She reaches up, unbuttons his shirt, slowly. He takes in a sharp breath. Closes his eyes for a minute. Then opens them. “Janie,” he says.
His button-down is on the floor.
She pulls the T-shirt up. Just a little. She watches his eyes. He pleads to her with them.
Janie slips her fingers under his T-shirt. Touches the warm skin at the sides of his waist. Feels his shallow breathing quicken. Draws her hands upward.
Feels the scars.
He draws in a staggering breath and turns his head to the side. His lip shadow quivers on the wall. His Adam’s apple bobs below it. “Oh, Christ,” he says. His voice breaks. And he is shaking.
She lifts the shirt, pulls it over his head.
The burn scars are bumpy like peanut brittle. They pepper his stomach and chest.
She touches them.
Traces them.
Kisses them.
And he’s standing there. Weeping. His hair floating up with winter static. His eyelashes, like hopping spiders in the dim light. He can’t take it.
He bends forward.
Curls over like a sow bug.
Protecting himself.
Dropping to the floor.
“Stop,” he says. “Please. Just stop.”
She does. She hands him his shirt.
He mops his face with it.
Slips it back on.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says, and shudders in gripping sobs.
She sits next to him on the floor, leaning against the couch. Pulls him to her. He lays his head in her lap and curls up on the floor while she pets his hair. He grips her leg like a teddy bear.
11:13 p.m.
Janie wakes him gently, fingers through his hair. She walks with him to his bedroom. Lies down beside him in his bed, just for a few minutes. Puts his glasses on his bedside table. Holds him. Kisses his cheek.
And goes home.
BUSTING OUT ALL OVER
December 6, 2005, 12:45 p.m.
She waits at his table in the library.
He meets her there.
“I have to work tonight,” she whispers.
“After?” he asks.
“Yes. It’ll be late.”
“I’ll leave the front door unlocked,” he says.
She goes to her usual table.
And he designs a new dream, just for her.
6:48 p.m.
A man checks in at the front desk of Heather Home. He looks around, unfamiliar. She recognizes him, though he’s tinged in gray now. Older. Lined.
“I’ll show you,” Janie says. She leads him to Mr. McVicker’s room.
Knocks lightly on the door. Opens it.
Old Johnny McVicker turns toward the door.
Sees his son.
It’s the first time in nearly twenty years.
The old man rises from his chair slowly.
Grabs hold of his walker.
His dinner tray and spoon clatters to the floor. But he doesn’t notice. He’s staring at his son.
Says, way too fast, “I was wrong, Edward. You were right. I’m sorry. I love you, son.”
Edward stops in his tracks.
Takes off his hat. Scratches his head slowly.
Crumples the hat in his hands.
Janie closes the door and goes back to the desk.
11:08 p.m.
She parks her car at her house and sprints through the snow to his.
“I was wild,” she says when she slips in the house. “You shoulda seen me with the bedpans.”
He waited for her. And now he hugs her. Lifts her up. She laughs.
“Can you stay?” he asks. Begs.
“If I go home in the morning,” she says. “Before school.”
“Anything,” he says.
Janie finishes up her homework, shoves it in her backpack, and finds him. He’s sleeping. He’s not wearing a shirt. She crawls into his bed and marvels silently at his stomach and chest. He breathes deeply. She settles in.
For now, anyway.
He knows she might have to go away.
Get away from his dreams, so she can sleep.
But when he dreams the fire dream, and meets her behind the shed, kisses and cries, begging for help, she reaches for his fingers in her blind, numb state and takes him with her into it, so he can watch himself.
She shows him how to change it.
It’s your dream, she reminds him.
And she shows him how to turn the man on the step, the man who carries the lighter fluid and the cigarette, into the man on the step whose hands are empty, whose head is bowed. Who says, “I’m sorry.”
When they both wake, the sun streams in the window.
It’s 11:21 a.m. On a Wednesday.
They exclaim and laugh, loud and long. Because there’s not one single parent between them who gives a damn.
