Doctor Sleep

decide right now.”
    “He says there’s also a trunk marked Alessandra. That was my mother’s real name, you know, although I guess she always called herself Sandra or Sandy. I never knew Momo had her stuff.”
    “For someone who let it allhang out in her poetry, Chetta could be one closemouthed lady when she wanted to.”
    Lucy seemed not to hear him, only continued in the same dull, slightly nagging, tired-to-death tone. “Everything’s arranged, although I’ll have to reschedule the private ambulance if they decide to let her go Sunday. They said they might. Thank God she’s got good insurance. That goes back to her teaching days atTufts, you know. She never made a dime from poetry. Who in this fucked-up country would pay a dime to read it anymore?”
    “Lucy—”
    “She’s got a good place in the main building at Rivington House—a little suite. I took the online tour. Not that she’ll be using it long. I made friends with the head nurse on her floor here, and she says Momo’s just about at the end of her—”
    “Chia, I love you, honey.”
    That—Concetta’s old nickname for her—finally stopped her.
    “With all my admittedly non-Italian heart and soul.”
    “I know, and thank God you do. This has been so hard, but it’s almost over. I’ll be there Monday at the very latest.”
    “We can’t wait to see you.”
    “How are you? How’s Abra?”
    “We’re both fine.” David would be allowed to go on believing this for another sixty seconds or so.
    He heardLucy yawn. “I might go back to bed for an hour or two. I think I can sleep now.”
    “You do that. I’ve got to get Abs up for school.”
    They said their goodbyes, and when Dave turned away from the kitchen wall phone, he saw that Abra was already up. She was still in her pajamas. Her hair was every whichway, her eyes were red, and her face was pale. She was clutching Hoppy, her old stuffed rabbit.
    “Abba-Doo? Honey? Are you sick?”
    Yes. No. I don’t know. But you will be, when you hear what I’m going to tell you .
    “I need to talk to you, Daddy. And I don’t want to go to school today. Tomorrow, either. Maybe not for awhile.” She hesitated. “I’m in trouble.”
    The first thing that phrase brought to mind was so awful that he pushed it away at once, but not before Abra caught it.
    She smiled wanly.“No, I’m not pregnant.”
    He stopped on his way to her, halfway across the kitchen, his mouth falling open. “You . . . did you just—”
    “Yes,” she said. “I just read your mind. Although anyone could have guessed what you were thinking that time, Daddy—it was all over your face. And it’s called shining, not mind-reading. I can still do most of the things that used to scare you when I was little.Not all, but most.”
    He spoke very slowly. “I know you still sometimes have premonitions. Your mom and I both know.”
    “It’s a lot more than that. I have a friend. His name is Dan. He and Dr. John have been in Iowa—”
    “John Dalton?”
    “Yes—”
    “Who’s this Dan? Is he a kid Dr. John treats?”
    “No, he’s a grown-up.” She took his hand and led him to the kitchen table. There they sat down, Abra stillholding Hoppy. “But when he was a kid, he was like me.”
    “Abs, I’m not understanding any of this.”
    “There are bad people, Daddy.” She knew she couldn’t tell him they were more than people, worse than people, until Dan and John were here to help her explain. “They might want to hurt me.”
    “Why would anyone want to hurt you? You’re not making sense. As for all those things you used to do, if youcould still do them, we’d kn—”
    The drawer below the hanging pots flew open, then shut, then opened again. She could no longer lift the spoons, but the drawer was enough to get his attention.
    “Once I understood how much it worried you guys—how much it scared you—I hid it. But I can’t hide it anymore. Dan says I have to tell.”
    She pressed her face against Hoppy’s threadbare fur and began to cry.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    THEY CALL IT STEAM
    1
    John turned on his cell as soon as he and Dan emerged from the jetway at Logan Airport late Thursday afternoon. He had no more than registered the fact that he had well over a dozen missed calls when the phone rang in his hand. He glanced down at the window.
    “Stone?” Dan asked.
    “I’ve got a lot of missed calls from the same number, so I’d say it has to be.”
    “Don’t answer. Call him back when we’re on the