Doctor Sleep: A Novel

to receive a pair of Gallic kisses on the cheeks before DJ let him go.
    “It was right where you said it would be. Ten days, and still there. It’s like a miracle.”
    “Nah,” Dan said. “Most people rarely look above their own eyeline. It’s a proven fact.”
    “How did you know ?”
    Dan shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Sometimes I just do.”
    “How can I thank you?”
    This was the question Dan had been waiting and hoping for. “By working the Twelfth Step, dummocks.”
    John D. raised his eyebrows.
    “Anonymity. In words of one syllable, keep ya fuckin mouth shut.”
    Understanding broke on John’s face. He grinned. “I can do that.”
    “Good. Now make the coffee. I’ll put out the books.”
    4
    In most New England AA groups, anniversaries are called birthdays and celebrated with a cake and an after-meeting party. Shortly before Dan was due to celebrate his third year of sobriety in this fashion, David Stone and Abra’s great-grandmother came to see John Dalton—known in some circles as either Doctor John or DJ—and invite him to another third birthday party. This was the one the Stones were throwing for Abra.
    “That’s very kind,” John said, “and I’ll be more than happy to drop by if I can. Only why do I feel there’s a little more to it?”
    “Because there is,” Chetta said. “And Mr. Stubborn here has decided that it’s finally time to talk about it.”
    “Is there a problem with Abra? If there is, fill me in. Based on her last checkup, she’s fine. Fearsomely bright. Social skills terrific. Verbal skills through the roof. Reading, ditto. Last time she was here she read me Alligators All Around . Probably rote memory, but still remarkable for a child who’s not yet three. Does Lucy know you’re here?”
    “Lucy and Chetta are the ones who ganged up on me,” David said. “Lucy’s home with Abra, making cupcakes for the party. When I left, the kitchen looked like hell in a high wind.”
    “So what are we saying here? That you want me at her party in an observational capacity?”
    “That’s right,” Concetta said. “None of us can say for sure that something will happen, but it’s more likely to when she’s excited, and she’s very excited about her party. All her little pals from daycare are coming, and there’s going to be a fellow who does magic tricks.”
    John opened a desk drawer and took out a yellow legal pad. “What kind of something are you expecting?”
    David hesitated. “That’s . . . hard to say.”
    Chetta turned to face him. “Go on, caro. Too late to back out now.” Her tone was light, almost gay, but John Dalton thought she looked worried. He thought they both did. “Begin with the night she started crying and wouldn’t stop.”
    5
    David Stone had been teaching American history and twentieth-century European history to undergraduates for ten years, and knew how to organize a story so the interior logic was hard to miss. He began this one by pointing out that their infant daughter’s marathon crying spree had ended almost immediately after the second jetliner had struck the World Trade Center. Then he doubled back to the dreams in which his wife had seen the American Airlines flight number on Abra’s chest and he had seen the United Airlines number.
    “In Lucy’s dream, she found Abra in an airplane bathroom. In mine, I found her in a mall that was on fire. Draw your own conclusions about that part. Or not. To me, those flight numbers seem pretty conclusive. But of what, I don’t know.” He laughed without much humor, raised his hands, then dropped them again. “Maybe I’m afraid to know.”
    John Dalton remembered the morning of 9/11—and Abra’s nonstop crying jag—very well. “Let me get this straight. You believe your daughter—who was then only five months old—had a premonition of those attacks and somehow sent word to you telepathically.”
    “Yes,” Chetta said. “Put very succinctly. Bravo.”
    “I know how it sounds,” David said. “Which is why Lucy and I kept it to ourselves. Except for Chetta, that is. Lucy told her that night. Lucy tells her momo everything.” He sighed. Concetta gave him a cool look.
    “You didn’t get one of these dreams?” John asked her.
    She shook her head. “I was in Boston. Out of her . . . I don’t know . . . transmitting range?”
    “It’s been almost three years since 9/11,” John said. “I assume other stuff has happened since then.”
    A lot of other stuff