Instead, they lounge on a giant beanbag in the computer room together, talking, listening to music.
They play truth or dare.
But it’s all truth.
For both of them.
Janie: Why did you tell me you wanted to see me that first Sunday after Stratford, and then you didn’t show?
Cabel: I knew I had to hit that party—I was going to come back early. I didn’t know we were going to hold a fake bust. I got sent to jail overnight, just to make me look real. I was devastated. Captain let me out at six the next morning. That’s when I left the note on Ethel.
Janie: Did you ever sell drugs?
Cabel: Yes. Pot. Ninth and tenth grade. I was, uh . . . rather troubled, back then.
Janie: Why did you stop?
Cabel: Got busted, and Captain made me a better deal.
Janie: So you’ve been a narc since then?
Cabel: I cringe at your terminology. Most narcs are young cops planted in schools to catch students. Captain had a different idea. She’s not after the students, she’s after the supplier. Who happens to be Shay’s father. And she thought this was a good way to go—since he’s starting to sell coke to kids at the parties. And implies he’s got a gold mine somewhere. I’ve got to get him to say it on mic.
Janie: So you’re a double agent?
Cabel: Sure. That sounds sexy.
Janie: You’re sexy. Hey, Cabel?
Cabel: Yeah?
Janie: Did you really flunk ninth grade?
Cabel: No. (pause) I was in the hospital, most of that year.
Janie: (silence) And thus, the drugs.
Cabel: Yes . . . they helped with the pain. But then I got myself into a few, well, uh, situations. And Captain stepped in my life at exactly the right moment before junior year, before I was too far in trouble. And it sounds weird, but she became sort of this army-type, no-nonsense mother I desperately needed. That was the Goth stage, where I decided I’d never get the girl of my dreams because of my scars. Not to mention the hairstyle.
(pause)
But then she slammed a door handle into my gut. And when a girl does that to a boy, it means she likes him.
Janie: (laughs)
Cabel: So that made me feel better. Because she didn’t care what people thought if she spoke to me. Before I changed.
(pause)
Janie: (smiles) Why did you change it? Your look, I mean.
Cabel: Captain’s orders. For the job. It’s not my car, either, by the way. It’s part of the image. I suppose I’ll have to give it back after a while.
(pause)
Hey, Janie?
Janie: Yeah?
Cabel: What are you doing after high school?
Janie: (sighs) It’s still up in the air, I guess. In two years, I’ve barely saved enough money for one semester at U of M . . . God, that’s just crazy . . . so, unless I get a decent scholarship, it’ll be community college.
Cabel: So you’re staying around here?
Janie: Yeah . . . I, uh, I need to be close enough so I can keep an eye on my mother, you know? And . . . I
think, with my little “problem,” I’m going to have to live at home. Or I’ll never get any sleep.
Cabel: Janie?
Janie: Yes?
Cabel: I’m going there. To U of M.
Janie: You are NOT.
Cabel: Criminal Justice. So I can keep my job here.
Janie: How do you know? Did you get an acceptance letter already? How can you afford it?
Cabel: Um, Janie?
Janie: Yesss, Cabel?
Cabel: I have another lie to confess.
Janie: Oh, dear. What is it?
Cabel: I do, actually, know what my GPA is.
Janie: And?
Cabel: And. I have a full-ride scholarship.
Cabel is pushed violently from the beanbag chair. And pounced upon. And told, repeatedly, what a bastard he is.
Janie is told that she will most certainly get a scholarship too, with her grades. Unless she plays hooky with drug dealers.
And then there is some kissing.
December 10, 2005
The weekend is shot. Cabel is back to courting Shay, and Janie is working Friday night, and Saturday and Sunday first shifts at the nursing home.
But Carrie finds Janie. And Janie, worried that the drug bust will go down over the weekend, really doesn’t want Carrie mixed up in it. She asks Carrie if she wants to study for exams sometime. They reluctantly agree on Saturday night at Janie’s.
