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Smiles to himself and shakes his head a little as he goes to the stove to make dinner. “God, I freaking love you,” he mutters.
6:56 p.m.
Cabel pulls up to the building. Janie peers out the window and then checks the orange paper. “Yep, this is it.” She’s nervous. Not sure about this. “Can you just hang out here for about five minutes in case, you know, this isn’t cool?”
“Sure, sweets. If I’m gone when you come out, just text me. I’ll come right back.” He gives Janie a reassuring squeeze on her thigh and kiss on the cheek. “I’ll probably just head down to one of the bookstores around here. Maybe drive through campus and take a walk around.”
“Okay.” Janie takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. “See you.” She walks, determined, to the door. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t see Cabel pick up the orange paper from the seat where she left it. He reads it. Smiles.
7:01 p.m.
A dozen people mill around the room, getting coffee and chatting. Mostly adults, but a couple of people who look to be about Janie’s age. Janie steps into the room, feeling awkward, not sure where to stand. Slowly she backs up to a wall and just looks around, a fake smile on her face, trying not to make eye contact.
“Welcome,” says a stocky, middle-aged man as he walks up to Janie. “My name is Luciano.” He holds out his hand.
Janie takes it. Shakes it. “Hi,” she says.
“Glad you came. Have you been to Al-Anon before?”
“No—this is my first time.”
“Don’t worry. We all have something in common. Let me get this thing started.” Luciano turns to the room and calls out for everyone to grab a seat at the table. Janie makes her way, and a young man offers Janie some coffee. Janie smiles gratefully and accepts, adding her traditional three creams, three sugars.
The small group quiets down and Luciano speaks. “Welcome to Al-Anon. For those who are new here, this is a support group for people who are dealing with the effects of an alcoholic on your life.” He looks at the young man across the table. “Carl, would you like to lead today’s meeting?”
Janie listens intently to the introduction and testimonial from a woman at the table who talks about her alcoholic, abusive father. After that, Carl leads a discussion about one of the twelve steps.
It feels good to know she’s not alone.
And that Dorothea’s drinking isn’t Janie’s fault.
When it is over, Janie takes some literature from the racks. She slips out of the room, texting Cabe that she’s ready, and she goes outside into the cool evening. Thinking. Realizing a ton of stuff about her mother. And feeling, for the first time, that part of the stress of her life, part of the responsibility, has been taken away. It feels fabulous, actually.
Wonders why she never thought about doing this before.
8:31 p.m.
They tool around the U of M campus, first by car, then on foot, wandering through the parks and around the various buildings, Cabel pointing out what he knows about where things are and how to get there. It feels weird, and fun, and daunting, like a strange adventure, wandering the campus of such a huge school. Soon, they’ll be a part of it all.
They stop for ice cream at Stucchi’s and laugh for what feels like the first time in a long time.
When Cabel drops Janie off, she kisses him sweetly, holds him close. “I’m really happy about our agreement,” she says.
“Me too.” Cabe says. “So . . . tomorrow . . . ” He sounds reluctant.
“Yes?”
“I need some junk for school. I suppose, against my better judgment, we should go shopping.”
Janie grins. “Sweet,” she says. “I’ll bring a fork in case it all gets to be too much for you and you need to stab your eyeballs out.”
He laughs. “It would be ironic if I went blind before you did, wouldn’t it?”
They share a wry smile. A lingering, soulful kiss.
11:05 p.m.
When Cabe pulls out of the driveway, Janie walks slowly to the house and sits down on the step. Just thinks about things, and things, and things.
Like the time Cabel brought her to this step on his skateboard.
And she thinks about Miss Stubin, and how she never actually had a chance to say good-bye. She’s glad for the note on the chair.
She thinks about Captain, and her eyes get misty. Family, she’d said.
It’s good to have family like that.
Janie turns Henry’s ring so it catches the glow from the streetlamp. The ruby sparkles. She makes a fist. Presses the ring to her lips. Holds it there. Then lifts it up to the sky. Says, “Hey, Henry . . . ” and stops, because her throat hurts too much to go on.
Janie listens to the crickets and tree frogs—or wires—buzzing in their last days of summer, before the sounds of crunchy leaves take over once again.
