Down in the Front Yard

           Jackhadfoundahugewhite-paintedwickerchairinthebackoftheequipmentshedtwoweeksago,andhaddraggeditaroundtotheporchoverWendy’sobjectionsthatitwasreallytheugliestthingshehadeverseeninherwholelife.Hewassittinginitnow,amusinghimselfwithacopyofE.L.Doctorow’sWelcometoHardTimes,whenhiswifeandsonrattledupthedrivewayinthehoteltruck.

           Wendyparkeditintheturn-around,racedtheenginesportily,andthenturneditoff.Thetruck’ssingletaillightdied.Theenginerumbledgrumpilywithpost-ignitionandfinallystopped.Jackgotoutofhischairandambleddowntomeetthem.

           "Hi,Dad!"Dannycalled,andracedupthehill.Hehadaboxinonehand."LookwhatMommyboughtme!"

           Jackpickedhissonup,swunghimaroundtwice,andkissedhimheartilyonthemouth.

           "JackTorrance,theEugeneO’Neillofhisgeneration,theAmericanShakespeare!"Wendysaid,smiling."Fancymeetingyouhere,sofarupinthemountains."

           "Thecommonruckbecametoomuchforme,dearlady,"hesaid,andslippedhisarmsaroundher.Theykissed."Howwasyourtrip?"

           "Verygood.DannycomplainsthatIkeepjerkinghimbutIdidn’tstallthetruckonceand…oh,Jack,youfinishedit!"

           Shewaslookingattheroof,andDannyfollowedhergaze.