by Lisa McMann
11:22 a.m.
Cabel returns Janie’s call. Leaves a message on the answering machine.
12:14 p.m.
Janie calls Cabel. Gets his voice mail.
2:42 p.m.
The phone rings.
“Hello?” Janie says.
“I miss you like hell,” he says, laughing.
“Where are you?”
“At U of M. I had a thing to go to.”
“Fuck.”
“I know.”
There is silence.
“When will you be home?”
“Late,” he says. “I’m sorry, sweets.”
“Okay,” she says with a sigh. “See you tomorrow, maybe.”
“Yeah. Okay,” he says softly.
BIRTHDAY, UNDERCOVER
January 9, 2006, 7:05 a.m.
Janie wakes up on her birthday feeling terribly sorry for herself.
She should know better.
This happens every year.
It seems worse this year, somehow.
She greets her mother in the kitchen. Her mother gives her a half-grunt, fixes her morning drink, and disappears into her bedroom. Just like any ordinary day.
Janie fixes frozen waffles for breakfast. Sticks a goddamn candle in them. Lights it. Blows it out.
Happy birthday to me, she thinks.
Back when her grandma was alive, she at least got a present.
She gets to school late. Bashful gives her a tardy, and won’t reconsider.
Janie always hated Bashful.
Stupidest. Dwarf. Ever.
Psychology is interesting.
Not.
Mr. Wang is the most incompetent psych teacher in the history of the subject. So far, Janie knows more than he does. She’s pretty sure he’s just teaching until he makes his big break in showbiz. Apparently he likes to dance. Carrie told Janie that Melinda saw him in Lansing at a club, and he was tearing it up.
Funny, that. Because he seems very, very shy. Janie makes a note, and then spills her red POWERade over her notebook. It spatters on her shoe and soaks in.
And then, in chemistry, her beaker explodes.
Sends a shard of glass, like a throwing star, into her gut.
Rips her shirt.
She excuses herself from class to stop the bleeding. The school nurse tells her to be more careful. Janie rolls her eyes.
Back in class, Mr. Durbin asks if she’ll stop by the room after school to discuss what went wrong.
Lunch is barfaritos.
Dopey, Dippy, and Dumbass are all on their toes today. Somebody falls asleep in each of those classes, even PE, because they’re doing classroom studies on health today. Janie finally resorts to throwing paper clips at their heads to wake them up.
By the time she gets to study hall, she feels like crying. Carrie doesn’t remember her birthday, as usual. And then, Janie realizes with that keen, womanly sense of dread that she has her period.
She gets a hall pass and spends most of the hour in the bathroom, just getting away from everybody. She doesn’t have a tampon or a quarter to get one from the machine. So back to the school nurse for the second time that day.
The nurse is not very sympathetic.
Finally, with five minutes left of school, she heads back to the library. Cabel gives her a questioning look. She shakes her head to say everything’s cool.
He glances around. Slides into the seat across from her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just having a shitty day.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I guess.”
“When can you come?”
She thinks. “I dunno. I’ve got some shit to take care of. Like five, maybe?”
“Feel like working out?”
Janie smiles. “Yeah.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
The bell rings. Janie finishes up her English homework, gathers up her backpack and coat, and heads over to Mr. Durbin’s room. She already knows why her beaker exploded, and she doesn’t feel like telling him what happened.
She opens the door. Mr. Durbin’s feet are propped up on the desk. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt is undone. His hair is standing up a bit, like he’s run his fingers through it. He’s grading papers on a clipboard in his lap. He looks up. “Hi, Janie. I’ll be just a second here.” He scribbles something.
She stands waiting, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She has cramps. And a headache.
Mr. Durbin scribbles a few more notes, then sets his pen down and looks at Janie. “So. Rough day?”
She grins, despite herself. “How can you tell?”
“Just a hunch,” he says. He looks like he’s trying to decide what to say next, and finally he says, “Why the cake and frosting?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why did you put back the cake and frosting, out of all the other things you had in your cart?”
“I didn’t have enough cash on me.”
“I understand that. Hate when that happens. But why didn’t you put back the grapes or carrots or something?”
Janie narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Is it your birthday? Don’t lie, because I checked your records.”
Janie shrugs and looks away. “Who needs a cake, anyway,” she says. Her voice is thin, and she fights off the tears.
He regards her thoughtfully. She can’t read his expression. And then he changes the subject. “So. Tell me about your little explosion.”
She cringes.
Sighs.
Points at the chalkboard.
“I’m having some trouble reading the board,” she says.
Mr. Durbin taps his chin. “Well, that’ll do it.” He smiles and slides his chair back. “Have you been to the eye doctor yet?”
She hesitates. “Not yet.” She looks down.
“When’s your appointment?” he asks pointedly. He stands up, gathers a beaker and the components for the formula, and sets them at her lab table. Waves her over.
“I don’t have one yet.”
“Do you need some financial help, Janie?” His voice is kind.
“No . . . ,” she says. “I have some money.” She blushes. She’s not a charity case.
