by Лиза Макманн
Janie nods. “ I’ ll spare you the endless dream unless you want to hear it all. But the major part that sticks out to me, and kept repeating, is this:
“ We’ re on a yacht, and it’ s sunny and beautiful on the ocean. What looks like a gorgeous tropical island is in the distance, and Mr. Wilder is heading for it. Mrs. Wilder is sunning herself on the deck of the yacht— at the front end, you know? And then suddenly, the weather turns cloudy and windy, and a storm hits, slamming into the boat, I mean hard, like a hurricane, with the wind… ”
She pauses, closes her eyes, and she’ s in it. In a trance. “ And Mr. Wilder is getting frantic, because every time he gets close to the shore of this island, one of those backward waves pushes us out farther. Like in that one movie, where Tom Hanks is that castaway dude on that island with his pet volleyball?”
Cabe chuckles. “ I think it’ s called Cast Away, Hannagan.”
“ Yeah. Whatever. Meanwhile, Mrs. Wilder is still sitting on the deck, reading a book, oblivious to the storm. Weird, I know. He calls to her to get inside the cabin and get the life jackets out, but she can’ t hear him. And then the yacht starts spinning and slams into the reef, and we’ re all flying out into the water. The yacht is in smithereens, and all the stuff that was inside the cabin is floating around, being carried by waves.
“ Mrs. Wilder is flailing and drowning in the water, and Mr. Wilder swims around picking things up out of the water. He sees his wife struggling, and he grabs life jackets— there are at least fifteen of them floating here and there, and he’ s got maybe eight or nine of them strung on his arms.
He starts to swim toward her… .”
Janie closes her eyes and swallows. Her voice is shaking. “ And I think, he’ s going to save her…
.”
Cabel bites his lip.
Captain offers her a break.
She waves her hand, trying not to lose concentration, and continues.
“ He starts to swim toward her with life jackets. But instead of saving her, he says… um… he says, ‘ You can rot in hell, you old bitch.’ And then he swims past her, toward the shore, with all those life jackets.” She takes a breath. “ Like they are the most important thing in his life. And… ”
She pauses.
Continues in an odd voice. “ And the jackets, they aren’ t floating anymore— they’ re dragging in the water. Sinking. Pulling him down. Under. And he won’ t let go.”
Janie opens her eyes and looks solemnly at Captain. “ I think the packages you’ re looking for might just be sewn inside the life jackets, sir.”
Captain is already dialing the phone trying to get a search warrant for the yacht.
Cabel’ s mouth hangs open.
Janie’ s head throbs. “ Do you have any Excedrin?” she whispers.
10:30 a.m.
Janie and Cabel sit down for their math exam.
10:55 a.m.
Janie, parched, salty tears running silently down her cheeks, closes her blank blue book, stands up, turns it in, and walks out of the classroom, every eye in the room staring at her as she goes.
Cabel scribbles a few more answers, waits a few minutes, and turns his in too. Initially, he looks in the parking lot for her and, seeing her car being slowly covered in the snowstorm, breathes a sigh of relief she’ s not out driving in this mess. He goes back inside the school and searches the rooms.
He finds her, finally, passed out on her table in the empty library.
Picks her up.
Takes her to the emergency room.
On the way, he calls Captain. Tells her what’ s going on. Suggests maybe now’ s not a good time for Janie to get stuck in the dreams of random hospital visitors.
When they arrive at the ER, they’ re ushered to a private room. Cabel grins. “ I love this job,” he murmurs.
Janie is dehydrated. That’ s all.
They give her an IV, and then Cabel takes her to his house. She sleeps a long time. He sleeps too, on the couch.
She blames it on the salty sea.
GLORY AND HOPE
December 16, 2005, 4:30 p.m.
Cabel and Janie sit in Captain’ s office.
Captain comes in.
Closes the door.
Sits down behind her desk and takes a sip of coffee. Crosses her legs. Leans back in her chair and looks at the two teenagers.
“ We got it,” she says. She smiles, and then laughs like she won the lottery.
And shoves an envelope toward Janie.
Inside: a contract a scholarship offer a paycheck
“ Read it over. Let me know if you’ re interested,” Captain says.
And pauses.
“ Good work, Janie.”
December 25, 2005, 11:19 p.m.
Janie swipes the last bit of frosting from the cake at Heather Home, walks the rounds, says silent good-byes to the sleeping residents, and gives the director a grateful hug. She takes a red helium balloon from the cake table, turns, and walks out the door for the last time, slowly now, through the parking lot to Ethel.
Drives to her house, and sprints through the snow to his.
Opens the door.
Slips in.
He’ s waiting, in his sleep, for her.
She slides into the dark shadow against his body. She kisses his shoulder. He takes her hand.
Strings his fingers through hers. Holds on tightly.
And they are off, through the link of fingers.
Watching themselves, together.
Catching his dreams.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa McMann was born and raised in Michigan, and lived there all her life. Until 2004, when she and her family moved to the Phoenix area.
Now she writes.
From a green chair.
Overlooking the Superstition Mountains.
Sometimes she wears a cowboy hat.
She’ s not really a cowboy.
She just likes hats.
Most of Lisa’ s short stories are published online and in print, like the one about homelessness. It won a cool Templeton Award. You can read more about Lisa and find her blog through her website, at www.lisamcmann.com. Or better yet, be her friend at MySpace: www.myspace.com/lisamcmann.
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