“No. My brother Charlie gave me a lift.”
“Well, thank him for me.”
She’s got the peanut butter open now, and globs it on to a piece of bread. She pours some of the milk into a tall glass, grabs the sandwich, and slips past Cabel into the living room. Flips on the TV and squints at it. “You want a sandwich or something?” she asks. “Would you like to stay?” She doesn’t know what else to say. He’s just looking at her.
Finally he pulls a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Unfolds it.
Turns off the TV. “Humor me for a minute,” he says.
He stands directly in front of her, then turns and walks fifteen paces in the opposite direction. Stops and turns to face her again.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Read this. Out loud, please.”
It’s an eye chart.
“Dude, I’m totally trying to eat, here.”
“Read. Please.”
She sighs and looks at the chart.
“E,” she says. And smirks.
He’s not laughing.
She reads the next line.
And the one after that. Squinting. And guessing.
“Cover your right eye and do it again,” he says.
She does it.
“Now cover your left.”
“Grrr,” she says. But does it.
By memory.
All she can make out with her right eye is the E. She doesn’t say anything. Just says the letters she remembers from before.
And then he takes a second, different chart out.
“Do that eye again,” he says.
“What is the deal with you?” she almost yells. “Jeez, Cabel. I’m not your little kid or something.”
“Can you read it or not?”
“N,” she says.
“Is that as much as you can read?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He bites his lip. “Excuse me for a minute, will you?”
“Whatever,” she says. So she needs glasses—maybe. Big deal. Cabel disappears into her bedroom, and she hears him pacing over the creak in the floor and talking to himself.
Janie eats her sandwich and downs the glass of milk. Goes into the kitchen and makes another. Grabs a carrot and peels it over the garbage can. Pours another glass of milk.
Takes her feast to the living room again and sits down. Turns the TV
back on. She’s feeling much better. Her hands have stopped shaking.
She swallows the last drops of milk and feels it sloshing around in her belly. She smiles, contented. Thinks she ought to be the poster girl for the Got Milk? ads.
10:59 p.m.
Janie pulls herself out of her post-dinner stupor and wonders what Cabel’s doing in her room all this time. She gets up and heads down the short hallway, pushes the door open, and gets sucked into darkness immediately.
She staggers.
Drops to the floor.
Cabel’s frantic, trying to lock a door. Each time he locks it, another lock appears. As he secures each new one, the others spring open. He can’t keep up.
Janie reaches for the door, blindly.
Backs out of her room on her hands and knees, pulling the door shut with her.
And the connection is broken.
She blinks, seeing stars, and gets back to her feet. Pulls a ratty old blanket from the closet and settles on the couch, sighing. She can’t even sleep in her own bed these days.
January 7, 2006, 6:54 a.m.
Janie is startled awake. She looks around as a cold blast of air washes over the living room. She sits up and goes to the kitchen, looking out the window. Fresh footprints in the snow lead down the drive, across the street, and into the yard on the other side.
She checks her bedroom.
He’s gone.
She shakes her head. What a jerk, she thinks.
Then she finds his note.
J.,
Shit, I’m such a jerk. I’m sorry—you should have smacked me awake.
I’ve got some things to do today, but will you call me? Please?
Love,
Cabe
There’s something about a guy who admits he’s a jerk that makes him forgivable.
Janie climbs into her bed. Her pillow smells like him. She smiles. Hugs it.
Talks to herself.
“I would like to dream about Center Street and I would like to talk to Miss Stubin again,” she says over and over as she drifts off to sleep.
7:20 a.m.
Janie rolls over and rouses herself. Looks at the clock. Sighs. She’s rusty at it. Repeats her mantra. Pictures the scene in her head.
8:04 a.m.
She’s standing on Center Street. It’s dark, cool, and rainy again.
Looks around.
No one is there.
Janie wanders up and down the street, looking for Miss Stubin, but the street is vacant. Janie sits on the bench where she sat before.
Waits.
Wonders.
Recalls the previous conversation.
“When you have questions about my notes, return here,” Miss Stubin had said.
Janie slaps her hand to her forehead and the dream fades.
When Janie wakes, she vows to practice directing and controlling her dreams every night. It will help. She knows it will.
She also vows to keep reading Miss Stubin’s notes, so she can come up with some questions.
10:36 a.m.
Janie munches on toast as she pulls out the box of files from Captain.
She begins where she left off, and reads the reports, fascinated.
4:14 p.m.
She finishes the second file. Still sitting on her bed in her pajamas.
Remains of snacks everywhere. The phone rings, and with a gasp she remembers Cabel’s note from this morning. “Hello?”