They sit, holding each other. And then Cabel asks her, “Truth or dare?”

Janie blinks. “Do I really have an option here?”

“No,” Cabel says. “Okay, um…” Takes a deep breath. “What’s happening to you, Janie? I just…I need to know. Please.” He shifts her, so he can see her eyes.

They fill with tears.

He straightens her glasses and takes a deep breath. “Tell me,” he says.

Janie bites her lip. “Nothing, Cabe. I’m fine.” She can’t look at him.

Cabel rips his fingers through his hair. “Just…just say it. Get it out there, so we can deal with it. You’re going blind from all the dreams, aren’t you.”

Janie blinks. Her lips part in surprise.

He touches her cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

“What…how…?” she begins.

“You squint, even with your glasses on. You get headaches all the time. Bright light bothers you. It takes you longer to get your sight back after each dream you get sucked into.” He pauses. Anxious. “And then, in the hospital, when you weren’t sucked into anyone’s dream, but you were having your own nightmare, you couldn’t see when you woke up. That was the first time for that, wasn’t it?” She sinks back into his shoulder. Doesn’t remember that dream in the hospital. Also doesn’t want to cry anymore. “Damn,” she says.

“You’re a good detective.”

“How soon?” he whispers.

She presses her lips to his cheek, and then she sighs. “A few years.” He takes in a sharp breath and slowly lets it out again. “Okay. What else, Janie.”

She closes her eyes, resigned. “My hands,” she says. “They’ll be gnarled and ugly and useless in fifteen years.” He waits, stroking her back. “Anything else?” His voice is anxious.

“Not really,” she whispers. “Just…I can’t drive anymore. Ever again.” She loses her fight with the tears. “Poor Ethel. At least she’s got a good home now.”

He holds her, rocking, stroking her hair. “Janie,” he says after a while.

“How old was Miss Stubin when she died?”

“In her seventies.”

He breathes a sigh. “Oh. Thank god.”

“Can you deal with this, Cabel? Because if you can’t…” She chokes.

“If you can’t, tell me now.”

He looks into her eyes.

Touches her cheek.

4:22 p.m.

Cabel calls Captain.

“Komisky.”

“Sir, any chance Janie and I can be seen together now?”

“Under the circumstances, that would pretty damn much make my day, yes. Besides, the Wilder cocaine case got settled on Monday. He pleaded guilty.”

“You rock, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Go out to a movie or something, will you?”

“Right away. Thank you.”

“And stop bothering me.”

“Good-bye, sir.”

“Take care. Both of you.”

Cabel smiles and hangs up. “Guess what.”

“What,” Janie says.

“We can go out on our first date.”

“Woo hoo!”

“And guess what else—You’re buying.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you lost the bet.”

Janie thinks a moment. Punches Cabel in the arm. “You did not fail five quizzes or tests!”

“I did. I have proof.”

“Shit!”

“Yep.”

DON’T LOOK BACK

May 24, 2006, 7:06 p.m.

Janie strides into the Fieldridge High School auditorium, where hundreds of parents, grandparents, brothers, and sisters are seated in bleachers, folding chairs, and balcony seats, and waving programs near their soppy necks in ninety-five-degree heat and humidity. It seems the old building’s air-conditioning can’t take the pressure of another graduation ceremony.

She glances around and spots Cabel several rows behind her. He blows an impish kiss, and she grins. Her cap’s band threatens to squeeze her brain into mush, and she feels the sweat soaking into it.

Janie looks in the other direction, scanning the audience. Some familiar faces. Carrie’s parents sit off to the side on the wooden bleachers, and Janie offers a small smile, even though they aren’t looking at her.

Even with her newly updated prescription glasses, it’s difficult to see far away. Colors bleed from one dress to the next. But finally Janie spots her. It’s the bronze hair contrasted with her dark skin that helps.

Sitting next to Captain is a large man who looks like Denzel Washington, twenty years from now. His arm is spread lazily across the back of Captain’s chair. Janie can see Captain poke her husband and point. Janie squints and smiles, and then lowers her eyes. She’s not sure why.

The valedictorian takes the stage, and the crowd quiets, leaving only the rush of flapping programs.

It’s not Cabel.

Thankfully.

He managed to pull his grades down successfully to a mere 3.93. Third place. Enough to keep him out of the limelight. Which is all he wants, really. Janie’s not far behind with a 3.85. She’s thrilled.

There are three faculty chairs empty in the auditorium this year. Doc, Happy, and Dumbass. Suspended without pay. Awaiting the hearing.

Janie feels a pang of sadness for those chairs.

Not for the men who sat there.