Pet Sematary

So don’t talk to me about how difficult it was for you and your wife, you bastard.
“Ever since Zelda died, we have… I suppose we have clung to Rachel…
always wanting to protect her… and to make it up to her. Make up for the problems she had with her… her back… for years afterward. Make up for not being there.”
Yes, the old man was really crying. Why did he have to be crying? It made it harder for Louis to hold on to his clean, pure hate. More difficult, but not impossible. He deliberately called up the image of Goldman reaching into the pocket of his smoking jacket for his overflowing checkbook… but he suddenly saw Zelda Goldman in the background, an unquiet ghost in a stinking bed, her cheesy face full of spite and agony, her hands pulled into claws. The Goldman ghost. Oz the Gweat and Tewwible.
“Please,” he said. “Please, Mr. Goldman. Irwin. No more. Let’s not make things any worse than they have to be, okay?”
“I believe now that you are a good man and that I misjudged you, Louis. Oh, listen, I know what you think. Am I that stupid? No. Stupid, but not that stupid. You think I’m saying all of this because now I can, you’re thinking oh yeah, he’s getting what he wants and once he tried to buy me off, but… but Louis, I swear… “ “No more,” Louis said gently. “I can’t… I really can’t take any more.” Now his voice was trembling as well. “Okay?”
“All right,” Goldman said and sighed. Louis thought it was a sigh of relief.
“But let me say again that I apologize. You don’t have to accept it. But that is what I called to say, Louis. I apologize.”
“All right,” Louis said. He closed his eyes. His head was thudding. “Thank you, Irwin. Your apology is accepted.”
“Thank you,” Goldman said. “And thank you… for letting them come. Perhaps it is what they both need. We’ll wait for them at the airport.”
“Fine,” Louis said, and an idea suddenly occurred to him. It was crazy and attractive in its very sanity. He would let bygones be bygones… and he would let Gage lie in his Pleasantview grave. Instead of trying to reopen a door that had swung shut, he would latch it and double-bolt it and throw away the key. He would do just what he had told his wife he was going to do: tidy up their affairs here and catch a plane back to Shytown. They would perhaps spend the entire summer there, he and his wife and his good-hearted daughter. They would go to the zoo and the planetarium and boating on the lake. He would take Ellie to the top of the Sears Tower and show her the Midwest stretching away like a great fiat gameboard, rich and dreaming. Then when mid-August came, they would come back to this house which now seemed so sad and so shadowy, and perhaps it would be like starting over again. Perhaps they could begin weaving from fresh thread. What was on the Creed loom right now was ugly, splattered with drying blood.
But would that not be the same as murdering his son? Killing him a second time?
A voice inside tried to argue that this was not so, but he would not listen. He shut the voice up briskly.
“Irwin, I ought to go now. I want to make sure Rachel’s got what she needs and then get her to bed.”
“All right. Goodbye, Louis. And once more-”
If he says he’s sorry one more time, I’ll fucking scream.
“Goodbye, Irwin,” he said and hung up the phone.
Rachel was deep in a litter of clothes when he came upstairs. Blouses on the beds, bras hung over the backs of chairs, slacks on hangers that had been hung over the doorknob. Shoes were lined up like soldiers under the window. She appeared to be packing slowly but competently. Louis could see it was going to take her at least three suitcases (maybe four), but he could also see no sense in arguing with her about it. Instead he pitched in and helped.
“Louis,” she said as they closed the last suitcase (he had to sit on it before Rachel could snap the catches), “are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
“For God’s sake, hon, what is this?”
“I don’t know what it is,” she replied evenly. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Creep off to a bordello? Join the circus?
What?”
“I don’t know. But this feels wrong. It feels as if you’re trying to get rid of us.”
“Rachel, that’s ridiculous!” He said this with a vehemence that was partly exasperation. Even in such straits as these, he felt a certain pique in being seen through so easily.
She smiled wanly. “You never were a very good liar, Lou.”
He began to protest again, and she cut him off.
“Ellie dreamed you were dead,” she said. “Last night. She woke up crying, and I went in to her. I slept with her for two or three hours and then came back in with you. She said that in her dream you were sitting at the kitchen table and your eyes were open, but she knew you were dead.