the wire。 She thought of the way he had looked on Thursday night； so ragged and close to the edge。
'Vic； are you all right？' She could hear the alarm in her voice and knew he must hear it too； even Tad looked up from the coloring book with which he had sprawled out on the hall floor； his eyes bright； a tight little frown on his small forehead。
'Yeah；' he said。 'I just started to say that I thought I'd call now； while they're rummaging around。 Won't have a chance later tonight； I guess。 How's Tad？'
'Tad's fine。'
She smiled at Tad and then tipped him a wink。 Tad smiled back； the lines on his forehead smoothed out； and he went back to his coloring。 He sounds tired and I'm not going to lay all that shit about the car on him； she thought； and then found herself going right ahead and doing it anyway。
She heard the familiar whine of self…pity creeping into her voice and struggled to keep it out。 Why was she even telling him all of this； for heaven's sake？ He sounded like he was falling apart； and she was prattling on about her Pinto's carburetor and a spilled bottle of ketchup。
'Yeah； it sounds like the needle valve； okay；' Vic said。 He actually sounded a little better now。 A little less down。 Maybe because it was a problem which mattered so little in the greater perspective of things which they had now been forced to deal with。 'Couldn't Joe Camber get you in today？'
'I tried him but he wasn't home。'
'He probably was； though；' Vic said。 'There's no phone in his garage。 Usually his wife or his kid runs his messages out to him。 Probably they were out someplace。'
'Well； he still might be gone …'
'Sure；' Vic said。 'But I really doubt it； babe。 If a human being could actually put down roots； Joe Camber's the guy that would do it。'
'Should I just take a chance and drive out there？' Donna asked doubtfully。 She was thinking of the empty miles along 117 and the Maple Sugar Road 。。。 and all that was before you got to Camber's road； which was so far out it didn't even have a name。 And if that needle valve chose a stretch of that desolation in which to pack up for good； it would just make another hassle。
'No； I guess you better not；' Vic said。 'He's probably there 。。。 unless you really need him。 In which case he'd be gone。 Catch…22。' He sounded depressed。
'Then what should I do？'
'Call the Ford dealership and tell them you want a tow。'
'But …'
'No； you have to。 If you try to drive twenty…two miles over to South Paris； it'll pack up on you for sure。 And if you explain the situation in advance； they might be able to get you a loaner。 Barring that； they'll lease you a car。'
'Lease 。。。 Vic； isn't that expensive？'
'Yeah；' he said。
She thought again that it was wrong of her to be dumping all this on him。 He was probably thinking that she wasn't capable of anything 。。。 except maybe screwing the local furniture refinisher。 She was fine at that。 Hot salt tears； partly anger； partly self…pity； stung her eyes again。 'I'll take care of it；' she said； striving desperately to keep her voice normal； light。 Her elbow was propped on the wall and one hand was over her eyes。 'Not to worry。'
'Well； I … oh； shit； there's Roger。 He's dust up to his neck； but they got the kinescopes。 Put Tad on for a second； would you。
Frantic questions backed up in her throat。 Was it all right？ Did he think it could be all right？ Could they get back to go and start again？ Too late。 No time。 She had spent the time gabbing about the car。 Dumb broad； stupid quiff。
'Sure；' she said。 'He'll say good…bye for both of us。 And 。。。 Vic？'
'What？' He sounded impatient now； pressed for time。
'I love you；' she said； and then before he could reply； she added： 'Here's Tad。' She gave the phone to Tad quickly； almost conking him on the head with it； and went through the house to the front porch； stumbling over a hassock and sending it spinning； seeing everything through a prism of tears。
She stood on the porch looking out at 117； clutching her elbows； struggling to get herself under control … control； dammit； control … and it was amazing； wasn't it； how bad you could hurt when there was nothing physically wrong。
Behind her she could hear the soft murmur of Tad's voice； telling Vic they had eaten at Mario's； that Mommy had her favorite Fat Pizza and the Pinto had been okay until they were almost home。 Then he was telling Vic that he loved him。 Then there was the soft sound of the phone being hung up。 Contact broken。
Control。
At last she felt as if she had some。 She went back into the kitchen and began putting away the groceries。
