FRIDAY
August 4, 2006, 9:15 a.m.
Janie lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about everything. About this one more thing. The green notebook, the hearing, the gossip, college, her mother, and now this guy Henry. What’s next? It’s too much already. A familiar wave of panic washes over her, captures her chest and squeezes it. Hard. Harder. Janie gulps for air and she can’t get enough. She rolls to her side in a ball.
“Chill,” she says, gasping. “Just chill the f*ck out.”
It’s all too much.
She covers her mouth and nose with her hands, breathes into them, in and out, until she can get a good breath. She makes her mind go blank.
Focuses.
Breathes.
Just breathes.
9:29 a.m.
The door to Janie’s mother’s room remains closed.
Janie wanders aimlessly around the little house, wondering what the hell she’s supposed to do about Henry. She nibbles on a granola bar, sweating. It’s a scorcher already. She flips on the oscillating fan in the living room and props open the front door, begging for a breeze, and then she plops down on the couch.
Through the ripped screen door Janie sees Cabel pulling into the driveway, and her heart sinks. He hops out of the car and takes long, smooth strides to the front door. Lets himself in, as usual. He stops and lets his eyes adjust.
Smiles a crooked smile. “Hey,” he says.
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 sweat-dampened 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. Shuffles past Janie, out of the bedroom. Janie follows.
“Mom?” Janie doesn’t know what to do. As they turn toward the kitchen, Janie gives Cabel a helpless look and he shrugs. “Mother.”
Dorothea pulls orange juice from the fridge, ice and vodka from the freezer, and pours herself some breakfast. “What?” she asks, sniffling.
“Is this Henry guy my father?”
“Of course he’s your father. I’m no whore.”
Cabel makes a muffled noise from the other room.
“Okay, so he’s dying?”
Janie’s mother takes a long drink from the glass. “That’s what they say.”
“Well, was he in an accident or is it a disease or what?”
Dorothea shrugs and waves her hand loosely. “His brain exploded. Or a tumor. Something.”
Janie sighs. “Do you need me to go with you to the hospital again today?”
For the first time in the conversation, Janie’s mother looks Janie in the eye. “Again? You didn’t go with me yesterday.”
“I got there as soon as I could, Ma.”
Janie’s mother drains the glass and shudders. She stands at the counter, one hand holding the empty glass, the other holding the bottle of cheap vodka, and she stares at it. She sets both glass and bottle down hard and closes her eyes. A tear escapes and runs down her cheek.
Janie rolls her eyes. “You going to the hospital or not? I’m”—she grows bold—“I’m not sitting around all day waiting.”
“Go do whatever you want, like you always do, you little tramp,” Dorothea says. “I’m not going back there anyways.” She shuffles unsteadily past Janie, down the hall and into her room, closing the door once more behind her.
Janie lets out a breath and moves back into the living room where Cabel sits, a witness to it all. “Okay,” she says. “Now what?”
Cabel looks peeved. He shakes his head. “Well, what do you think you should do?”
“I’m not going back to see him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Me? Of course not. It’s totally up to you if you want to see the guy.”
“Right. Good.”
“I mean, he’s a deadbeat dad. Never done a thing for you. Who knows, maybe he has another family. Think of how awkward that would be if you just showed up and they were all there. . . .” Cabel trails off.
“Yeah, God, I never thought of that.”
“I’m trying to think if there were any Feingolds at Fieldridge High. Maybe you have half-siblings, you know?”
“There’s that one guy, Josh, that freshman who played varsity basketball,” Janie says.
“That’s Feinstein.”
“Oh.”
And then there is a moment, a pause, as Cabel waits for Janie.
“So, Feingold, that’s Jewish, right?” she asks.
“Does that change anything if it is?”
“No. I mean, wow. It’s interesting, anyway. I never really thought about my roots, you know? History. Ancestors. Wow.” Janie’s lost in thought.
Cabel nods. “Ah, well. You’ll never know, I guess.”
Janie freezes and then looks at Cabel.
Winds up and slugs him in the arm.
Hard.
“Ugh!” she says. “You loser.”
Cabel laughs, rubbing his arm. “Dang! What’d I do this time?”
