Page 2 of Gone (Wake 3)

“Shh,” Janie says. “Go make me some bacon.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he gets up. Slips into his jeans. “Okay, then.”

9:58 a.m.

They do vacationy things. Sitting around with Charlie and Megan, drinking coffee, making breakfast over the campfire. Relaxing. Getting to know one another better.

Janie’s distracted.

She stares at everything, afraid she’ll miss something that needs to be seen before it’s too late.

She really doesn’t know how to do vacations.

Besides, some stuff you just can’t get away from.

But she’s brave. Everything appears normal. Even though inside, she’s wrecked.

It’s been a tough few months.

Facing them—Doc, Happy, and Dumbass—was way more difficult than she thought it would be. Reliving all the lies. The setup. The assaults. All the things those teachers did. It was horrible.

Now it’s over, the buzz has died down, but things are still hard. Getting on track again, and facing the reality of a blind and crippled future—it’s hard. Having a mother who’s a drunk is hard too. Thinking about college, where sleeping people are everywhere . . . and a boyfriend, whose doubts and fears only come out in his dreams. Life in general . . . yeah. All of it.

Really.

Fucking.

Hard.

Janie and Cabe do the dishes together. Cabel washes, Janie dries. It feels so homey. She grips a plate tightly, wiping it with the towel. Thinking.

Wants to know if he’ll voice his dream fears.

And so she blurts it out. “Do you ever think about what it’ll be like? You know, if we stick together, and me all blind and hobbling around, dropping and breaking dishes ’cause I can’t hold on to them . . . . ” She puts the plate in the cupboard.

Cabel flicks his fingers at her, spraying her with water. Grinning. “Sure. I think I’m pretty lucky. I bet blind people have great sex. I’ll even wear a blindfold so it’s fair.” He bumps his hips lightly against hers. She doesn’t laugh. She steadies herself and then grabs a stainless steel skillet by the handle and starts drying it. Stares at her contorted reflection in it.

“Hey,” Cabe says. He dries his hand on his shorts and then strokes Janie’s cheek. “I was just joking around.”

“I know.” She sighs and puts the pan away. Throws the towel on the counter. “Come on. Let’s go do something fun.”

1:12 p.m.

She focuses her mind.

It’s cold in the water, but the afternoon sun is warm on her face, her hair.

Janie bobs in place, knees bent, arms straight but not locked, trying to balance. The life vest knocks about her ears. Her well-toned arms are like sticks shooting from the vest’s enormous sockets. Janie’s glasses are safely stowed inside the boat, so everything is blurry. It’s like looking through a wall of rain.

She takes a deep breath. “Hit it!” she yells, and then she is yanked forward, knees knocking, arms shaking. She grips the rope handle, knuckles white, palms and muscles already sore from two previous days’ efforts. Lean back, she remembers, and does it. Let the boat pull you up.

She straightens, sort of.

Wobbles and catches herself.

Her bum sticks out, she knows. But she can’t help it. Doesn’t care, anyway. All she can do is grin blindly as spray slaps and stings her face.

She’s up. “Woo hoo!” she yells.

Megan is a gentle driver at the wheel of the little pea-green speedboat. She watches Janie in the rearview mirror like the good mothers watch their children, her brow furrowed in concern but nodding her head. Smiling.

Cabel faces Janie, in the spotter position at the back of the boat, grinning like he does. His teeth gleam white next to his tan skin, and his brown hair, streaked with gold from the sunshine, flips wildly in the wind. His nubbly burn scars on his belly and chest shine silvery brown.

But they are both just blobs to Janie from seventy-five feet away. Cabe yells something that sounds enthusiastic but it’s lost in the noise of the motor and the splash.

Janie’s legs and arms shiver as they air-dry and then get slapped with spray again. Her skin buzzes.

Megan keeps them close to the willow-treed shore. As they approach the town’s beach and campground, Megan eases the boat into a wide semicircle, turning them around. Janie tenses into the turn, but it’s only a mild bump over the wake. Once they straighten out again, Janie moistens her lips, and then, determined, she gives Megan the thumbs-up.

Faster.

Megan complies, and speeds toward the dock near the little red-brown shellacked cabin, one of six dotting the shore at the Rustic Logs Resort, and then she continues past it. Exploring new territory.

I am such a badass, Janie thinks. She squints and makes a daring and ultimately successful attempt to cross the wake again as the two in the boat cheer her on.

By the time Janie senses it, it’s already too late.

A woman lies sunning herself on a water trampoline, skin gleaming from tanning oil and sweat. Janie can’t make out the scene, but she’s all too familiar with the warning signs. Her stomach twists.

Janie flies past the woman and becomes engulfed in darkness. There’s a three-second-flash of a dream before it’s all over and she’s out of range again. But it’s enough to throw Janie off-kil

ter. Her knees buckle, skis tangle underneath her, and she flips forward wildly, water forcing its way into her throat and nostrils. Into her brain, it seems, by the way it burns. A ski slams into her head and she’s forced back under the water. She’s not slowing down.

If you fall, let go of the rope.

Der.

Janie surfaces, coughing and sputtering, her head on fire. Amazed that the oversize life vest is still attached, though she’s all twisted up in it. Feels queasy after swallowing half the lake. She wipes the water from her stinging eyes and peers through the blur, disoriented, wishing for her glasses. Ears plugged. When weeds suddenly tickle her dangling feet, she eeps and her body does a little freak-out spasm of oogy-ness, after which she tries not to think about being surrounded by big yellow-orange carp . . . and their excrement.

Blurg. Not fond of this, hello.

Boats whine in the distance.

None of them sounds like it is coming to rescue her.

Finally she hears a muffled chugging. When the motor cuts, Janie calls out. “Cabe?”

It’s still the only name that feels safe on her tongue.

1:29 p.m.

In the boat, Cabel wraps a towel around her. Hands Janie her glasses. “You sure you’re okay?” His eyes crinkle and he’s trying not to grin.

“Fine,” Janie growls, peeved, teeth chattering. Megan checks out the bump on Janie’s head, and then hauls in the tow rope.

Cabel coughs lightly and then presses his lips together. “That was quite, uh, quite the display, Hannagan.”

“Are you actually laughing at me? Seriously?” Janie rubs her hair with a towel. “I almost died out there. Plus my brain is now infested with plankton and carp shit. You’d better watch it, or I’ll blow a snot rocket at you.”

“I’m . . . eww. That’s disgusting.” Cabe laughs. “But seriously, you really should have seen yourself. Right, Megan? I wish we had a video camera.”

“Dude, I am so Switzerland,” Megan says. Rope stowed, she revs up the engine and swings the boat around, back to the dock.

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