Carrie shows up around six p.m., and she’s already loaded. Janie makes her haul out her books and notes, anyway. “Are you gonna go to college or not?” she asks sharply.
“Well, sure,” Carrie says. “I guess. Unless Stu wants to get married.”
“Does he?”
“I think so. Maybe. Sometime.”
“Do you?” Janie asks, after a moment.
“Sure, why not. Get me away from my parents.”
“Your parents aren’t that bad, really. Are they?”
Carrie grimaces. “You should have seen them before.”
“Before what?”
“Before we moved in next door to you.”
Janie hesitates. Trying to decide if this is the right time to ask. “Hey, Carrie?”
“What.”
“Who’s Carson?”
Carrie stares at Janie. “What did you just say?”
“I said, who is Carson?”
Carrie’s face grows alarmed. “How do you know about Carson?”
“I don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t need to ask.” Janie is walking a thin line here. One she can’t see.
Carrie, obviously troubled, paces around the kitchen. “But how did you know to ask me about him?”
“You said his name once,” Janie says carefully, “in your sleep. I was just curious.”
Carrie sloshes some vodka in a glass. Sits down. Starts to cry.
Oh, shit, Janie thinks.
And then Carrie spills the story.
“Carson . . . was four.”
Janie’s stomach twists.
“He drowned. We were camping by a lake . . . it was . . . ” Carrie trails off and takes a swallow of her drink. “He was my little brother. I was ten. I was helping Mom and Dad set up the campsite.”
Janie closes her burning eyes. “Oh, shit, Carrie.”
“He wandered down to the lake—we didn’t notice. And he fell off the dock. We tried . . . we tried . . . ” Carrie puts her face in her hands. Takes a long, shuddering breath. “We moved here a year later.” Her voice turns quiet. “To start over. We don’t talk about him.”
Janie puts her arm around Carrie and hugs her. Doesn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry.”
Carrie nods, and then whispers in a broken voice, “I should have watched him better.”
“Oh, honey,” Janie whispers. She holds Carrie close for a moment, until Carrie gently pulls away.
“It’s okay.” Carrie sniffles.
Janie, feeling completely helpless, fetches a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. “I don’t have any tissues . . . Carrie? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Carrie wrings her hands. Blows her nose. Sniffles. “I don’t know, Janers. I thought it would go away. I was so tired . . . so tired of being sad. I couldn’t stand any more silent, pitying looks.”
“Does Stu know?”
Carrie shakes her head. “I should probably tell him.”
They are quiet for a long time.
“I guess maybe,” Janie murmurs after a while, “the bad stuff never goes away. And it’s nobody’s fault.”
Carrie sucks in a shivery breath and lets it out slowly. “Ah, well. We’ll see, huh?” She smiles through the tears. “Thanks, Janers. You’re a really good friend.” She pauses, and adds in a soft voice, “Just keep being normal now, okay? One sad look and I’m outa here, I swear to God.”
Janie grins. “You got it. Kiddo.”
December 11, 2005, 2:41 a.m.
When Carrie dreams, this time Janie knows what to do.
The forest, the river, the boy, drowning. Grinning.
Carrie, looking at Janie. Only a few minutes before the shark comes.
Carrie, crying out, “Help him! Save him!”
Janie concentrates, staring Carrie in the eyes. “Ask me, Carrie. Ask me.”
He’s bobbing and sinking, that eerie grin on his face.
“Help him!” she cries again to Janie.
Carrie! thinks Janie with all her might. I can’t help him. Ask me. Ask me to help . . . you.
In the morning, Carrie remarks at breakfast, “I had the weirdest dream. It was one of these nightmares that I keep getting about Carson, but this time, it all changed and turned into this strange little . . . something. It was surreal.”
“Yeah?” munched Janie. “Cool. Must be the feng shui over here or something.”
“You think?”
“I dunno. Try rearranging your room, and then at night, tell yourself that you’re going to change the nightmares from now on to work with your new harmonious surroundings.”
