kiss, Rusty observed. Cheeky little devil.
“Take me to the hospital, Rommie,” Rusty said. He waved to Claire and the kids as they backed down the driveway. He was glad to get away from Mrs. McClatchey without having to talk to her; Mom Vision might work on PAs, as well. “And could you do me a favor and talk English instead of that comic-book
“Some people have no cultural heritage to fall back on,” Rommie said, “and are thus jealous of those who do.”
“Yeah, and your mother wears galoshes,” Rusty said.
“Dat’s true, but only when it rains, her.”
Rusty’s cell phone chimed once: a text message. He flipped it open and read: MEETING AT 2130 CONGO PARSONAGE B THERE OR B SQUARE JW
“Rommie,” he said, closing his phone. “Assuming I survive the Rennies, would you consider attending a meeting with me tonight?”
4
At the hospital, Ginny met him in the lobby. “It’s Rennie Day at Cathy Russell,” she announced, looking as if this did not exactly displease her. “Thurse Marshall has been in to see them both. Rusty, that man is a gift from God. He clearly doesn’t like Junior—he and Frankie were the ones who roughed him up out at the Pond—but he was totally professional. The guy’s wasted in some college English department—he should be doing this.” She lowered her voice. “He’s better than me. And
“Where is he now?”
“Went back to where he’s living to see that young girlfriend of his and the two children they took on. He seems to genuinely care about the kids, too.”
“Oh my goodness, Ginny’s in love,” Rusty said, grinning.
“Don’t be juvenile.” She glared at him.
“What rooms are the Rennies in?”
“Junior in Seven, Senior in Nineteen. Senior came in with that guy Thibodeau, but must have sent him off to run errands, because he was on his own when he went down to see his kid.” She smiled cynically. “He didn’t visit long. Mostly he’s been on that cell phone of his. The kid just sits, although he’s rational again. He wasn’t when Henry Morrison brought him in.”
“Big Jim’s arrhythmia? Where are we with that?”
“Thurston got it quieted down.”
“Go see the kid first,” Ginny said. They were alone in the lobby, but she kept her voice low-pitched. “I don’t like him, I’ve never liked him, but I feel sorry for him now. I don’t think he’s got long.”
“Did Thurston say anything about Junior’s condition to Rennie?”
“Yes, that the problem was potentially serious. But apparently not as serious as all those calls he’s making. Probably someone told him about Visitors Day on Friday. Rennie’s pissed about it.”
Rusty thought of the box on Black Ridge, just a thin rectangle with an area of less than fifty square inches, and still he hadn’t been able to lift it. Or even budge it. He also thought of the laughing leatherheads he’d briefly glimpsed.
“Some people just don’t approve of visitors,” he said.
5
“How are you feeling, Junior?”
“Okay. Better.” He sounded listless. He was wearing a hospital johnny and sitting by the window. The light was merciless on his haggard face. He looked like a rode-hard forty-year-old.
“Tell me what happened before you passed out.”
“I was going to school, then I went to Angie’s house instead. I wanted to tell her to make it up with Frank. He’s been majorly bummin.”
Rusty considered asking if Junior knew Frank and Angie were both dead, then didn’t—what was the point? Instead he asked, “You were going to school? What about the Dome?”
“Oh, right.” The same listless, affectless voice. “I forgot about that.”
“How old are you, son?”
“Twenty… one?”
“What was your mother’s name?”
Junior considered this. “Jason Giambi,” he said at last, then laughed shrilly. But the listless, haggard expression on his face never changed.
“When did the Dome drop down?”
“Saturday.”
“And how long ago was that?”
Junior frowned. “A week?” he said at last. Then, “Two weeks? It’s been awhile, for sure.” He turned at last to Rusty. His eyes were shining with the Valium Thurse Marshall had injected. “Did
“Barbie didn’t put me up to anything,” Rusty said. “He’s in jail.”
“Pretty soon he’ll be in hell,” Junior said with dry matter-offactness. “We’re going to try him and execute him. My dad said so. There’s no death penalty in Maine, but he says these are wartime conditions. Egg salad has too many calories.”
“That’s true,” Rusty said. He had brought a stethoscope, a blood-pressure cuff, and ophthalmoscope. Now he wrapped the cuff around Junior’s arm. “Can you name the last three presidents in order, Junior?”
“Sure. Bush, Push, and Tush.” He laughed wildly, but still with no facial expression.
Junior’s bp was 147 over 120. Rusty had been prepared for worse. “Do you remember who came in to see you before I did?”
“Yeah. The old guy me and Frankie found at the Pond just before we found the kids. I hope those kids are all right. They were totally cute.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“Aidan and Alice Appleton. We went to the club and that girl with the red hair jerked me off under the table. Thought she was gonna fair it right off before she was fun.” A pause.
“Uh-huh.” Rusty employed the ophthalmoscope. Junior’s right eye was fine. The optic disc of the left was bulging, a condition known as papilledema. It was a common symptom of advanced brain tumors and the attendant swelling.
“See anything green, McQueen?”
“Nope.” Rusty put the ophthalmoscope down, then held his index finger in front of Junior’s face. “I want you to touch my finger with your finger. Then touch your nose.”
Junior did so. Rusty began to move his finger slowly back and forth. “Keep going.”
Junior succeeded in going from the moving finger to his nose once. Then he hit the finger but touched his cheek instead. The third time he missed the finger and touched his right eyebrow. “Booya. Want more? I can do it all day, you know.”
Rusty pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m going to send Ginny Tomlinson in with a prescription for you.”
“After I get it, can I go roam? Home, I mean?”