Mr. Durbin looks down at the formula. “Sorry, Janie. I’m just trying to help. You’re a terrific student. I want you to be able to see.”
She is silent.
“Shall we try this experiment again?” He pushes the beaker toward her.
Janie puts on her safety glasses, and lights the burner.
Squints at the instructions and measures carefully.
“That’s one quarter, not one half,” he says, pointing.
“Thanks,” she mutters, concentrating.
She’s not going to fuck this up again.
Mixes it up. Stirs evenly for two minutes.
Lets it come to a boil.
Times it perfectly.
Cuts the heat.
Waits.
It turns a glorious purple.
Smells like cough syrup.
It’s perfect.
Mr. Durbin pats her on the shoulder. “Nicely done, Janie.”
She grins. Takes off her safety glasses.
And his hand is still on her shoulder.
Caressing it now.
Janie’s stomach churns. Oh god, she thinks. She wants to get away.
He’s smiling proudly at her. His hand slides down her back just a little, so lightly she can hardly feel it, and then to the small of her back. She’s uncomfortable.
“Happy birthday, Janie,” he says in a low voice, too close to her ear.
Janie fights back a shudder. Tries to breathe normally. Handle it, Hannagan, she tells herself.
He steps away and begins to help her clean up the lab table.
Janie wants to run. Knows she needs to keep her cool, but instead she escapes at the first reasonable opportunity. It was one thing talking about what might happen, and it was an entir
ely different thing to actually experience it. Janie shudders and forces herself to walk calmly. Get her thoughts together.
She heads outside for the parking lot. And then she remembers she left her goddamned backpack on the goddamned lab table.
Her keys are in that bag.
The office is closed by now.
And she doesn’t have a fucking cell phone. Hi, this is 2006, calling to tell you you’re a loser.
She goes back anyway, feeling like a dork, and meets Mr. Durbin halfway. He’s carrying it. “Thought I might find you on your way back for this,” he says.
Janie thinks fast. Knows what she needs to do. She struggles to get over the creep factor. “Thanks, Mr. Durbin,” she says. “You’re the best.” She gives his arm a quick squeeze, and flashes a coy smile. And then she turns and heads down the hallway, taking long, loose strides. She knows what he’s looking at.
When she rounds the corner, she glances over her shoulder at him. He’s standing there, watching her, arms folded across his chest. She waves and disappears.
And now she doesn’t want to tell Cabel.
He’s going to be upset.
She drives home and looks up Captain’s number. Calls her cell phone.
Tells her about her hunch.
“Good job, Janie. You’re a natural,” she says. “You okay?”
“I think so.”
“Can you keep it going for a while?”
“I—I’m pretty sure I can, yes.”
“I know you can. Now I want you to research. Isn’t there a chemistry fair or something? A high-school statewide competition that Fieldridge sends a team to? Something like that?”
“I don’t know. Yeah, I think so. There must be. There’s one for math, anyway.”
“Check into it. If there is one, and this Durbin goes to it, I want you to sign up. We’ll pay for it, don’t worry about that. I’ve been racking my brain, and I can’t think of any other way you’re going to land in his or some of the other students’ dreams. Can you?”
“No, sir. I mean, okay, I’ll sign up.” Janie sighs, remembering the bus trip to Stratford.
“Have you taken a look at Martha’s reports yet?”
“Some,” Janie says.
“Any questions?”
Janie hesitates, thinking about what Miss Stubin said in the dream. “Nope. Not yet.”
“Good. Oh, and Janie?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re calling from home. Haven’t I given you a goddamned cell phone yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I don’t want you to go anywhere without one from now on. You hear me? I’ll have one for you tomorrow. Stop by after school. And you need to tell Cabel about this guy if you haven’t already. I don’t want you in this project alone. It already makes me ill, knowing that creep is hitting on other high-school girls, much less you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing,” Captain says.
“Yes?”
There’s a pause.
“Happy birthday. There’s a gift on my desk for you. The cell phone will be next to it by tomorrow after school, if you come while I’m not here.”
Janie can’t speak.
She swallows.
“Is that clear?” Captain says.
Janie blinks her tears away. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Good.” There’s a smile in her voice.
It’s well after six before Janie makes it to Cabel’s house. She jiggles her keys, trying to find the right one, and he opens the door. She looks up at him. Smiles. “Hi.”
“Where’ve you been?”
“Sorry. Stuff happened.” She enters the house. Takes off her coat and boots.
“What stuff?”
She sniffs the air. “What are you cooking?”
“Chicken. What stuff?”
“Oh, you know. Got to school late, and everything fell apart after that. You ever have one of those days?”
He goes to the stove and flips the chicken. “Yeah. Practically every day last semester, when you wouldn’t talk to me. So what happened?”
She sighs. “My beaker exploded. Third hour. Durbin. I had to go in after school to redo the experiment.”
He looks at her, tongs in hand. “The guy with the groceries?”
She nods.
“And?”
“And . . . I think he’s the guy we’re after. I called Captain.”
