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Decides to wait.
4:35 p.m.
Sitting on her bed, she opens the envelope first. It’s a traditional birthday card with a simple signature on the bottom—“Fran Komisky.” Inside the card is a gift certificate to Mario’s Martial Arts for a self-defense class. Cool.
And inside the box is every kind of pampering item that Janie would never buy for herself. Relaxation votives, stress massage oils, aromatherapy bath salts, and a plethora of scented lotions in tiny adorable bottles. Janie squeals. Best present ever.
She calls Mario’s and signs up for a class that starts the next day. And then, she goes to the phone book and looks up optometrists. Finds a vision shop that’s open evenings and calls for an appointment. The receptionist says there’s a cancellation for a five thirty p.m. appointment today, and can she make it?
She can.
And does.
She raids her college fund.
Walks out an hour later, four hundred bucks poorer but wearing new, funky, sexy glasses. She loves them, actually.
And she can see.
She had no idea how poorly she was seeing before.
Can’t believe the difference.
She drives straight to Cabel’s, knowing she can’t stay long. She knocks on the front door. He opens it, towel drying his hair. She grins brightly.
He stands there, gaping. “Holy shit,” he says. “Get in here.” He pulls her in the house and slams the door. “You look fantastic,” he says.
“Thank you,” she says. She bounces on the balls of her feet. “And an added bonus,” she says.
“Let me guess. You can see?”
“How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Hey, let’s trade!”
He grins slyly. Takes his off and hands them to her. She whips hers off and puts his on while he watches, amused.
“Holy Moses, your eyes are terrible.”
“No,” he says. “Yours are. My glasses are clear.”
She takes his off and playfully pummels him in the chest. “You are such a dork! You don’t even need to wear glasses?”
He clasps his hands around her back and holds her tight against him. “It was all part of the image,” he says, laughing. “I kind of got used to them. I like the look, so I kept them. Makes me look sexy, don’t you think?” he teases, and then kisses her on the top of the head.
“You smell great,” Janie says. She wraps her arms around him and looks up. “Oh! Check this out.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the cell phone. “I have no idea how it works, but isn’t it the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen?”
Cabel takes the phone and examines it. Thoroughly. “This phone,” he says finally. “I want this phone.”
She laughs. “No. S’mine.”
“Janie, I don’t think you understand. I want it.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s got photo Caller ID; Internet; video, camera, and digital recorder?! Holy Hannah . . . It’s making me warm all over.”
“Oh, yeah?” Janie says in a sexy voice. “Wanna play with my phone, baby?”
He looks at her, his eyes smoldering. “Hell yes, I do.” He runs his fingers through her hair, slips his hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and leans down to kiss her.
Their glasses clink.
“Fuck,” they whisper together, laughing.
“I can’t stay, anyway,” she says. “Plus, I’m parked in your driveway.”
“Wait one second, ’kay?” Cabel slips away and comes back a moment later. “Here,” he says, handing her a small box. “For you. For your birthday.”
Janie’s lips part in surprise. She takes it. Feels really strange about opening it in front of him. She wets her lips as she examines the box and the ribbon that surrounds it. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“Um . . . ” He clears his throat. “The gift, see, is actually inside the box. The box is like an extra bonus gift. It’s how we do things here on planet Earth.”
She smiles. “I’m still enjoying the box and the fact that you bought me a gift. You didn’t have to do that, Cabe.”
“I just wish you’d told me it was your birthday, so I could have had it on the right day.”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, “that was me, having a little pity party for myself. I should have said something. When’s yours?” She says suddenly.
“November 25.”
She looks up at him. Her eyes remember. “Thanks-giving weekend.”
“Yeah. You were at the sleep study. And we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
“That must have been a shitty weekend,” she says.
He’s silent for a moment. “Open it, J.”
She slides the ribbon off.
Opens the box. It’s a tiny diamond pendant on a silvery chain. It sparkles in the box.