She thinks about her mother in a different way. A new way, tonight. Plans on going back to another Al-Anon meeting. Might even share her own story sometime. If she feels like it. Or not. No rash decisions. No big commitments. Each day as it comes.
Janie takes a deep breath and feels the briskness of the night filling her lungs. She sits a moment more on the step, and then eases to her feet and peers into the house through the kitchen window, pushing her face against the dusty old screen, wrapping her hands around her glasses to shield against the glare from the streetlights. Streams of soft light from the window cut diagonally across the kitchen.
The box of memories is gone.
So is the cake.
Janie laughs quietly, but inside, she aches a little. For a moment, she left all this trouble behind. And now here she is again, and will be, for a while at least.
It’s hard to get excited about that.
But life goes on.
Everything progresses in one direction or another. Relationships, abilities, illnesses, disabilities. Knowledge.
School. A new life where few will know her. Where few will call her narc girl. But where many will dream.
She sighs.
One day at a time. One dream at a time.
Her choice is made. For now. For today.
“This is it,” she whispers to the buzzing wires. “This is really it.”
The chill of the evening, the preamble to autumn, has arrived, and Janie rubs her bare arms, covered in goose bumps.
It’s exhausting to think about it all. Quietly, she goes inside. Locks the door behind her. Slips off her shoes and tosses her backpack on the couch. But before Janie says a last good night tonight, she has just one more task in mind.
She pads on bare feet down the short hallway in the quiet night.
And pauses at the portal to another world.
There’s just one more sorrow’s dream to change.
BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!
Lisa McMann presents
Janie—the way Cabel sees her . . .
October 14, 2005, 10:05 a.m.
“Good luck,” he says, his voice harsh. Cabel Strumheller shoves his way past classmates and off the bus, and enters the hotel in Stratford, Canada. Fuming. Still shaking a little. Eyes to the ground, not wanting to accidentally look at her, see if she’s coming.
He goes straight to his room and flops on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Three other guys let themselves in. They rummage around the room for a few minutes, but Cabe barely looks at them, barely acknowledges their presence. They don’t talk to him, either. What else is new?
Once his weekend roommates are gone, off to see the first play, Cabel rolls over on the hotel bed to think about things.
About Janie Hannagan, and what exactly happened on the bus for the past four hours.
About what the hell is wrong with her, and how she managed to get inside his dream.
He slams his fist in the pillow. Can’t get the nightmare to stop.
Cabel stands on the steps at the back door of his house, hand on the knob of the open door, looking in. Then he slams it shut and marches through the dry, yellow grass. His dad burst
s out the door after him, yelling, standing on the step, carrying a beer and a cigarette in one hand, a can of lighter fluid in the other. His dad screams at him, and Cabel turns, frightened of the towering man. He freezes as his father approaches. The man sprays Cabe’s clothes with the lighter fluid.
Sets Cabe on fire.
Cabel flops around on the ground in flames, screaming, pain searing through him, the fire blistering his skin. And then, with a furious roar, he transforms into an enormous monster with knives for fingers and he lunges for his father with only one goal in mind.
Killing him.
That’s how it starts—the nightmare Cabe has had for years. That, or some form of it. It changes a bit each time. Cabel can’t imagine a worse nightmare.
But that’s not even the part that’s bothering him. Not now. He’s packed away all those emotions, thank you very much. That nightmare he can handle.
But what happened on the bus? That was just crazy. Because this time, asleep sitting next to Janie, he actually watched himself have the nightmare. As if he were an onlooker to someone else’s dream.
And Janie was there, too, behind the shed in the backyard with Cabel.
Watching.
Watching Cabel’s dream play out as if they were right there, in it.
And then afterward, when he woke up, seeing the shock in her face too—it was like a confession, and she didn’t try to deny it.
He knows her. Knows where she lives. Casually, not weird like a stalker or anything. They’d ridden the bus together since middle school, back when Cabe was a grade ahead of her. Back before his dad messed up Cabe’s life.
But Cabe doesn’t want to think about that now. Doesn’t want to think about his dad ever again. He’s done with that. Done with him.
Still, the nightmare he had on the bus is fresh. He didn’t think he was still having that one. But now he knows he has been.
