“I know, I know. I lied.”

“So we could get arrested? Oh, that’s just great. You remember I’ve done that once already, and I’m not interested in ending up in jail again—especially with you! Who would bail us out?” Carrie’s picking up the tins from the floor and shoving them back in the cupboard. “My parents would absolutely kill me. And so would Stu. Sheesh, Janie.”

“I’m sorry—look, it’s not like we’re going to get caught. Nobody even knows about the guy. Plus, I’m his daughter. That might get us out of a mess. Not that there will be one. . . .” Janie sets the box of memories on the counter and hands the other cupboard items up to Carrie. She’s frustrated. Wishes she hadn’t brought Carrie here after all. She just wants to have some time alone to sift through things, to concentrate and figure things out.

But time is running out, Janie knows. She’s got to figure out how she can help Henry, before he dies. And maybe there’s a clue in the box.

Still, Janie’s above stealing. Physical items, anyway.

Janie sighs, resigned. “Let’s just go, Carrie.”

They go.

Janie’s fingers linger on the doorknob.

6:00 p.m.

She shuffles her feet up the driveway on Waverly, past the Beemer. “Hey.”

Cabel looks up from his seat on an overturned bucket. He’s painting the trim around the front door. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Hey,” he says. His voice is cool.

“You haven’t called me all afternoon.”

“You don’t answer when I call, so why should I bother?”

Janie nods, acknowledging that she’s a jerk. “So, how was the meeting?”

He just looks at her. Those eyes. The hurt.

She knows what she needs to say. “I’m sorry, Cabe.” And she is. So, so sorry.

He stands. “Okay, thank you,” he says. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on with you lately?”

Janie swallows hard. She rips her fingers through her hair and just looks at him. Tilts her head and presses her lips together to stop them from quivering.

She can’t do it.

Can’t tell him.

Can’t say it. Can’t say, I’m leaving you.

So she lies.

“It’s all this stuff with Henry. And crap with my mother. I can’t handle anything more right now. I need some time to get things together.” She feels her eyes shift away from his. Wondering. Wondering if he can tell.

He’s quiet for a moment, studying her. “All right,” he says, measured. “I get that. Is there anything I can do?” He leans over and sets down his paintbrush. Comes down the steps to her. Reaches toward her face and fixes a lock of her hair that flopped the wrong way.

“I just need some time and—and some space. For a little while. At least until something happens with Henry. Okay?” She tilts her head up. Meets his eyes again. They stand there, face-to-face, each studying the other.

Then, she steps into him. Slips her arms around his waist. His shirt is damp with sweat. “Okay?” she asks again.

He takes her in. Holds her.

Kisses the top of her head, and sighs.

7:48 p.m.

Janie, on the floor, leaning up against her bed. Thinking.

She could just go to bed early.

Tempting.

Not.

8:01 p.m.

Janie eats her sandwich on the bus. Washes it down with water. Walks the two miles from the last bus stop to Henry’s house. At least it’s not so hot out. And there’s still plenty of light.

The sounds of the woods in the evening are louder than during the day. A mosquito flies furiously past her ear. Janie slaps her legs and arms as she walks. She’s gnawed by the time she gets there, especially after going down that long, overgrown driveway.

Inside the house, it’s decidedly cooler than it’s ever been. A decent breeze blows in and because of the trees, the little house has been in the shade for hours.

“Ahh,” Janie says when she’s inside, the door clicked shut behind her. Peace and quiet. A little house all her own. Janie looks around the place and imagines what it would be like to live here, without fear of anybody’s dreams.

Thinks Henry got it all just about right. To run a little Internet store, to have this serenity and nobody bothering you but Cathy the UPS driver . . . and Cathy’d never be sleeping.

She thinks about the money she’s been saving for years now, including the five grand from Miss Stubin. She thinks about the scholarship. She’d lose that, if she quit her job. If she isolated herself. But isn’t her eyesight worth losing a scholarship for?

Wonders if she could still pull it off on her own if she got a little Internet job.

Or.

What if she just sort of . . . inherited one?

Her skin gets goose bumps.

What if she took over for Henry—in everything?

She looks around, her mind turning. Hell, she practically ran the household already with her useless mother—she knows how to do it. Pay rent, get groceries . . . would anybody even notice, or care, if she just took over this place?

“Why not?” she whispers.

Janie takes a swig of water from her water bottle and just sits there, in the old, beat-up chair, surrounded by the sounds of night, consumed by her thoughts. Suddenly, the whole isolation option in Miss Stubin’s green notebook doesn’t sound so bad.

“I could totally get used to this,” she says softly to—happily!—no one. “Never getting sucked into dreams again.” She grins because it feels delicious.