Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [299]
“Things go wrong, you won’t have to worry about the accommodations.”
“That’s true,” Eddie said, “but I don’t think they’re going to go wrong. Do you?”
Before she could answer, a gust of wind shook the house and whistled beneath the eaves. The seminon saying good day to ya, Eddie guessed.
“I don’t like that wind,” she said. “It’s a wild-card.”
Eddie opened his mouth.
“And if you say anything about ka, I’ll punch you in the nose.”
Eddie closed his mouth again and mimed zipping it shut. Susannah went to his nose anyway, a brief touch of knuckles like a feather. “We’ve got a fine chance to win,” she said. “They’ve had everything their own way for a long time, and it’s made em fat. Like Blaine.”
“Yeah. Like Blaine.”
She put a hand on his hip and turned him to her. “But things could go wrong, so I want to tell you something while it’s just the two of us, Eddie. I want to tell you how much I love you.” She spoke simply, with no drama.
“I know you do,” he said, “but I’ll be damned if I know why.”
“Because you make me feel whole,” she said. “When I was younger, I used to vacillate between thinking love was this great and glorious mystery and thinking it was just something a bunch of Hollywood movie producers made up to sell more tickets back in the Depression, when Dish Night kind of played out.”
Eddie laughed.
“Now I think that all of us are born with a hole in our hearts, and we go around looking for the person who can fill it. You…Eddie, you fill me up.” She took his hand and began to lead him back to the bed. “And right now I’d like you to fill me up the other way.”
“Suze, is it safe?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t care.”
They made love slowly, the pace only building near the end. She cried out softly against his shoulder, and in the instant before his own climax blotted out reflection, Eddie thought: I’m going to lose her if I’m not careful. I don’t know how I know that…but I do. She’ll just disappear.
“I love you, too,” he said when they were finished and lying side by side again.
“Yes.” She took his hand. “I know. I’m glad.”
“It’s good to make someone glad,” he said. “I didn’t use to know that.”
“It’s all right,” Susannah said, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You learn fast.”
Fourteen
There was a rocker in Rosa’s little living room. The gunslinger sat in it naked, holding a clay saucer in one hand. He was smoking and looking out at the sunrise. He wasn’t sure he would ever again see it rise from this place.
Rosa came out of the bedroom, also naked, and stood in the doorway looking at him. “How’re y’bones, tell me, I beg?”
Roland nodded. “That oil of yours is a wonder.”
“ ’Twon’t last.”
“No,” Roland said. “But there’s another world—my friends’ world—and maybe they have something there that will. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be going there soon.”
“More fighting to do?”
“I think so, yes.”
“You won’t be back this way in any case, will you?”
Roland looked at her. “No.”
“Are you tired, Roland?”
“To death,” said he.
“Come back to bed a little while, then, will ya not?”
He crushed out his smoke and stood. He smiled. It was a younger man’s smile. “Say thankya.”
“Thee’s a good man, Roland of Gilead.”
He considered this, then slowly shook his head. “All my life I’ve had the fastest hands, but at being good I was always a little too slow.”
She held out a hand to him. “Come ye, Roland. Come commala.” And he went to her.
Fifteen
Early that afternoon, Roland, Eddie, Jake, and Pere Callahan rode out the East Road—which was actually a north road at this point along the winding Devar-Tete Whye—with shovels concealed in the bedrolls at the backs of their saddles. Susannah had been excused from this duty on account of her pregnancy. She had joined the Sisters of Oriza at the Pavilion, where a larger tent was being erected and preparations for a huge evening meal were already going forward. When they left, Calla Bryn Sturgis had already begun to fill up, as if for a Fair-Day.