Carrie gives her a suspicious look. “Are you yanking my chain?”
“Of course not.”
December 12, 2005, 5:16 p.m.
Janie drives home slowly after a long afternoon at Heather Home. With the holidays on the way, the aides try to fit in some decorating in the schedule, along with their regular duties. And Janie managed to help three residents find some peace in their dreams. It was a decent day.
On a whim, she drives past Cabel’s house, and is surprised to see his car in the driveway. She slows and pulls into the drive, leaving Ethel running.
She sprints to the front door and knocks briskly.
The door opens, and Cabel gives her a look. “Hey, Janie, what’s up?” He’s making signals with his eyes when Shay comes up from behind him and peers over his shoulder. She wraps her arms around his waist possessively.
“Hey, Janie,” says Shay, a look of triumph in her eyes.
Janie grins, thinking fast. “Oh, hi, Shay. Sorry to disturb. Cabel, I’m wondering if you have those math notes you said I could borrow for tomorrow’s exam?”
Cabel’s eyes flash a message of gratitude. “Yeah,” he says. “Be right back. You want to come in?”
“Nah. My shoes are wet from the snow.”
Cabel reappears and hands her a bunch of papers, rolled up and secured in a rubber band. “We’re heading out to a party now,” he says, “But I kind of need these back tonight, since the exam’s in the morning. How late can I stop by to get them?”
Shay bobs over his shoulder, intent on seeing and being seen. Janie notices Cabel has slowly straightened his posture and is standing at full height, and Shay has to jump to see past him. Janie masks a laugh. “I’ll be up late, but I can put them in the mailbox for you before I go to bed. Thanks, Cabel. Have fun at the party, you guys! I’m sooo jealous.”
Janie trots back to Ethel and heads for home, only a little melancholy over the scene she has just witnessed. She brings the notes in, changes her clothes, and gets out
her books.
She pages through the papers Cabel gave her, hoping he didn’t give her anything important, since she didn’t actually need his stuff. In the middle of the pile, a scribbled note:
I miss you like crazy.
Love, Cabe.
She smiles, missing him. Wanting this mess to be over. She thinks about how he was willing to quit the job, wreck the months of progress the detectives had made, just to get things right with her.
Captain is right. He’s a good guy.
Janie studies past midnight, partly hoping Cabe will come over. By one a.m., she’s nodding over her work. She calls it a night and gathers Cabe’s notes to put them in the mailbox. In case he comes for them. In case Shay is with him, and he has to pretend.
She writes a note and slips it inside the papers, then rolls them up and sets them outside in the mailbox.
She’s happy she can sleep in, but checks her alarm clock twice to make sure it’s set. The first exam starts at 10:30 a.m. tomorrow.
And she needs to ace it.
So she can get a scholarship.
Because without that, U of M is just an uncatchable dream.
December 13, 2005, 2:45 a.m.
When the phone rings, Janie jumps. She thinks it’s the alarm clock for one confused moment, but by the fourth ring she’s lunging for it.
Hoping it’s Cabel.
Hoping he’s standing outside, wanting to see her.
“Hello,” she croaks, and clears the sleep from her voice.
She hears sniffling. “Janieeee,” cries a voice.
“Who is this?”
“Janieee, it’s me.”
“Carrie? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Oh fuck, Janie,” Carrie mourns, “I’m so messed up.”
“Where are you? Do you need a ride? Carrie, get it together, girl. Are you drunk?”
“My parents are gonna kill me.”
Janie sighs.
Waits.
Listens to the sniffling.
“Carrie. Where are you.”
“I’m in jail,” she says finally, and the sobbing starts fresh.
“What? Right here in Fieldridge? What the hell did you do?”
“Can you just come get me?”
Janie sighs. “How much, Carrie?”
“Five hundred bennies,” she says. “I’ll pay you back. Every cent. Plus interest. I promise, so much.” She pauses. “Oh, and Janie?”