Different Seasons - Stephen King [163]
All of them have fixed, stoned grins all except Virginia, whose face is its sleepy, indecipherable self. That picture, Chico remembers, was taken less than a month after his Dad married the bitch.
That your mother and father?'
'It's my father,' Chico said. 'She's my step-mother, Virginia. Come on.'
'Is she still that pretty?' Jane asks, picking up her coat and handing Chico his windbreaker.
'I guess my old man thinks so,' Chico says.
They step out into the shed. It's a damp and draughty place-the wind hoots through the cracks in its slapstick walls. There is a pile of old bald tyres, Johnny's old bike that Chico inherited when he was ten and which he promptly wrecked, a pile of detective magazines, returnable Pepsi bottles, a greasy monolithic engine block, an orange crate full of paperback books, an old paint-by-the-numbers of a horse standing on dusty green grass.
Chico helps her pick her way outside. The rain is falling with disheartening steadiness.
Chico's old sedan stands in a driveway puddle, looking downhearted. Even up on blocks and with a red piece of plastic covering the place where the windshield should go, Johnny's Dodge has more class. Chico's car is a Buick. The paint is dull and flowered with spots of rust. The front seat upholstery has been covered with a brown Army Blanket. A large button pinned to the sun visor on the passenger side says: I WANT IT EVERY DAY. There is a rusty starter assembly on the back seat; if it ever stops raining he will clean it, he thinks, and maybe put it into the Dodge. Or maybe not The Buick smells musty and his own starter grinds a long time before the Buick starts up.
'Is it your battery?' she asks.
'Just the goddam rain, I guess.' He backs out onto the road, flicking on the windshield wipers and pausing for a moment to look at the house. It is a completely unappetizing aqua colour. The shed sticks off from it at a ragtag, double-jointed angle, tarpaper and peeled -looking shingles.
The radio comes on with a blare and Chico shuts it off at once. There is the beginning of a Sunday afternoon headache behind his forehead. They ride past the Grange hall and the Volunteer Fire Department and Brownie's Store. Sally Morrison's T-Bird is parked by Brownie's hi-test pump, and Chico raises a hand to her as he turns off onto the old Lewiston road.
'Who's that?'
'Sally Morrison.'
'Pretty lady.' Very neutral.
He feels for his cigarettes. 'She's been married twice and divorced twice. Now she's the town pump, if you believe half the talk that goes on in this shitass little town.'
'She looks young.'
'She is.'
'Have you ever -'
He slides his hand up her leg and smiles. 'No,' he says. 'My brother, maybe, but not me. I like Sally, though. She's got her alimony and her big white Bird, and she doesn't care what people say about her.'
It starts to seem like a long drive. The Androscoggin, off to the right, is slaty and sullen.
The ice is all out of it now. Jane has grown quiet and thoughtful. The only sound is the steady snap of the windshield wipers. When the car rolls through the dips in the road there is groundfog, waiting for evening when it will creep out of these pockets and take over the whole River Road.
They cross into Auburn and Chico drives the cutoff and swings onto Minot Avenue. The four lanes are nearly deserted, and all the suburban homes look
packaged. They see one little boy in a yellow plastic raincoat walking up the sidewalk, carefully stepping in all the puddles.
'Go, man,' Chico says softly.
'What?'Jane asks.
'Nothing, babe. Go back to sleep.'
She laughs a little doubtfully.
Chico turns up Keston Street and into the driveway of one of the packaged houses. He doesn't turn off the ignition. 'Come in and I'll give you cookies,' she says. He shakes his head. 'I have to get back.'.
'I know.' She puts her arms around him and kisses him. "Thank you for the most wonderful time of my life.'
He smiles suddenly.