Gwendy's Magic Feather

36

GWENDY MOPES AROUND THE condo for the rest of the afternoon, watching cable news and drinking too much coffee. She left the sheriff’s office hours earlier feeling depressed and incompetent in equal measures, like she let everyone in the room down. She obviously said something to stoke Mrs. Hoffman’s ire, and the sheriff was doing just fine handling the two of them before she went and opened her big mouth. And that smartass comment about her clothes and boots… it bothered Gwendy. It shouldn’t have, she knows that, but it did. Since returning to Castle Rock after all those years away, she’d grown used to the occasional snide dig. It came with the territory. So why did she let it get to her like that?

“Well, don’t just sit there,” she says to the button box. “Figure it out and get back to me.”

The box ignores her. It sits there—on the end table, next to a half-empty mug of coffee and an outdated TV Guide—and answers her with stubborn silence. She grabs the remote and turns up the volume on the television.

President Hamlin stands at the edge of the White House lawn, his arms crossed in defiance, the Marine One helicopter whirring in the background. “…and if they continue to make these threats against the United States of America,” he says, flashing his best tough-guy look at the camera, “we will have no alternative but to fight power with power. This great country will not back down.”

Gwendy watches in disbelief. “Jesus, he thinks he’s in a movie.”

Her cellphone rings. She knows it’s too soon to hear from Ryan again, but she scrambles across the sofa and snatches it up anyway. “Hello?”

“Hey, Gwen. It’s Dad.”

“I was just thinking about you guys,” she says, muting the television. “Need me to bring anything for dinner?”

There’s a slight pause before he answers. “That’s why I’m calling. Would you be terribly upset if we canceled tonight?”

“Of course not,” she says, sitting up. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Mom’s just kind of dragging after her doctor’s appointment this afternoon. To tell you the truth, so am I.”

“Do you want me to pick up something from Pazzano’s and drop it off? I’d be happy to.”

“That’s sweet of you, but no, we’re good. I’m going to reheat some lasagna and we’re hitting the sack early.”

“Okay, but call me if you change your mind. And give Mom my best.”

“I will, honey. Thanks for being such a great daughter.”

“ ’Night, Dad.”

Gwendy hangs up and looks at the Christmas tree standing in the corner. A string of lights has gone out. “Yeah, some great daughter… I completely forgot she even had a doctor’s appointment today.” She gets up and takes a couple of steps into the middle of the room, and then stops. Suddenly, she wants to cry, and not just your garden variety sniffles, either. She feels like dropping to her knees, burying her face in her hands, and sobbing until she passes out.

A tightness growing in her chest, Gwendy slumps onto the sofa again. This is pathetic, she thinks, wiping away tears with the heels of her hands. Absolutely pathetic Maybe a hot bath and a glass of wine will—

And then she looks at the button box.