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edly at the cereal shelf and rubbing his forehead like a man with a severe headache。 Considering how much beer he put away last night； Jonesy thinks； a headache would be natural。 He's ing down with a headache himself； one that beer has nothing to do with； it's just so gosh…damn hot in h…
He straightens up a little。 'Ringing；' he says to his friends； and immediately wishes he'd kept his mouth shut； because they lean in closer than ever。 Pete's breath is fuckin awful； and Jonesy thinks； What do you do； Petesky？ Brush em once a year； whether they need it or not？
The phone is picked up on the third ring。 'Yes； hello？' It's Roberta； but sounding distracted and upset rather than cheery； as she usually does。 Not that it's very hard to figure out why； in the background he can hear Duddits bawling。 Jonesy knows that Alfie and Roberta don't feel that crying the way Jonesy and his friends do … they are grownups。 But they are also his parents； they feel some of it； and he doubts if this has exactly been Mrs Cavell's favorite morning。
Christ； how can it be so hot in here'； What did they load that fuckin woodstove up with this morning； anyway？ Plutonium？
'e on； who is it？' Impatient； which is also pletely unlike Mrs Cavell。 If being the mother of a special person like Duddits teaches you anything； she has told the boys on many occasions； it's patience。 Not this morning； though。 This morning she sounds almost pissed off； which is unthinkable。 'If you're selling something； I can't talk to you。 I'm busy right now； and 。 。 。'
Duddits in the background； trumpeting and walling。 You're busy； all right； Jonesy thinks。 He's been going on like that since dawn； and by now you must be just about out of your sneaker。
Henry throws an elbow into Jonesy's side and flicks a hand at him … Go on！ Hurry up！ … and although it hurts； the elbow is still a good thing。 If she hangs up on him； Jonesy will have to deal with that bitch of an operator again。
'Miz Cavell … Roberta？ It's me； Jonesy。'
'Jonesy？' He senses her deep relief； she has wanted so badly for Duddie's friends to call that she half…believes she is imagining this。 'Is it really you？'
'Yeah；' he says。 'Me and the other guys。' He holds out the telephone。
'Hi； Mrs Cavell；' Henry says。
'Hey； what's up？' is Pete's contribution。
'Hi； beautiful；' Beaver says with a goony grin。 He has been more or less in love with Roberta from the day they met her。
Lamar Clarendon looks over at the sound of his son's voice； winces； then goes back to his contemplation of the Cheerios and Shredded Wheat。 Go right ahead； Lamar told the Beav when Beaver said they wanted to call Duddits。 Dunno why you'd want to talk to that meringue…head； but it's your buffalo nickel。
When Jonesy puts the phone back to his ear； Roberta Cavell is saying： …get back to Derry？ I thought you were hunting up in Kineo or someplace。'
'We're still up here；' Jonesy says。 He looks around at his friends and is astounded to see they are hardly sweating at all … a slight sheen on Henry's forehead； a few beads on Pete's upper lip； and that's all。 Totally Weirdsville。 'We just thought 。 。 。 um 。 。 。 that we better call。'
'You knew。' Her voice was flat … not unfriendly but unquestioning。
'Um 。 。 。' He pulls at his flannel shirt； fanning it against his chest。 'Yeah。'
There are a thousand questions most people would ask at this point； probably starting with How did you know？ or What in God's name is wrong with him？ but Roberta isn't most people； and she has already had the best part of a month to see how they are with her son。 What she says is； 'Hold on； Jonesy。 I'll get him。'