Janie gasps.
And bursts into tears.
THE GREEN AND THE BLUES
January 26, 2006, 9:55 a.m.
Mr. Wang stops Janie after second hour. “Do you have a moment, Janie?”
“Sure,” she says. Mr. Wang is dressed in Polo.
The room clears out.
“I just wanted to compliment you on your work so far. You seem to have a real understanding of psychology. Your essay answers on the first test were brilliant.”
Janie grins. “Thanks.”
“Have you ever thought of a career in psych?”
“Oh . . . you know. I’ve toyed with the idea a bit. I’m not sure yet what I’ll go for in college.”
“So you do have college plans?” His voice has a hint of incredulity to it. “Franklin Community, maybe?”
Janie blinks, feeling the snub.
Feeling poor.
As if living on the wrong side of town means less is expected of her.
“Well, I would,” she says, her voice taking on an innocent twang, “if’n I didn’t have Earl Junior on the way, and you know mamaw can’t stay alone in the trailer so good no more. I got to go find Earl Senior, so I can git me some money, know whut I mean?”
Mr. Wang stares at her.
She turns away when the bell rings and walks in late to chemistry.
“Sorry,” she mouths to Mr. Durbin as she slides into place at her lab table at the back of the room. The others are working already. Janie copies down the equations from the board. She is still amazed at how well she can now see.
She hunches over her desk and scratches the figures on a piece of notebook paper, working out the formula, checking and double-checking her work. Mr. Durbin strolls around the room, giving hints and joking occasionally with the students as usual. She joins in like the others.
Every now and then, she glances up to see where he is, watching his body language as he interacts with the students. He hasn’t said or done anything inappropriate that Janie’s seen since their little incident a few weeks before, and now Janie’s starting to question her judgment. Did it really happen? Or was she feeling so badly about herself that day that she imagined it?
He really is a terrific teacher.
And then he’s next to her at her table, checking out her work. “Looking good, Hannagan,” he says quietly. But he’s not looking at her formula, bubbling merrily over the burner.
He’s looking down her shirt as she’s leaning over.
After class he stops her on the way out the door. “Do you have a slip for me?”
Janie is stumped. “A what?”
“A note?”
“For what?”
“You were late.”
Janie thumps her forehead. “Oh! Um . . . No, I don’t, but Mr. Wang kept me after class last period. He’ll vouch for me.”
“Mr. Wang, hm?”
“Yes.”
“Hang out here a moment while I call him.”
“But . . . ”
“I’ll write you a note for your next class, don’t worry.” He picks up the phone and dials Mr. Wang’s room.
Mr. Wang appare
ntly confirms that he held Janie after class. The bell rings. Mr. Wang says something else, and Mr. Durbin chuckles. “Is that so.” He listens again. “I’ll say,” he says. He gives Janie a sidelong glance. His eyes come to rest on her chest as he hangs up.
“Okay, you’re off the hook,” he says, smiling. “So, who’s your baby daddy?”
She grins, embarrassed. “That was a little joke,” she says, and wets her lips. “Thanks. Can you write me a note now?”
“Sure,” he says lazily. He reaches for his pen and scribbles on a square sheet of recycled paper. He holds the note out in front of him, so she has to approach to get it. “How’s that sound?” He’s grinning.
She takes the paper. “You want me to read this?” she says.
He nods and scribbles on a second square of paper now. “And this is for your next teacher.”
She reaches for it. “Oh, okay,” she says. “Uh . . . ”
“The first one is some information about a little chemistry party I have every semester at my house, just for the Chem. 2 students. Any chance you can whip up a flyer for me to hand out to everybody?”
Janie looks at the paper. “Of course, I’d love to.”
“You look like the type who would be good with computer graphics,” he says. “You know what I mean.” He wiggles his fingers. “Savvy . . . with electronics.”
“It must be my geeky glasses that gives me away,” she says smoothly.
