peered with stupid fury。
She looked at Tad and saw that he had gone into a shock reaction； curling himself up into a tight； fetal ball in his bucket seat； his hands laced together at the nape of his neck； his chest hitching。
Maybe that's best。 Maybe
Inside the house the phone stopped ringing。 Cujo； in the act of whirling around for another charge； paused。 He cocked his head again in that curious； evocative gesture。 Donna held her breath。 The silence seemed very big。 Cujo sat down； raised his horribly mangled nose toward the sky； and howled once such a dark and lonesome sound and she shivered； no longer hot but as cold as a crypt。 In that instant she knew … she did not feel or just think … she knew that the dog was something more than just a dog。
The moment passed。 Cujo got to his feet； very slowly and wearily； and walked around to the front of the Pinto。 She supposed he had lain down there … she could no longer see his tail。 Nevertheless she held herself tensed for a few moments longer； mentally ready in case the dog should spring up onto the hood as it had done before。 It hadn't。 There was nothing but silence。
She gathered Tad into her arms and began to croon to him。
When Brett had at last given up and e out of the telephone booth； Charity took his hand and led him into Caldor's coffee shop。 They had e to Caldor's to look at matching tablecloths and curtains。
Holly was waiting for them； sipping the last of an ice…cream soda。 'Nothing wrong； is there？' she asked。
'Nothing too serious；' Charity said； and ruffled his hair。 'He's worried about his dog。 Aren't you； Brett？'
Brett shrugged … nodded miserably。
'You go on ahead； if you want；' Charity said to her。 'We'll catch up。'
'All right。 I'll be downstairs。'
Holly finished her soda and said； 'I bet your pooch is just fine； Brett。'
Brett smiled at her as best he could but didn't reply。 They watched Holly walk away； smart in her dark burgundy dress and cork…soled sandals； smart in a way Charity knew she would never be able to duplicate。 Maybe once； but not now。 Holly had left her two with a sitter； and they had e into Bridgeport around noon。 Holly had bought them a nice lunch paying with a Diners Club card … and since then they had been shopping。 But Brett had been quiet and withdrawn； worrying about Cujo。 Charity didn't feel much like shopping herself； it was hot； and she was still a little unnerved by Brett's sleepwalking that morning。 Finally she had suggested that he try calling home from one of the booths around the corner from the snack bar 。。。 but the results had been precisely those of which she had been afraid。
The waitress came。 Charity ordered coffee； milk； and two Danish pastries。
'Brett；' she said 'when I told your father I wanted us to go on this trip； he was against it'
'Yeah； I figured that。'
'… and then he changed his mind。 He changed it all at once。 I think that maybe 。。。 maybe he saw it as a chance for a little vacation of his own。 Sometimes men like； to go off by themselves； you know； and do things
'Like hunting？'
（and whoring and drinking and God alone knows what else or why）
'Yes； like that。'
'And movies；' Brett said。 Their snacks came； and he began munching his Danish。
（yes the X…rated kind on Washington Street they call it the bat Zone）
'Could be。 Anyway； your father might have taken a couple of days to go to Boston ~~
'Oh； I don't think so；' Brett said earnestly。 'He had a lot of work。 A lot of work。 He told me so。'
'There might not have been as much as he thought；' she said； hoping that the cynicism she felt hadn't rubbed through into her voice。 'Anyway； that's what I think he did； and that's why he didn't answer the phone yesterday or today。 Drink your milk； Brett。 It builds up your bones。'
He drank half his milk and grew an old man's mustache。 He set the glass down。 'Maybe he did。 He could have got Gary to go with him； maybe。 He likes Gary a lot。'
'Yes； maybe he did get Gary to go with him；' Charity said。 She spoke as if this idea had never occurred to her； but in fact she had called Gary's house this morning while Brett had been out in the back yard； playing with Jim Junior。 There had been no answer。 She hadn't a doubt in the world that they were together； wherever they were。 'You haven't eaten much of that Danish。'
He picked it up； took a token bite； and put it down ' again。 'Mom； I think Cujo was sick。 He looked sick when I saw him yesterday morning。 Honest to God。'
'Brett …'
'He did； Mom。 You didn't see him。 He looked 。。。 well； gross。'
'If you knew Cujo was all right； would it set your mind at rest？'
Brett nodded。
