Doctor Sleep: A Novel (The Shining Book 2) by Stephen King

Author:Stephen King [King, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2013-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

3

After Labor Day, Teenytown closed at 3 p.m. on Sundays. This afternoon, at quarter to six, three giants sat on benches near the end of the mini–Cranmore Avenue, dwarfing Teenytown Drug and the Teenytown Music Box Theater (where, during tourist season, you could peek in the window and see teeny film clips playing on a teeny screen). John Dalton had come to the meeting wearing a Red Sox hat, which he placed on the head of the teeny Helen Rivington statue in the teeny courthouse square. “I’m sure she was a fan,” he said. “Everybody up this way is a fan. Nobody spares a little admiration for the Yankees except exiles like me. What can I do for you, Dan? I’m missing supper with the family for this. My wife’s an understanding woman, but her patience only stretches so far.”

“How would she feel about you spending a few days with me in Iowa?” Dan asked. “Strictly on my dime, you understand. I have to make a Twelfth Step call on an uncle who’s killing himself with booze and cocaine. My family’s begging me to step in, and I can’t do it alone.”

AA had no rules but many traditions (that were, in fact, rules). One of the most ironclad was that you never made a Twelfth Step call on an active alcoholic by yourself, unless the alkie in question was safely incarcerated in a hospital, detox, or the local bughouse. If you did, you were apt to end up matching him drink for drink and line for line. Addiction, Casey Kingsley liked to say, was the gift that kept on giving.

Dan looked at Billy Freeman and smiled. “Got something to say? Go ahead, feel free.”

“I don’t think you got an uncle. I’m not sure you’ve got any family left at all.”

“Is that it? You’re just not sure?”

“Well . . . you never talk about em.”

“Plenty of people have family and don’t talk about them. But you know I don’t have anyone, don’t you, Billy?”

Billy said nothing, but looked uneasy.

“Danny, I can’t go to Iowa,” John said. “I’m booked right into the weekend.”

Dan was still focused on Billy. Now he reached into his pocket, grabbed something, and held out his closed fist. “What have I got?”

Billy looked more uneasy than ever. He glanced at John, saw no help there, then back to Dan.

“John knows what I am,” Dan said. “I helped him once, and he knows I’ve helped a few others in the Program. You’re among friends here.”

Billy thought about it, then said: “Might be a coin, but I think it’s one of your AA medals. The kind they give you every time you get in another year sober.”

“What year’s this one?”

Billy hesitated, looking at Dan’s fisted hand.

“Let me help you out,” John said. “He’s been sober since the spring of 2001, so if he’s carrying a medallion around, it’s probably a Year Twelve.”

“Makes sense, but it ain’t.” Billy was concentrating now, two deep vertical lines grooving his forehead just about his eyes.

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