Salem's Lot

3

Eva Miller and Weasel Craig were in the waiting room when she went back to get her coat. Eva was wearing an old fall coat with a rusty fur collar, obviously kept for best, and Weasel was floating in an outsized motorcycle jacket. Susan warmed at the sight of both of them.

‘How is he?’ Eva asked.

‘Going to be all right, I think.’ She repeated the doctor’s diagnosis, and Eva’s face relaxed.

‘I’m so glad. Mr Mears seems like a very nice man. Nothing like this has ever happened at my place. And Parkins Gillespie had to lock Floyd up in the drunk tank. He didn’t act drunk, though. Just sort of dopey and confused.’

Susan shook her head. ‘It doesn’t sound like Floyd at all.’

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

‘Ben’s a lovely fella,’ Weasel said, and patted Susan’s hand. ‘He’ll be up and about in no time. You wait and see.’

‘I’m sure he will be,’ Susan said, and squeezed his hand in both of hers. ‘Eva, isn’t Father Callahan the priest at St Andrew’s?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Oh… curious. Listen, thank you both for coming. If you could come back tomorrow-’

‘We’ll do that,’ Weasel said. ‘Sure we will, won’t we, Eva?’ He slipped an arm about her waist. It was a long reach, but he got there eventually.

‘Yes, we will.’

Susan walked out to the parking lot with them and then drove back to Jerusalem’s Lot.