Holly (Holly Gibney #3)

by Stephen King

At twenty, the body forgives. At forty, forgiveness is provisional at best.

With his long dark hair and little pussy-tickler of a mustache,

“And bonus! Trump’s gone.” Leaving behind a country at war with itself, Holly thinks. And who’s to say he won’t reappear in 2024? She thinks of Arnie’s promise from The Terminator: “I’ll be back.”

“Divorced. Herbert and I dissolved our partnership three years ago. Political differences were part of it—he was all in on Trump—but there were plenty of other reasons, as well.”

They watch TV and have their dessert, spooning up a mixture of raspberry sorbet and Peter Steinman’s brains.

“Have you ever screamed? A full-out, full-throated scream, the kind that leaves you hoarse afterward?”

When they get to the house, Barbara and Marie help Olivia out of the car and up the steps, a slow process accompanied by several loud farts. “Just backfiring,” Olivia says matter-of-factly. “Clearing the exhaust system.”

Time, she thinks, really is the avenger.