it。 She brushed his hair with her other hand。 〃I guess you've got a right； after
what I accused you of。 Sometimes I am like my mother。 I can be a bitch。 But you
have to understand that some things 。。。 are hard to get over。 You have to
understand that。〃
〃Do you mean his arm？〃 His lips had thinned。
〃Yes；〃 Wendy said； and then she rushed on： 〃But it's not just you。 I worry
when he goes out to play。 I worry about him wanting a two…wheeler next year；
even one with training wheels。 I worry about his teeth and his eyesight and
about this thing； what he calls his shine。 I worry。 Because he's little and he
seems very fragile and because 。。。 because something in this hotel seems to
want him。 And it will go through us to get him if it has to。 That's why we must
get him out； Jack。 I know that！ I feel that！ We must get him out！〃
Her hand had tightened painfully on his shoulder in her agitation； but he
didn't move away。 One hand found the firm weight of her left breast and he began
to stroke it through her shirt。
〃Wendy；〃 he said； and stopped。 She waited for him to rearrange whatever he had
to say。 His strong hand on her breast felt good； soothing。 〃I could maybe
snowshoe him down。 He could walk part of the way himself； but I would mostly
have to carry him。 It would mean camping out one； two； maybe three nights。 That
would mean building a travois to carry supplies and bedrolls on。 We have the
AM/FM radio； so we could pick a day when the weather forecast called for a
three…day spell of good weather。 But if the forecast was wrong；〃 he finished；
his voice soft and measured； 〃I think we might die。〃
Her face had paled。 It