The Stand

probably.”

They sat and watched it until it was out of sight behind the dark bulk of the Rockies.

“Larry?” she said softly. “Why didn’t Nadine admit it? About the dreams?”

There was a barely perceptible stiffening in him, making her wish she hadn’t brought it up. But now that she had, she was determined to pursue it… unless he cut her off entirely.

“She says she doesn’t have any dreams.”

“She does have them, though—Mark was right about that. And she talks in her sleep. She was so loud one night she woke me up.”

He was looking at her now. After a long time he asked, “What was she saying?”

Lucy thought, trying to get it just right. “She was thrashing around in her sleeping bag and she was saying over and over, ‘Don’t, it’s so cold, don’t, I can’t stand it if you do, it’s so cold, so cold.’ And then she started to pull her hair. She started to pull her own hair in her sleep. And moan. It gave me the creeps.”

“People can have nightmares, Lucy. That doesn’t mean they’re about… well, about him.”

“It’s better not to say much about him after dark, isn’t it?”

“Better, yes.”

“She acts as if she’s coming unraveled, Larry. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.” He knew. In spite of her insistence that she didn’t dream, there had been brown circles under her eyes by the time they reached Hemingford Home. That magnificent cable of heavy hair was noticeably whiter. And if you touched her, she jumped. She flinched.

Lucy said, “You love her, don’t you?”

“Oh, Lucy,” he said reproachfully.

“No, I just want you to know…” She shook her head violently at his expression. “I have to say this. I see the way you look at her… the way she looks at you sometimes, when you’re busy with something else and it’s… it’s safe. She loves you, Larry. But she’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Afraid of what?”

He was remembering his attempt to make love to her, three days after the Stovington fiasco. Since then she had grown quiet—she was still cheerful on occasion, but now she was quite obviously laboring to be cheerful. Joe had been asleep. Larry had gone to sit beside her, and for a while they had talked, not about their current situation but about the old things, the safe things. Larry had tried to kiss her. She pushed him away, turning her head, but not before he had felt the things Lucy had just told him. He had tried again, being rough and gentle at the same time, wanting her so damn badly. And for just one moment she had given in to him, had shown him what it could be like, if…

Then she broke from him and moved away, her face pale, her arms strapped across her breasts, hands cupping elbows, head lowered.

Don’t do that again, Larry. Please don’t. Or I’ll have to take Joe and leave.

Why? Why, Nadine? Why does it have to be such a goddam big deal?

She hadn’t answered. Simply stood in that head-down posture, the brown bruised places already beginning beneath her eyes.

If I could tell you I would, she said finally, and walked away without looking back.

“I had a girlfriend once who acted a little like her,” Lucy said. “My senior year in high school. Her name was Joline. Joline Majors. Joline wasn’t in high school. She dropped out to marry her boyfriend. He was in the Navy. She was pregnant when they got married, but she lost the baby. Her man was gone a lot, and Joline… she liked to party down. She liked that, and her man was a regular jealous bear. He told her if he ever found out she was doing anything behind his back, he’d break both of her arms and spoil her face. Can you imagine what that life must have been like? Your husband comes home and says, ‘Well, I’m shipping out now, love. Give me a kiss, and then we’ll have a little roll in the hay, and by the way, if I come back and someone tells me you’ve been messing around, I’ll break both your arms and spoil your face.’”

“Yeah, that’s not so great.”

“So after a while she met this guy,” Lucy said. “He was the assistant phys ed coach at Burlington High. They snuck around, always looking over their shoulders, and I don’t know if her husband had set someone up to spy on them, but after a while it didn’t matter. After a while Joline got really flaky. She’d think that some guy waiting for a bus on the corner was one of her husband’s friends. Or the salesman checking in behind her and Herb at some fleabag motel was. She’d think that even if the motel was somewhere way down in New York State. Or even the cop who gave them directions to a picnic spot when they were together. It got so bad that she’d give a little scream if a door slammed in the wind, and she’d jump every time someone came up her stairs. And since she was living in a place that was split up into seven little apartments, someone was almost always coming up the stairs. Herb got scared and left her. He didn’t get scared of Joline’s husband—he got scared of her. And just before her husband came back on leave, Joline had a nervous breakdown. All because she liked to love a little too much… and because he was crazy jealous. Nadine reminds me of that girl, Larry. I’m sorry for her. I don’t like her that much, I guess, but I sure am sorry for her. She looks terrible.”

“Are you saying Nadine is afraid of me the way that girl was afraid of her husband?”

Lucy said: “Maybe. I’ll tell you this—wherever Nadine’s husband is, he’s not here.”

He laughed a little uneasily. “We ought to go back to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a heavy day.”

“Yes,” she said, thinking he hadn’t understood a word she said. And suddenly she burst into tears.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey.” He tried to put an arm around her.

She struck it off. “You’re getting what you want from me; you don’t have to do that!”

There was still enough of the old Larry in him to wonder if her voice would carry back to camp.

“Lucy, I never twisted your arm,” he said grimily.

“Oh, you’re so stupid!” she cried, and beat at his leg. “Why are men so stupid, Larry? All you can see is what’s in black and white. No, you never twisted my arm. I ain’t like her. You could twist her arm and she’d still spit in your eye and cross her legs. Men have names for girls like me; they write them on bathroom stalls, I’ve heard. But all it is, is needing someone warm, needing to be warm. Needing to love. Is that so bad?”

“No. No, it isn’t. But Lucy—”

“But you don’t believe that,” she said scornfully. “So you go on chasing Miss Highpockets and in the meantime you got Lucy to do the horizontal bop with when the sun goes down.”

He sat quietly, nodding. It was true, every word of it. He was too tired, too Christless beat, to argue against it. She seemed to see that; her face softened and she put a hand on his arm.

“If you catch her, Larry, I’ll be the first to throw you a bouquet. I never held a grudge in my life. Just… try not to be too disappointed.”

“Lucy—”

Her voice rose suddenly, rough with unexpected power, and for a moment his arms goosefleshed. “I just happen to think love is very important, only love will get us through this, good connections; it’s hate against us, worse, it’s emptiness.” Her voice dropped. “You’re right. It’s late. I’m going back to bed. Coming?”

“Yes,” he said, and as they stood up, he took her in his arms with no calculation at all and kissed her firmly. “I love you as much as I can; Lucy.”

“I know that,” she said, and gave him a tired smile. “I know that, Larry.”

This time when he put his arm around her she let it stay. They walked back to camp together, made diffident love, slept.

Nadine came awake like a cat in the dark some twenty minutes after Larry Underwood and Lucy Swann had come back to camp, ten minutes after they had finished their act of love and drifted off to sleep.

The high iron of terror sang in her veins.

Someone wants me, she thought, listening as the millrace of her heart slowed. Her eyes, wide and full of darkness, stared up to where the overhanging branches of an elm laced the sky with shadows. There’s that. Someone wants me. It’s true.

But… it’s so cold.

Her parents and her brother had been killed in a car accident when she was six; she hadn’t gone along that