Needful Things - Stephen King [40]
The answer to both questions was yes, and so Brian let go of the whole thing an went back to sleep as the rain pelted against his window and the restless fall wind screamed in the angles beneath the eaves.
CHAPTER FOUR
The rain had stopped by daylight on Thursday, and by ten-thirty, when Polly looked out the front window of You Sew and Sew and saw Nettle Cobb, the clouds were beginning to break up. Nettle was carrying a rolled-up umbrella, and went scuttling along Main Street with her purse clamped under her arm as if she sensed the jaws of some new storm opening just behind her.
"How are your hands this morning, Polly?" Rosalie Drake asked.
Polly sighed inwardly. She would have to field the same question, but more insistently put, from Alan that afternoon, she supposed-she had promised to meet him for coffee at Nan's Luncheonette around three.
You couldn't fool the people who had known you for a long time.
They saw the pallor of your face and the dark crescents below your eyes.
More important, they saw the haunted look in the eyes.
"Much better today, thanks," she said. This was overstating the truth by more than a little; they were better, but much better?
Huh-uh.
"I thought with the rain and all-" "It's unpredictable, what makes them hurt. That's the pure devil of it. But never mind that, Rosalie, come quick and look out the window. I think we're about to witness a minor miracle."
Rosalie joined Polly at the window in time to see the small, scuttling figure with the umbrella clutched tightly in one handpossibly for use as a bludgeon, judging from the way it was now being held-approach the awning of Needful Things.
"Is that Nettle? Is it really?" Rosalie almost gasped.
"It really is."
"my God, she's going in!"
But for a moment it seemed that Rosalie's prediction had queered the deal. Nettle approached the door then pulled back.
She shifted the umbrella from hand to hand and looked at the faqade of Needful Things as if it were a snake which might bite her.
"Go on, Nettle," Polly said softly. "Go for it, sweetie!"
"The CLOSED sign must be in the window," Rosalie said.
"No, he's got another one that says TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. I saw it when I came in this morning."
Nettle was approaching the door again. She reached for the knob, then drew back again.
"God, this is killing me," Rosalie said. "She told me she might come back, and I know how much she likes carnival glass, but I never really thought she'd go through with it."
"She asked me if it would be all right for her to leave the house on her break so she could come down to what she called 'that new place' and pick up my cake-box," Polly murmured.
Rosalie nodded. "That's our Nettle. She used to ask me for permission to use the john."
"I got an idea part of her was hoping I'd say no, there was too much to do. But I think part of her wanted me to say yes, too."
Polly's eyes never left the fierce, small-scale struggle going on less than forty yards away, a mini-war between Nettle Cobb and Nettle Cobb. If she actually did go in, what a step forward that would be for her!
Polly felt dull, hot pain in her hands, looked down, and saw she had been twisting them together. She forced them down to her sides.
"It's not the cake-box and it's not the carnival glass," Rosalie said. "It's him."
Polly glanced at her.
Rosalie laughed and blushed a little. "Oh, I don't mean Nettle's got the hots for him, or anything like that, although she did look a little starry-eyed when I caught up with her outside. He was nice to her, Polly. That's all. Honest and nice."
"Lots of people are nice to her," Polly said. "Alan goes out of his way to be kind to her, and she still shies away from him."
"Our Mr. Gaunt has got a special kind of nice," Rosalie said simply, and as if to prove this, they saw Nettle grasp the knob and turn it. She opened the door and then only stood there on the sidewalk clutching her umbrella, as if the shallow well of her resolve had been utterly