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“Der.”
Janie smiles. “I—I found Henry’s house. I’m going to go back out there and try to learn more about him.”
“Sweet!” Carrie hops off the counter. “Can I come? I’ll drive.”
“Uh . . . ” Janie says. She wants to be alone, but after trekking out to Henry’s once already today, the thought of having a ride there and back is too tempting to say no. “Sure. Can you be ready to go, like, now?”
“I’m always ready to go. I’ll go start up the little diva and meet you in the driveway.”
2:50 p.m.
“So,” Janie says from the passenger seat of the ’77 Nova. “No plans with Stu tonight?”
“No.” Carrie frowns as she steers the car out of town, following Janie’s directions. “Why does everybody ask me that whenever they see me without him?”
“Because you’re almost always with him?”
“So? I am my own person too. Is that all there is to talk about? Where Stu is?”
Janie sticks her head out the window to catch the breeze on her face and hopes for no dreamers. “Are you guys fighting or something?”
“No,” Carrie says.
“Okay. So . . . when does school start for you?”
Carrie brightens. “Right after Labor Day. And it’s going to be a blast. Finally! I get to learn about something I actually want to learn about.”
“You’ll be the best in your class, Carrie. You got mad hair skillz.”
“I do, don’t I,” she says. “Thank you.” She turns her eyes from the road for a moment to look at Janie. They glimmer just a little. Maybe they’re just watery from the wind. Or not.
Janie smiles, reaches her arm around Carrie’s neck and gives her friend a little half-hug. Forgets that Carrie doesn’t get a whole lot more encouragement at home than Janie gets.
Carrie pulls Ethel into the bumpy driveway. Ethel protests in squeaks and groans, but Carrie presses onward. “Why the heck does he live all the way out here in freaking . . . freaking Saskatchewan?” Carrie says, giggling.
Janie doesn’t bother to point out that the nearest Canadian province is actually Ontario. Nor that they were going south.
Outside of the car, Janie goes immediately to the house as Carrie takes it all in—the overgrown bushes, the tiny, run-down cabin, the door left unlocked. “What, he doesn’t lock it?”
“He didn’t—at least not the last time he left.”
“Well, yeah, I can see that. It’s not like he lives in the ’hood, yadamean? Who comes way out here? It’d be a real crapshoot. People out here’d either pull a gun on you or invite you for pot roast.”
Carrie yammers on.
Janie ignores.
It’s all good.
3:23 p.m.
Janie goes directly to the computer. Carrie bumbles around the kitchen, snacking on raspberries from the refrigerator, but Janie doesn’t pay any attention. The computer, still on since she left in such a hurry earlier, takes forever to wake back up, and another forever to get online with the dial-up access.
The dialing noise makes Carrie look over at Janie. “What are you doing on his computer, Janers? That’s kinda, like, wrong, isn’t it?” Carrie stands in the kitchen, hands on cupboard doors, picking up things and setting them down again.
“Nah,” Janie lies. “He’s my father. I’m allowed.”
Carrie shrugs and moves on to the next cabinet.
Janie puzzles over Henry’s shop name. “Hey, Carrie, ‘Dottie’ is a nickname for ‘Dorothea,’ isn’t it?”
“How would I know?” Carrie says. And then, “Yeah, it sounds like it could be. And a hell of a lot easier to say than that mouthful.”
“Yeah,” Janie says, and then opens up a new window and Googles it. “Yep, it sure is.”
“What?” Carrie yells, now apparently sitting on the kitchen floor. Pans rattle.
“Nothing,” Janie says absently. “Just stop—whatever you’re doing. You’re making me nervous.”
“What?” Carrie yells again.
Janie sighs. Her finger hovers over the mouse, deciding. Finally, she drops it, opening Henry’s e-mail client.
Really feels like she’s snooping, now.
But just can’t help it.
Janie smiles, reading his kindly correspondence with his customers, trying to imagine him. Wishes she could have talked to him about all of this.
About his life.
But then a loud crash in the kitchen startles her again and she jumps up, frustrated. “Carrie, what the hell? Seriously, let’s just go, okay? Jesus Christ, I can’t take you anywhere!” Janie just wants to concentrate, to be able to savor these words. The interruptions are driving her crazy.
Carrie stands on the kitchen counter facing open cupboards, hanging on to a door. She peers over her shoulder looking sheepish as Janie stomps to the kitchen to survey the mess. “I love it when you call me Jesus Christ.”
Janie pinches her lips together, still mad, trying not to smile.
The crash wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
Mostly just empty tins.
“Look what I found,” Carrie says, pulling a shoe box from the shelf. She hops to the floor. “Notes and stuff! Like a box full of memories.”
“Stop! This is so not cool.” Janie glances nervously out the window, as if the crash of tins in this quiet setting would bring sirens and squealing tires. “We should get out of here, anyway.”
“But—” Carrie says. “Dude, you’ve got to check this stuff out. It’s a bunch of clues to your past. The story of your dad. Aren’t you totally curious?” She stares at Janie. “Come on, Janers! What kind of detective are you, anyway? You should care about this. There’s some little pins and some coins and stuff, and a ring! But there’s also letters . . . . ”
Janie’s eyes flash, but she glances at the shoe box. “No. This is too invasive. It’s not . . . ” her voice falters.
“Come on, Janers,” whispers Carrie, her eyes shining.
Janie leans over and peeks into the box, gently moving a few things around. “No.” She straightens abruptly. “And I want you to stop snooping around.”
“Ugh! How boring.”
“Yeah, well, we’re sort of breaking the law here.”
“I thought you said—”
“I know, I know. I lied.”
“So we could get arrested? Oh, that’s just great. You remember I’ve done that once already, and I’m not interested in ending up in jail again—especially with you! Who would bail us out?” Carrie’s picking up the tins from the floor and shoving them back in the cupboard. “My parents would absolutely kill me. And so would Stu. Sheesh, Janie.”
“I’m sorry—look, it’s not like we’re going to get caught. Nobody even knows about the guy. Plus, I’m his daughter. That might get us out of a mess. Not that there will be one . . . . ” Janie sets the box of memories on the counter and hands the other cupboard items up to Carrie. She’s frustrated. Wishes she hadn’t brought Carrie here after all. She just wants to have some time alone to sift through things, to concentrate and figure things out.
But time is running out, Janie knows. She’s got to figure out how she can help Henry, before he dies. And maybe there’s a clue in the box.
Still, Janie’s above stealing. Physical items, anyway.
Janie sighs, resigned. “Let’s just go, Carrie.”
They go.
Janie’s fingers linger on the doorknob.
6:00 p.m.
She shuffles her feet up the driveway on Waverly, past the Beemer. “Hey.”
Cabel looks up from his seat on an overturned bucket. He’s painting the trim around the front door. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Hey,” he says. His voice is cool.
“You haven’t called me all afternoon.”
“You don’t answer when I call, so why should I bother?”
Janie nods, acknowledging that she’s a jerk. “So, how was the meeting?”
He jus
t looks at her. Those eyes. The hurt.
She knows what she needs to say. “I’m sorry, Cabe.” And she is. So, so sorry.
He stands. “Okay, thank you,” he says. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on with you lately?”
Janie swallows hard. She rips her fingers through her hair and just looks at him. Tilts her head and presses her lips together to stop them from quivering.
She can’t do it.
Can’t tell him.
Can’t say it. Can’t say, I’m leaving you.
So she lies.
“It’s all this stuff with Henry. And crap with my mother. I can’t handle anything more right now. I need some time to get things together.” She feels her eyes shift away from his. Wondering. Wondering if he can tell.