Jonesy waits。 Far off he can still hear Duddits wailing and Roberta； softer。 Talking to him。 Cajoling him to the phone。 Using what are now magic words in the Cavell household： Jonesy； Beaver；Pete； Henry。 The blatting moves closer； and even over the phone Jonesy can feel it working its way into his head； a blunt knife that digs and gouges instead of cutting。 Yowch。 Duddits's crying makes Henry's elbow seem like a love…tap。 Meanwhile； the old jungle…juice is rolling down his neck in rivers。 His eyes fix on the two signs above the phone。 PLEASE LIMIT ALL CALLS TO 5 MINS； reads one。 PROFAINITY NOT TOLERIDED； reads the other。 Beneath this someone has gouged Who the fuck says so。 Then Duddits is on； those awful bellowing cries right there in his ear。 Jonesy winces against them； but in spite of the pain it is impossible to be mad at Duds。 Up here they are four； all together。 Down there he is one； all alone； and what a strange one he is。 God has hurt him and blessed him at the same time； it makes Jonesy giddy just to think of it。
'Duddits；' he says。 'Duddits； it's us。 Jonesy 。 。 。'
He hands the phone to Henry。 'Hi； Duddits； it's Henry 。 。 。'
Henry hands the phone to Pete。 'Hi； Duds； it's Pete； stop crying now； it's all right 。 。 。'
Pete hands the phone to Beaver； who looks around； then stretches the phone as far toward the corner as the cord will allow。 Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece so the old men by the stove （not to mention his own old man； of course） won't hear him； he sings the first two lines of the lullaby。 Then he falls quiet； listening。 After a moment he flashes the rest of them a thumb…and…forefinger circle。 Then he hands the phone back to Henry。
'Duds？ Henry again。 It was just a dream； Duddits。 It wasn't real。 Okay？ It wasn't real and it's over。 Just 。 。 。' Henry listens。 Jonesy takes the opportunity to strip off his flannel shirt。 The tee…shirt beneath is soaked right through。
There are a billion things in the world Jonesy doesn't know … what kind of link he and his friends share with Duddits； for one … but he knows he can't stay in here in Gosselin's much longer。 He feels like he's in the goddam stove； not just looking at it。 Those old farts around the checkerboard must have ice in their bones。
Henry is nodding。 'That's right； like a scary movie。' He listens； frowning。 'No； you didn't。 None of us did。 We didn't hurt him。 We didn't hurt any of them。'
And just like that … bingo … Jonesy knows they did。 They didn't mean to； exactly； but they did。 They were scared Richie would make good on his threat to get them 。 。 。 and so they got him first。
Pete is holding out his hand and Henry says； 'Pete wants to talk to you； Dud。'
He hands the phone to Pete and Pete is telling Duddits to just forget it； be chilly； Willy； they'll be home soon and they'll all play the game； they'll have fun； they'll have a fuckin roll； but in the meantime…
Jonesy raises his eyes and sees one of the signs over the phone has changed。 The one on the left still says PLEASE LIMIT ALL CALLS TO 5 MINS； but the one on the right now says WHY NOT GO OUTSIDE IT'S COOLER。 And that's a good idea； such a good idea。 No reason not to； either … the Duddits situation is clearly under control。
But before he can make his move； Pete is holding the phone out to him and saying； 'He wants to talk to you； Jonesy。'
For a moment he almost bolts anyway； thinking to hell with Duddits； to hell with all of them。 But these are his friends； together they all caught the same terrible dream； did something they didn't mean to do
（liar fuckin liar you meant it you did）
and their eyes hold him where he is in spite of the heat； which is now clamped around his chest like a suffocating pad。 Their eyes insist that he's a part of this and mustn't leave while Duddits is still on the phone。 It's not how you play the game。
It's our dream and it's not over yet； their eyes insist … Henry's most of all。 It's been going on since the day we found him there behind Tracker Brothers； down on his knees and all but naked。 He sees the line and now we see it； too。 And although we may perceive it in different ways； part of us will always see the line。 We'll see it until the day we die。
There's something else in their eyes； too； something that will haunt them； all unacknowledged； until the day they die； and cast its shadow over even their happiest days。 The fear of what they did。 What they did in the unremembered part of their shared dream。
That's what keeps him where he is and makes him tak