1990 - Mine v4 by Robert McCammon Page B

too, was on the increase. "Damn," he said quietly. "It's something that has to be taken care of tonight. I'll try to be back by —" Another glance at his enemy the clock. "Two hours. Three at the most."
    That meant four, Laura thought. She looked down at his less-than-muscular legs. "Better find another pair of pants, then. I'll take care of these."
    Doug walked back to the master bedroom while Laura took the oil-spattered pants to the laundry room off the kitchen. She rubbed a little Gain on the spots and left Doug's pants on the dryer. Then she went to the dining room to finish her dinner, and in another moment Doug returned wearing khakis, a light blue shirt, and a gray Polo sweater. He sat down and wolfed his casserole. "I'm sorry about this," he said as he helped Laura carry the dishes into the kitchen. "I'll make it as quick as I can. Okay?"
    "Okay."
    He kissed her cheek, and as he leaned into her he placed his hand on her belly again. Then he was gone out the kitchen door to the garage; she heard the Mercedes start up and the garage door open. Doug backed out, the garage door closed with a thunk , and that was that.
    She and David were alone.
    "Well," she said. She looked at Burn This Book , there on the countertop where Doug had left it. She decided to finish it tonight and start on the Hollywood book. Then Laura scraped the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. Doug was being worked like a dog, and it wasn't fair. He was a workaholic anyway, and this pressure was only making it worse. She wondered what Eric Parker's wife, Marcy, had to say about her husband working so late on a rainy night. When had money become God? Well, there was no use fretting about it. She went into the laundry room and folded the pants over a wooden hanger. The creases weren't lined up exactly, and that imperfection would drive her nuts if she didn't correct it. Laura took the pants off the hanger and refolded them.
    And something fluttered from a pocket.
    It was a small green piece of paper. It came to rest on the linoleum tile near Laura's left foot.
    She looked down at it.
    A ticket stub.
    Laura stood there with the pants halfway on the hanger. A ticket stub. She would have to pick it up, and that would require slow motion and a delicate balance. She leaned over, gripping an edge of the dryer, and retrieved the ticket. The muscles of her lower back spoke as she straightened up; they said we've been kind with you so far, don't push it . Laura started to throw the ticket stub into a trash can, but she paused with her hand halfway there.
    What was the ticket for?
    The theater's name was on it: Canterbury Six. Must be a shopping center cinema, she thought. One of those multiplexes. It was a new ticket. The green hadn't faded. Laura looked at the pants on the hanger. She reached into a pocket, found nothing but lint. Then the other pocket. Her hand brought out a third of a roll of peppermint Certs, a five-dollar bill, and a second ticket stub. Canterbury Six, it said.
    She'd never been to the Canterbury Six in her life. Didn't even know where it was.
    Laura wandered back into the kitchen, the two ticket stubs in her hand. Rain slapped against the windows, a brutal sound. She was trying to remember the last movie she and Doug had gone to see at a theater. It had been a couple of years, at least. She thought it had been The Witches of Eastwick , which was now old hat on HBO and Showtime. So why were these two ticket stubs in Doug's pocket?
    She opened the phone book and looked up Theaters. The Canterbury Six was at a mall across town. She dialed the number and got a recorded message telling what films were showing: a mixture of teenage sex comedies, alien shoot-'em-ups, and Rambo clones. She put the receiver back into its cradle, and she stood staring at the clock on the kitchen wail.
    Why had Doug gone to a movie and not told her? When did he have time to go see a movie? She knew she was skirting around the dangerous territory of the true