Dolores Claiborne - Stephen King [109]
Donald n Helga! I says. I musta sounded like a TV game-show contestant comm up with the right answer in the last second or two of the bonus round.
I beg pardon? he asks, kinda cautious.
Her kids! I says. Her son and her daughter! That money belongs to them, not me! They're kin! I ain't nothing but a jumped-up housekeeper!
There was such a long pause then that I felt sure we musta been disconnected, and I wa'ant a bit sorry. I felt faint, to tell you the truth. I was about to hang up when he says in this flat, funny voice, You don't know.
Don't know what? I shouted at him. I know she's got a son named Donald and a daughter named Helga! I know they was too damned good to come n visit her up here, although she always kep space for em, but I guess they won't be too good to divide up a pile like the one you're talkin about now that she's dead!
You don't know, he said again. And then, as if he was askin questions to himself instead of to me, he says, Could you not know, after all the time you worked for her? Could you? Wouldn't Kenopensky have told you? N before I could get a word in edgeways, he started answerin his own damned questions. Of course it's possible. Except for a squib on an inside page of the local paper the day after, she kept the whole thing under wraps-you could do that thirty years ago, if you were willing to pay for the privilege. I'm not sure there were even obituaries. He stopped, then says, like a man will when he's just discoverin somethin new-somethin huge-about someone he's known all his life: She talked about them as if they were alive, didn't she. All these years!
What are you globberin about? I shouted at him. It felt like an elevator was goin down in my stomach, and all at once all sorts of things-little things-started fittin together in my mind. I didn't want em to, but it went on happenin, just the same. Accourse she talked about em like they were alive! They are alive! He's got a real estate company in Arizona-Golden West Associates! She designs dresses in San Francisco Gaylord Fashions!
Except she'd always read these big paperback historical novels with women in low-cut dresses kissin men without their shirts on, and the trade name for those books was Golden West-it said so on a little foil strip at the top of every one. And it all at once occurred to me that she'd been born in a little town called Gaylord, Missouri. I wanted to think it was somethin else-Galen, or maybe Galesburg-but I knew it wasn't. Still, her daughter mighta named her dress business after the town her mother'd been born in or so I told myself.
Miz Claiborne, Greenbush says, talkin in a low, sorta anxious voice, Mrs Donovan's husband was killed in an unfortunate accident when Donald was fifteen and Helga was thirteen-'I know that! I says, like I wanted him to believe that if I knew that I must know everything.
and there was consequently a great deal of bad feeling between Mrs Donovan and the children.
I'd known that, too. I remembered people remarkin on how quiet the kids had been when they showed up on Memorial Day in 1961 for their usual summer on the island, and how several people'd mentioned that you didn't ever seem to see the three of em together anymore, which was especially strange, considerin Mr Donovan's sudden death the year before; usually somethin like that draws people closer although I s'pose city folks may be a little different about such things. And then I remembered somethin else, somethin Jimmy DeWitt told me in the fall of that year.
They had a wowser of