Charity Camber stepped down from the Greyhound bus at quarter past three that afternoon。 Brett was right at her heels。 She was clutching the strap of her purse spasmodically。 She was suddenly； irrationally afraid that she would not recognize Holly。 Her sister's face； held in her mind like a photograph all these years （The Younger Sister Who Had Married Well）； had gone suddenly and mysteriously out of her mind； leaving only a fogged blank where the picture should have been。
'You see her？' Brett asked as they alighted。 He looked around at the Stratford bus depot with bright interest and no more。 There was certainly no fear in his face。
'Give me a chance to look around！' Charity said sharply。 'Probably she's in the coffee shop or
'Charity？'
She turned and there was Holly。 The picture held in her memory came flooding back； but it was now a transparency overlying the real face of the woman standing by the Space Invaders game。 Charity's first thought was that Holly was wearing glasses … how funny！ Her second； shocked； was that Holly had wrinkles … not many； but there could be no question about what they were。 Her third thought was not precisely a thought at all。 It was an image； as dear； true； and heartbreaking as a sepia…toned photograph： Holly leaping into old man Seltzer's cowpond in her underpants； pigtails standing up against the sky； thumb and forefinger of left hand pinching her nostrils closed for ic effect。 No glasses then； Charity thought； and pain came to her then； and it squeezed her heart。
Standing at Holly's sides； looking shyly at her and Brett； were a boy of about five and a girl who was perhaps two and a half。 The little girl's bulgy pants spoke of diapers beneath。 Her stroller stood off to one side。
'Hi； Holly；' Charity said； and her voice was so thin she could hardly hear it。
The wrinkles were small。 They turned upward； the way their mother had always said the good ones did。 Her dress was dark blue； moderately expensive。 The pendant she wore was either a very good piece of costume jewelry or a very small emerald。
There was a moment then。 Some space of time。 In it； Charity felt her heart fill with a joy so fierce and plete that she knew there could never be any real question about what this trip had or had not cost her。 For now she was free； her son was free。 Ibis was her sister and those children were her kin； not pictures but real。
Laughing and crying a little； the two women stepped toward each other； hesitantly at first； then quickly。 They embraced。 Brett stood where he was。 The little girl； maybe scared； went to her mother and wrapped a hand firmly around the hem of her dress； perhaps to keep her mother and this strange lady from flying off together。
The little boy stared at Brett； then advanced。 He was wearing Tuffskin jeans and a T…shirt with the words HERE ES TROUBLE printed on it。
'You're my cousin Brett；' the kid said。
'Yeah。'
'My name's Jim。 just like my dad。'
'Yeah。'
'You're from Maine；' Jim said。 Behind him； Charity and Holly were talking rapidly； interrupting each other and laughing at their hurry to tell everything right here in this grimy bus station south of Milford and north of Bridgeport。
'Yeah； I'm from Maine；' Brett said。
'You're ten。'
'Right。'
'I'm five。'
'Oh yeah？'
'Yeah。 But I can beat you up； Ka…whud！' He hit Brett in the belly； doubling…him up。
Brett uttered a large and surprised 'Oof P Both women gasped。
'Jimmy！' Holly cried in a kind of resigned horror。
Brett straightened up slowly and saw his mother watching him； her face in a kind of suspension。
'Yeah； you can beat me up anytime；' Brett said； and smiled。
And it was all right。 He saw from his mother's face that it was all right； and he was glad。
By three thirty Donna had decided to leave Tad with a baby…sitter and try taking the Pinto up to Camber's。 She had tried the number again and there had still been no response； but she had reasoned that even if Camber wasn't in his garage； he would be back soon； maybe even by the time she arrived there 。。。 always assuming she did arrive there。 Vic told her last week that Camber would probably have some old junker to loan her if it looked like her Pinto was going to be an overnight job。 That had really been the deciding factor。 But she thought that taking Tad would he wrong。 If the Pinto seized up on that back road and she had to take a hike； well； okay。 But Tad shouldn't have to do it。
Tad； however； had other ideas。
Shortly after talking to his dad； he had gone up to his room and had stretched out on his bed with a stack of Little Golden Books。 Fifteen minutes later he had dozed off； and a dream had e to him； a dream which seemed utterly ordinary but which had a strange； nearly terrifying power。 In hi