'Then we'll call Alva Thornton down on the Maple Sugar tonight；' she said。 'Have him go up and check； okay？ My guess is your father already called him and asked him to feed Cujo while he's gone。'
'Do you really think so？'
'Yes； I do。' Alva or someone like Alva； not really Joe's friends； because to the best of her knowledge Gary was the only real friend Joe had； but men who would do a favor for a favor in return at some future time。
Brett's expression cleared magically。 Once again the grownup had produced the right answer； like a rabbit from a hat。 Instead of cheering her； it turned her momentarily glum。 What was she going to tell him if she called Alva and he said he hadn't seen Joe since mud season？ Well； she would cross that bridge if she came to it； but she continued to believe that Joe wouldn't have just left Cujo to shift for himself。 It wasn't like him。
'Want to go and find your aunt now？'
'Sure。 just lemme finish this。'
She watched； half amused and half appalled； as he gobbled the rest of the Danish in three great bites and chased it with the rest of the milk。 Then he pushed his chair back。
Charity paid the check and they went out to the down escalator。
'Jeez； this sure is a big store；' Brett said wonderingly。 'It's a big city； isn't it； Mom？'
'New York makes this look like Castle Rock；' she said。 'And don't say jeez； Brett； it's the same as swearing。'
'Okay。' He held the moving railing； looking around。 To the right of them was a maze of twittering chirruping parakeets。 To the left was the housewares department； with chrome glittering everywhere and a dishwasher that had a front made entirely of glass so you could check out its sudsing action。 He looked up at his mother as they got off the escalator。 'You two grew up together； huh？'
'Hope to tell you；' Charity said； smiling。
'She's real nice；' Brett said。
'Well； I'm glad you think so。 I was always partial to her myself。'
'How did she get so rich？'
Charity stopped。 'Is that what you think Holly and jim are？ Rich？'
'That house they live in didn't e cheap；' he said； and again she could see his father peeking around the corners of his unformed face； Joe Camber with his shapeless green hat tipped far back on his head； his eyes； too wise； shifted off to one side。 'And that jukebox。 That was dear； too。 She's got a whole wallet of those credit cards and all we've got is the Texaco …'
She rounded on him。 'You think it's smart to go peeking into people's wallets when they've just bought you a nice lunch？'
His face looked hurt and surprised； then it closed up and became smooth。 That was a Joe Camber trick too。 'I just noticed。 Would have been hard not to； the way she was showing them off …'
'She was not showing them off！' Charity said； shocked。 She stopped again。 They had reached the edge of the drapery department。
'Yeah； she was；' Brett said。 'lf they'd been an accordion； she would have been playing 〃Lady of Spain。…
She was suddenly furious with him ~ partly because she suspected he might be right。
'She wanted you to see all of them；' Brett said。 'That's what I think。'
'I'm not particularly interested in what you think on the subject； Brett Camber。' Her face felt hot。 Her hands itched to strike him。 A few moments ago； in the cafeteria； she had been loving him 。。。 just as important； she had felt Iike his friend。 Where had those good feelings gone？
'I just wondered how she got so much dough。'
'That's sort of a crude word to use for it； don't you think？'
He shrugged； openly antagonistic now； provoking her purposely； she suspected。 It went back to his perception of what had happened at lunch； but it went further back than that。 He was contrasting his own way of life and his father's way of fife with another one。 Had she thought he would automatically embrace the way that her sister and her husband lived； just because Charity wanted him to embrace it … a life…style that she herself had been denied； either by bad luck； her own stupidity； or both？ Had he no right to criticize 。。。 or analyze？
Yes； she acknowledged that he did； but she hadn't expected that his observation would be so unsettlingly （if intuitively） sophisticated； so accurate； or so depressingly negative。
'I suppose it was Jim who made the money；' she said。 'You know what he does …'
'Yeah； he's a pencil…pusher。'
But this time she refused to be drawn。
'If you want to see it that way。 Holly married him when he was in college at the University of Maine in Portland； studying pre…law。 While he was in law school in Denver； she worked a lot of crummy jobs to see that he got through。 It's often done that way。 Wives work so their husbands can go to school and learn some special skill。 。 。 。'
Sh