Dolores Claiborne - Stephen King [3]
She had a bigger one in 1975, and that time she didn't have no politicians to blame it on. Dr Freneau told her she better quit smokin and drinkin, but he could have saved his breath-no high-steppin kitty like Vera Kiss-My-Back-Cheeks Donovan was going to listen to a plain old country doctor like Chip Freneau. I'll bury him, she used to say, and have a Scotch and soda sitting on his headstone.
For awhile it seemed like maybe she would do just that-he kept scoldin her, and she kept sailin along like the Queen Mary. Then, in 1981, she had her first whopper, and the hunky got killed in a car-wreck over on the mainland the very next year. That was when I moved in with her-October of 1982.
Did I have to? I dunno, I guess not. I had my Sociable Security, as old Hattie McLeod used to call it. It wasn't much, but the kids were long gone by then-Little Pete right off the face of the earth, poor little lost lamb-and I had managed to put a few dollars away, too. Living on the island has always been cheap, and while it ain't what it once was, it's still a whale of a lot cheaper than livin on the mainland. So I guess I didn't have to go live with Vera, no.
But by then her and me was used to each other. It's hard to explain to a man. I spect Nancy there with her pads n pens n tape-recorder understands, but I don't think she's s'posed to talk. We was used to each other in the way I s'pose two old bats can get used to hangin upside-down next to each other in the same cave, even though they're a long way from what you'd call the best of friends. And it wasn't really no big change. Hanging my Sunday clothes in the closet next to my house-dresses was really the biggest part of it, because by the fall of 82 I was there all day every day and most nights as well. The money was a little better, but not so good I'd made the downpayment on my first Cadillac, if you know what I mean. Ha!
I guess I did it mostly because there wasn't nobody else. She had a business manager down in New York, a man named Greenbush, but Greenbush wa'ant going to come up to Little Tall so she could scream down at him from her bedroom window to be sure and hang those sheets with six pins, not four, nor was he gonna move into the guest-room and change her diapers and wipe the shit off her fat old can while she accused him of stealin the dimes out of her goddam china pig and told him how she was gonna see him in jail for it. Greenbush cut the checks; I cleaned up her shit and listened to her rave on about the sheets and the dust bunnies and her goddam china pig.
And what of it? I don't expect no medal for it, not even a Purple Heart. I've wiped up a lot of shit in mytime, listened to even more of it (I was married to Joe St George for sixteen years, remember), and none of it ever gave me the rickets. I guess in the end I stuck with her because she didn't have nobody else; it was either me or the nursin home. Her kids never came to see her, and that was one thing I felt sorry for her about. I didn't expect them to pitch in, don't get that idear, but I didn't see why they couldn't mend their old quarrel, whatever it was, and come once in awhile to spend the day or maybe a weekend with her. She was a miserable bitch, no doubt about it, but she was their Ma. And by then she was old. Accourse I know a lot more now than I did then, but-What?
Yes, it's true. If I'm lyin, I'm dyin, as my grand-sons like to say. You just call that fella Greenbush if you don't believe me. I expect when the news gets out-and it will, it always does there'll be one of those soppy articles in the Bangor Daily News about how wonderful it all is. Well, I got news for you it ain't wonderful. A friggin nightmare is what it is. No matter what happens in here, folks are gonna say I brainwarshed her into doin what she done n then killed her. I know it, Andy, n so do you. There ain't no power in heaven or on earth that can stop people from thinkin the worst when they want to.
Well, not one goddam word of it's true. I didn't force her to do nothing, and