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He didn’t have Miss Stubin to help him. To teach him.
He had no one.
12:50 p.m
The rattling, house-shaking noise of a truck breaks Janie’s attention. Through the window she sees it rumbling toward her and her heart races, knowing she shouldn’t be here. But then the driver raps on the door and she shouts in a friendly voice, “Hey, Henry, you gotta sign for this one! You out back?”
Janie hesitates, and then she opens the door. “Hi.”
The delivery woman looks up, machine in hand. Sweat streaks her tan cheeks and she has wet stains under her arms. She wears the company brown shorts and her tan legs are covered in bug bites and bruises. She looks surprised and confused for a moment, but then says, “Hi, uh, are you eighteen? You can sign.”
“I . . . yeah.”
“Where’s Henry? Out garage-saling? Well, obviously not, because there’s his car . . . Well, you can tell him I saw a sign for a big rummage sale that the Luther’ns are putting on. Over on Washtenaw, Fridee and Saturdee.” She looks uneasy.
“Henry’s—he won’t be able to make it. He’s . . . sick. Not doing well.” Janie feels her throat growing tight. “In the hospital, probably not going to make it.”
The woman’s jaw drops. She grips the door frame. “Oh, my heck. You’re not serious. Are you . . . who are you?” She pounds a fist to her hip as if to get a hold of herself. “If I may ask, I mean—it’s none of my business but Henry’s been my customer for years. We’re friends.” She turns abruptly and stares at the woods, her fingers now fidgeting at her lips and then shoving through her mullet.
“I’m Janie. I’m his daughter,” Janie says. It sounds weird.
“His daughter? He never told me he had a kid.”
“I don’t think he knew about me.”
The woman sighs. “Well, I’m sorry about it, that’s for sure. Will you tell him I wish him well?”
“Sure, I . . . he’s in a coma, or something, but I’ll still tell him. But—can you tell me a little bit about him? I mean, I just found out he’s my dad when he got taken to the hospital, so I don’t know anything . . . . ” Janie swallows hard. “You want some water?”
“Naw, thanks. I got plenty in the truck.” Still in a state of shock at the news, she swipes mindlessly at a mosquito. “Henry Feingold is a good guy. He don’t bother anybody. He might look a little strange but he has a heart of gold. He just does his business and lives here, all alone, but he says he prefers it. He studies a lot on the computer, researching for his business and some other stuff—I think he took an online course once. Not quite sure what, but he’s usually always got something interesting to talk about.”
“Did he say he was feeling sick at all last week?”
“Nothing more’n his usual headaches. He’d get migraines sometimes. Never got ’em checked out, though I told him he should. Said he didn’t have insurance.”
“So he’s had headaches for a while?”
“On and off. Is that what . . . ?” The UPS woman nods in place of saying the words.
“Yeah. Something in his brain, maybe a tumor. They don’t know much, I guess.”
The UPS woman looks down at the dirt. “Well. I’m real sorry. You take care. I’m . . . yeah. Heck. I’m real sorry.” She picks up the packages that Janie prepared for shipping.
“Thanks,” Janie says.
“If something happens, you know—if you could maybe leave me a note on the door? I come by a lot, sometimes twice a day if there’s an afternoon pickup. I’d sure appreciate it. Name’s Cathy with a C.”
Janie nods. “I’ll try. Hey, Cathy?”
“Yeah?”
Janie fidgets. “He’s not, like, blind or anything. Is he?”
Cathy gives Janie a quizzical look. “No,” she says. “He doesn’t even wear glasses.”
1:15 p.m.
Janie sits in the old La-Z-Boy, thinking it all through.
Isolation.
He lives here, he’s in his late thirties, he’s not blind or crippled.
“Oh, jeez,” Janie says. She lets her head fall back in the chair. “What the hell am I doing? It makes perfect sense. I’m such an idiot.”
Her phone won’t stop buzzing.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” Cabe says, sounding miffed. “You got something going on or what?”
