She pats the worn couch cushion next to her. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” she says as
Cabel leans in. “Your nose is peeling.”
“Don’t care, and don’t care.” Cabel leans in and kisses her. Then he plops down on the couch.
“You okay that I’m here . . . and stuff?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Janie slides her hand on his thigh and squeezes. “Last night . . . I just didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t sure about my mom, you know? Wasn’t sure what she’d do.”
“What did she do?” He looks around nervously.
“Not much. She was a little obnoxious. Not impossible. But she didn’t say a word about Henry and I didn’t dare ask. God, she can’t even go twelve hours without a drink. And if she doesn’t have one, she gets mean.” Janie drops her chin. “It’s embarrassing, you know?”
“My dad was like that too. Only he was mean with or without. At least he was consistent.” Cabel grins wryly.
Janie snorts. “I guess I’m lucky.” She glances sidelong at Cabel.
Considers.
Finally says, “Did you ever wish your dad was dead? I mean, before he hurt you? Just so you could, like, not have to deal with him anymore?”
Cabel narrows his eyes. “Every. Damn. Day.”
Janie bites her lip. “So, are you glad he died in jail?”
Cabel is quiet for a long time. Then he shrugs. When he speaks, his voice is measured, almost clinical, as if he is talking to a shrink. “It was the best possible outcome, under the circumstances.”
The fan blows a knee-level path from the TV to the coffee table, catching the two pairs of bare legs on the couch in the middle of its run. Janie shivers slightly when the air hits her sweatdampened skin. She thinks of Henry Feingold, the stranger, presumably her father. Dying. And for the third time in twenty-four hours, Janie wishes it were someone else.
She leans her head against Cabel’s shoulder and slips her arm behind his. He turns, slides her onto his lap, and they hold on tightly to each other.
Because there’s no one else.
She’s so conflicted.
Janie imagines life without people. Without him. Broken heart, loneliness, but able to see, to feel. To live. To be, in peace. Not always looking over her shoulder for the next dream attack.
And she imagines life with him. Blind, gnarled, but loved . . . at least while things are still good.
And always knowing what struggles he’s dealing with through his dreams. Does she really want to see that, as years go by? Does she really want to be this incredible burden to such an awesome guy?
She still doesn’t know which scenario wins.
But she’s thinking.
Maybe broken hearts can mend more easily than broken hands and eyes.
9:41 a.m.
It’s too hot to sit like that for long.
Cabe stretches. “You going to wake her up? Head down to the hospital again?”
“God, I hope not.”
“Janie.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“At least it’s air-conditioned there.”
“So’s your car. Wanna go make out in the driveway instead?”
Cabel laughs. “Maybe after dark. In fact, hell yes, after dark. But seriously, Janie. I think you need to talk to your mom.”
Janie sighs and rolls her eyes. “I suppose.”
9:49 a.m.
She taps softly on her mother’s bedroom door.
Glances at Cabel.
To Janie, this room doesn’t feel like a part of the house. It’s more just a door to another world, a portal to sorrow, from which Dorothea appears and disappears at random. Rarely does she even catch a glimpse inside unless her mother is coming or going.
She waits. Enters, bracing herself against a possible dream. But Janie’s mother isn’t dreaming at the moment. Janie lets out a breath and looks around.
Filtered sunlight squeezes into the room through the worn patches of the window drape. The furnishings are spare but what’s there is messy. Paper plates, bottles, and glasses are on the floor next to the bed. It’s hot and stuffy. Stale.
In the bed, Janie’s mother sleeps on her back, the thin nightgown gripping her bony figure.
“Mom,” Janie whispers.
There’s no response.
Janie feels self-conscious. She shifts on the balls of her feet. The floor creaks. “Mother,” she says, louder this time.
Janie’s mother grunts and looks up, squinting. Hoists herself with effort on her elbow. “Issit the phone?” she mumbles.
“No, I . . . it’s almost ten o’clock and I was just wondering—”
“Don’t you got school?”
Janie’s jaw drops. You’ve got to be kidding me. She takes a deep breath, considers blowing up at her mother, reminding her of the graduation she didn’t attend, and the fact that it’s summer, but decides now is not the time. The words rush out before Dorothea can interrupt again. “No, ah, no school today. I’m wondering what the deal is with Henry and if you have to go to the hospital again or what. I don’t want to—”
At the mention of Henry, Janie’s mother sucks in a loud breath. “Oh, my God,” she says, moaning, as if she just remembered what happened. She rolls over and shakily gets to her feet.