Janie seethes, half-jokingly. She shakes her head. “You made me give a shit.”
“Come on,” he says. “You cared before. Didn’t you ever wonder who your father was?”
Janie thinks about the recurring dream her mother has—the kaleidoscope one where Dorothea and the hippie guy hold hands, floating. She’d wondered more than once who her father was. Wonders now if that was Henry in the dream.
“He’s probably some suit with two-point-two kids and a dog and a house by U of M.” Janie looks around her crap-hole of a house. Her crap-hole life, playing mom to an alcoholic twice her age. Knowing that without Dorothea’s welfare check and Janie’s income to supplement it, they are just one step away from being homeless. But Janie doesn’t want to think about that.
Janie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “All right. I’m grabbing a shower now, and later I’ll head over to the hospital. I suppose you’re coming with me then?”
Cabel smiles. “’Course. I’m your driver, remember?”
11:29 a.m.
Cabel and Janie take the stairs up to the third floor. By the time they reach the double doors that lead to the ward, Janie’s moving more and more slowly until she stops. She turns abruptly and goes into the waiting room instead.
“I can’t do this,” she says.
“You don’t have to. But if you don’t, I think you’ll be pissed at yourself later.”
“If he has any other visitors, I’m leaving.”
“That’s fair.”
“What if . . . what if he’s awake? What if he sees me?”
Cabel presses his lips together. “Well, after what your mother said about his brain exploding, I highly doubt that will happen.”
Janie sighs deeply and again walks toward the double doors with Cabel following. “Okay.” She pushes through and does an automatic cursory glance, like she used to do at Heather Home, to see if any of the patients’ doors are open. Luckily, most are closed, and Janie’s not picking up any dreams today.
Janie approaches the desk, this time with confidence. “Henry Feingold, please.”
“Family only,” the nurse says automatically. His name tag says “Miguel.”
“I’m his daughter.”
“Hey,” he says, looking at her more carefully. “Aren’t you that narc girl?”
“Yeah.” Janie tries not to fidget visibly.
“I saw you on the news. You did a good job.”
Janie smiles. “Thank you. So . . . what room?”
“Room three-twelve. End of the hall on the right.” Miguel points at Cabel. “You?”
“He’s—” Janie says. “He and I. We’re together.”
The nurse eyes Janie. “I see. So. He’s your . . . brother?”
Janie lets out a small breath and smiles gratefully. “Yes.”
Cabel nods and remains quiet, almost as if to prove to Miguel that he will behave despite being completely unrelated to anyone in the vicinity.
“Can you tell me what his condition is?”
“He’s not conscious, hon. Doctor Ming will have to give you an update.” Miguel gives Janie a look of sympathy. A look that says, “Things are not good.”
“Thank you,” Janie murmurs. She sets off down the hallway with Cabel close behind. And when she opens the door . . .
Static. The noise is like top-volume radio static. Janie drops to her knees and holds her ears, even though she knows that won’t help. Bright colors fly around her, giant slabs of red and purple; a wave of yellow so shocking it feels like it burns her eyeballs. She tries to speak but she can’t.
There’s no one there. Just wretched static and blinding lights. It’s so painful, so void of feeling or emotion, it’s like nothing Janie’s ever witnessed before.
With a huge effort, Janie concentrates and pulls hard. Just as she feels herself pulling away, the scene blinks and clears. For a split second, there’s a woman standing in a huge, dark room, and a man sitting in a chair in the corner, fading as Janie closes the door on that nightmare.
Janie catches her breath and when she can see again and feel her extremities, finds herself on her hands and knees just inside the doorway of the room. Cabel’s right there beside her, muttering something, but she’s not paying attention. She stares at the tiles on the floor and wonders briefly if that dream, that chaos, is what hell might be like.
“I’m okay,” she says to Cabel, slowly getting to her feet, dusting invisible floor-dirt particles from her bare knees.
And then she straightens. Turns.
Looks at the source of the nightmare, and sees him for the first time.
The man who is her father. Whose DNA she carries.
Janie sucks in a breath. Slowly, her hand goes to her mouth and she takes a step backward. Her eyes grow wide in horror.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers. “What the hell is that?”