“I just needed to get away,” Janie says. “Why, what’s so important that I can’t be gone for three hours without somebody chasing me down?” Her tone is sharper than she intends. But Janie was really beginning to enjoy the quiet.
Cabel doesn’t speak for a moment, and Janie cringes. “Sorry,” she says. “That didn’t come out right.”
“Okay, well,” he says. But his voice is still bristly. “I was calling to see what time you wanted me to pick you up for that meeting we have with Captain. At two.”
Janie sits up in the chair. “Oh, crap!” She checks her watch. “Shit, I forgot.” She glances around the room to make sure everything’s in place and she careens out the door, closing it but not locking it, just as Henry left it. “I’m . . . out for a run. I gotta hightail it home and grab a quick shower. How about one fifty-five?”
“Wow, that’s cutting it close. We’ll be late. You want me to pick you up from where you are now and get you home faster?”
Janie starts jogging down the driveway, her muscles stiff. “No,” she says. “No, I can just meet you at the police station.”
“What, you’re taking the bus? Captain will be pissed. I’m supposed to drive you. You know that. Come on, Janie.” He sounds mad.
Janie’s voice jiggles as she runs. She breathes out through pursed lips to avoid the stitch she’s already getting in her side. “I know,” she says. “I know.”
“Where are you?”
She slows to a walk. “You know, Cabe, I think . . . just . . . go without me,” she says. “Okay? I’m not going.”
“What the—? Janie! Come on. Don’t do this. I’ll pick you up at one fifty-five. It’ll be fine.”
Janie keeps walking. “No,” she says firmly. “I’ve got some stuff to do. I’ll call her to explain. Just go.”
“But—” Cabel sighs.
Janie’s silent.
“Fine,” he says. Hangs up without a good-bye.
Janie flips her phone shut and shoves it back in her pocket. “God,” she says. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
She calls Captain as she walks back toward home.
“Everything okay, Hannagan?”
“Not really, sir,” Janie says. Her v
oice quivers. “I’m not coming in today. I’m sorry.”
Silence.
Janie stops walking. “I can’t make it to the meeting. I—I think I made my decision.”
There is the sound of her chair creaking and a soft sigh on the other end. “Okay. Well.” She pauses. “Cabe?”
Janie drops to her haunches on the side of the road and squeezes her eyes shut. Bites her forefinger. Takes in a measured breath to steady her voice. “Not yet,” she says. “Soon. I need a couple days to figure out what I do from here.”
“Oh, Janie,” Captain says.
1:34 p.m.
She stands on the road, not sure where to go now. Home, or back to Henry’s. Her head tells her one thing.
But when her stomach growls, she knows the answer.
Doesn’t feel right about eating her father’s food. So she trudges to the bus stop. Thinking, always thinking.
She knows she’s going to have to say good-bye to Cabel.
Forever.
It’s just really hard to imagine doing it.
2:31 p.m.
At home, Janie fixes three sandwiches. She eats one, wraps the other two in plastic and stows them in her backpack. Dorothea makes a rare appearance, scrounging around in the refrigerator.
“You want me to make you a sandwich, Ma?” Janie says, not really wanting to. “I’ve got all the stuff out.”
Dorothea dismisses the suggestion with a careless wave and a grunt, and grabs a can of beer instead. She shuffles back to her room.
And then the front door opens.
“Hey, Janers, you home?” It’s Carrie.
Janie groans inwardly. She just wants to go back to Henry’s house. “Hey, girl. What digs?”
“Nothin’.” Carrie saunters into the kitchen and hoists herself up on the counter. Sticks her feet out. She’s wearing flip-flops. “Check out my pedi. Aren’t you so jel?”
Janie fixes her attention on Carrie’s toes. “Totally! Really cute, Carrie.” Janie fills up a water bottle at the tap and tosses that in her backpack too.
“You going somewhere?” Carrie looks a little disappointed.
“Yeah,” Janie says.
“Cabe’s?”
“No.” Janie sighs. She’d been forced to lie to Carrie when on assignment during their entire senior year. Doesn’t want to now. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”
