By the time Eddie came, Roland had already half-filled his hat with the orange berries, and also eaten several good handfuls. The pain in his legs and hips had faded with amazing rapidity. As he picked, he wondered how much Cort would have paid for a single bottle of Rosalita Munoz’s cat-oil.

“Man, those look like the wax fruit our mother used to put out on a doily every Thanksgiving,” Eddie said. “Can you really eat them?”

Roland picked a pokeberry almost as big as the tip of his own finger and popped it into Eddie’s mouth. “Does that taste like wax, Eddie?”

Eddie’s eyes, cautious to begin with, suddenly widened. He swallowed, grinned, and reached for more. “Like cranberries, only sweeter. I wonder if Suze knows how to make muffins? Even if she doesn’t, I bet Callahan’s housekeeper—”

“Listen to me, Eddie. Listen closely and keep a rein on your emotions. For your father’s sake.”

Eddie had been reaching for a bush that was particularly heavy with pokeberries. Now he stopped and simply looked at Roland, his face expressionless. In this early light, Roland could see how much older Eddie looked. How much he had grown up was really extraordinary.

“What is it?”

Roland, who had held this secret in his own counsel until it seemed more complex than it really was, was surprised at how quickly and simply it was told. And Eddie, he saw, wasn’t completely surprised.

“How long have you known?”

Roland listened for accusation in this question and heard none. “For certain? Since I first saw her slip into the woods. Saw her eating…” Roland paused. “…what she was eating. Heard her speaking with people who weren’t there. I’ve suspected much longer. Since Lud.”

“And didn’t tell me.”

“No.” Now the recriminations would come, and a generous helping of Eddie’s sarcasm. Except they didn’t.

“You want to know if I’m pissed, don’t you? If I’m going to make this a problem.”

“Are you?”

“No. I’m not angry, Roland. Exasperated, maybe, and I’m scared to fuckin death for Suze, but why would I be angry with you? Aren’t you the dinh?” It was Eddie’s turn to pause. When he spoke again, he was more specific. It wasn’t easy for him, but he got it out. “Aren’t you my dinh?”

“Yes,” Roland said. He reached out and touched Eddie’s arm. He was astounded by his desire—almost his need—to explain. He resisted it. If Eddie could call him not just dinh but his dinh, he ought to behave as dinh. What he said was, “You don’t seem exactly stunned by my news.”