask to go up to their place with a flashlight and hunt up Cujo and make sure he was okay.

Never mind,' Brett said listlessly. 'Probably stupid, anyway. He probably just ate some burdocks or something.'

'Listen,' Charity said, putting an arm around him. 'One thing you aren't is stupid, Brett. I'll call Alva himself in the morning and ask him to go up. I'll do it as soon as we get up. Okay?'

'Would you, Mom?'

'Yes.'

'That'd be great. I'm sorry to bug you about it, but I can't seem to get it off my mind.

Jim popped his head in. 'I got out the Scrabble board. Anyone want to play?'

'I will,' Brett said, getting up, 'if you show me how.'

'What about you, Charity?'

Charity smiled. 'Not just now, I guess. I'll bein for some of the popcorn.'

Brett went out with his uncle. She sat on the sofa and looked at the telephone and thought of Brett night-walking, feeding a phantom dog phantom dogfood in her sister's modern kitchen.

Cujo's not hungry no more, not no more.

Her arms suddenly tightened, and she shivered. We're going to take care of this business tomorrow morning, she promised herself. One way or the other. Either that or go back and take care of it ourselves. That's a promise, Brett.

Vic tried home again at ten o'clock. There was no answer. He tried again at eleven o'clock and there was still no answer, although he let the phone ring two dozen times. At ten he was beginning to get scared. At eleven he was good and scared -of what, he was not precisely sure.

Roger was sleeping. Vic dialed the number in the dark, listened to it ring in the dark, hung up in the dark. He felt alone, childlike, lost. He didn't know what to do or what to think. Over and over his mind played a simple litany: She's gone off with Kemp, gone off with Kemp, gone off with Kemp.

All reason and logic was against it. He played over everything he and Donna had said to each other - he played it over again and again, listening to the words and to the nuances of tone in his mind. She and Kemp had had a falling