He sets the tongs down loudly on the counter. “What makes you think that?”
“He touched me. It was . . . weird.” She says it quickly, and then turns and goes into the bathroom.
But he’s right behind her, and she can’t get the door closed because his foot is in the way. “Where?” he shouts.
She cringes. Squeaks. She takes a breath, gathers her nerve, and gives him a furious look. “Stop it, Cabe! If you can’t handle this without getting in my face about it, I’m not going to tell you anything.”
He hears her.
His eyes grow wide.
“Oh baby,” he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face is ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter. Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers.
The bathroom door clicks shut.
She stays in there for a long time.
He’s pulling his hair out.
Finally, frustrated, he calls Captain. “What’s going on, sir?”
There is a pause, and then he says, “She said he touched her. That’s all I’ve gotten out of her so far.”
He nods.
Yanks his hair.
“Yes, sir.”
He listens intently.
His face changes.
“It’s what?”
Then.
“Bloody fucking fuck,” he mutters. “You’re kidding.” He closes his eyes. “Shoot me now. I didn’t know.”
He turns off the phone.
Sets it on the table.
Walks to the bathroom door.
Leans his forehead against the molding.
“Janie,” he says. “I’m sorry I yelled. I can’t stand the thought of that creep touching you. I’ll get a handle on it. I promise.”
He waits. Listens.
“Janie,” he says again.
Then gets worried.
“Janie, please let me know you’re okay in there. I’m worried. Just say something, anything, so I—”
“I’m okay in here,” she says.
“Will you come out?”
“Will you stop yelling at me?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re driving me crazy,” she says, coming out. “And you scared me.”
He nods.
“Don’t do that.”
“Okay.”
7:45 p.m.
Cabel turns the burner on low under the chicken, hoping to salvage it. Janie’s in the computer room, writing up her notes.
He comes in and sits opposite her, at the other computer. Does some surfing. Some typing. Hits Send. Janie’s computer binks. When she finishes her notes, she checks her Gmail. Clicks on the link. Watches the screen.
It’s a Flash e-card.
Simple and beautiful.
I love you, and I’m sorry I’m an asshole.
Happy birthday.
Love,
Cabe
She looks down at the keys. Composes her thoughts. Hits Reply.
Dear Cabe,
Thank you for the card.
It means a lot to me.
I haven’t received a birthday card since I turned nine. I just realized that was half my life ago.
I’m sorry I’m an asshole too. I know it frustrates you when I don’t take care of myself—that’s why you were mad the other day, isn’t it? I’ll try harder to work on the dreams, so they don’t mess me up so badly. And I’ll keep supplies in my backpack from now on. I should have been doing that all along, so you don’t have to worry so much.
Thing is, I like i
t when you are there to help me. It makes me feel like somebody cares, you know? So maybe I’ve neglected some things on purpose, just so you notice. It’s stupid. I’ll stop with that.
Why are you so upset about this case?
All I know is that I really miss you.
Love,
J.
She reads it over and hits Send.
Cabel’s computer binks.
He reads the e-mail.
Hits Reply.
Dear J.,
I want to explain something.
After my dad set me on fire . . . Well . . . He died in jail while I was still in the hospital getting skin grafts. And I never got to tell him how much he hurt me. Not just physically, but inside, you know? So I took it out on other things for a while.
I’m better now. I got counseling for it, and I’m really better. But I’m not perfect. And I’m still fighting it.
See . . . You’re, like, the only person I have in my life that I really care about. I’m selfish about that. I don’t want anybody to touch you. I want to keep you safe. That’s why I hate this assignment so much. Now that I have you, I’m afraid to see you get hurt or messed up, like I was. I’m afraid I’ll lose you, I guess.
I wish you could always be safe. I worry a lot. If you weren’t so damned independent . . . Ah, well. *smile*
As much as we have been through in the past few months, we still don’t know each other very well, do we? I want to change that about us. Do you? I want to know you better. Know what makes you happy and what scares you. And I want you to know that about me, too.
I love you.
I will try to never hurt you again.
I know I’ll screw up. But I’ll keep trying, as long as you let me.
Love,
Cabe
Send.
Janie reads.
Swallows hard.
Turns toward him. “I want that too,” she says. She stands up and scoots over onto his lap. Holds him around the neck. His arms circle her waist, and he closes his eyes.
January 10, 2006, 4:00 p.m.
Janie slips into the police station, goes through the metal detector, and heads downstairs.
“Hey, new girl,” says a thirtysomething man when she gets to Captain Komisky’s door and knocks. “Hannagan, right? Captain said to tell you to go on in. She left you some stuff. I’m Jason Baker. Worked with Cabel on the drug bust.”
Janie smiles. “Pleased to meet you.” She shakes his hand. “Thanks,” she adds, and opens the office door. On the corner of the desk is the tiniest cell phone she’s ever seen, and next to it is a medium-size box and an envelope. The box has a bow on it. She grins and takes the items, then slips back out. When she gets to the car, she examines the gift box and the envelope, savoring it.
