And then she stops.

“Maybe I could still see Cabe,” she whispers.

She imagines it, spending candlelit dinners together here, or maybe lunch if he can get away from classes. Hanging out a few hours a day . . . making out and being together. Just not during sleeping hours.

It sounds good.

For about five minutes.

And then she thinks about years to come.

There’s no way they could ever live together.

There’d be no babies, no family unit, ever. Janie couldn’t risk that if she intends to keep her eyesight—having a dreaming child would totally wreck her. Besides, there’s no way Janie would pass this dream catcher curse along to anybody.

She’s okay with that.

But what does it mean for Cabe?

His future, in a nutshell:

• live elsewhere

• spend a couple hours a day hanging out at the shack

• never marry

• never have children

• never spend a night with the woman he loves

She pictures their time together, what it would be like, day in and day out. Stagnant. Cabel coming over for an obligatory two hours while he juggles school, his house, his job.

Janie knows it would be hell for Cabe.

It would be like visiting hours at Heather Home.

They’d end up talking about crossword puzzles and the weather.

And he’d do it too. He’d stay with her. Even though it would totally wreck his entire life.

That’s just the kind of guy he is.

Janie slams her fists down into the La-Z-Boy arms.

Lets her head fall back.

Whispers to the empty room,

“I can’t do that.”

9:30 p.m.

She looks through all Henry’s things. His business records. Notes to himself, grocery lists. Pamphlets on migraines. And online, a plethora of medical websites bookmarked, along with sites that offer ways to deal with pain.

She wonders, if he’d had insurance, and if they’d caught the tumor, or aneurysm, or whatever, early . . . if she’d still have him.

But she wouldn’t have met him, that way.

She thinks about him, pulling his hair out, clutching his head. The frozen look of agony on his face. Wonders if he’s still in so much pain, lying helpless in the county hospital, now. Thinks about how he begged her for help. She talks to the holistic words on the screen. “I wish I knew how to help you, Henry. I guess . . . I hope you just let go soon, so you can be done with it.”

Janie peels her warm, sticky thighs from the plastic kitchen chair seat and looks around the small living room. Imagines him here in this tiny, cozy house away from the noise, the people.

She walks over to the kitchen, where the box that Carrie found still sits on the countertop. Janie’s tempted to go through it. Go through the letters that very nearly beckon to her in the light breeze from the open window. But.

Two things.

She doesn’t want to read some intimate icky love letter written by her alcoholic, sorry excuse for a mother. And.

She doesn’t want to feel sorry for Henry more than she already does.

She’s had enough heartache, thanks very much. Enough trouble. Enough of just getting to know someone who understands, right before they go and die.

She’ll gladly take over things here. But she’s not going to love him. It’s too late for that. He’s too far gone. And she’s got enough heartache coming just around the corner.

Janie takes a deep breath. Shakes her head. Pushes the box back into the cupboard where Carrie found it.

She tidies up the house so it looks just like it did the first time she saw it. Turns off the computer and the lamp and stands there in the dark, listening to the quietness. Wishing for it—wishing for this kind of peace in her life. And knowing now that she can have it, once Henry dies. This place where she can let down her guard. And live. Where she doesn’t have to worry about catching anybody’s dream.

Something deep inside her longs for it, more than the longings for anything else. Even Cabe.

Maybe it’s a survival technique.

Or maybe, as it’s been all along up until she met Cabe, she’s really just a loner. Will always be a loner.

It certainly looks that way.

And so she sits down again in the old chair, in the dark, in this sanctuary. Wondering what her life will hold. Wondering how she’ll care for her mother, and why she even has to—maybe Dorothea needs to fend for herself from now on. Maybe Janie’s just been enabling her all this time.

Living peacefully like this. Keeping her eyesight. She looks down at her fingers. They cast long shadows in the starlight from the open window. Janie wiggles her fingers and their shadows splash in her lap.

She smiles.

And though Captain will be disappointed, and will have to take the scholarship back, she knows Captain would never blame Janie for wanting to try to live a normal life. Janie knows deep down that it will all be okay.

She’ll miss seeing Captain and the guys. That’s sure.

“Well,” she says softly to her hands, flexing her fingers and clasping them together in her lap. “It’s decided. Isolation. My choice.”

God, it feels good to say it out loud.

Even though it’s a lot scary.

There’s just one last loose end that Janie’s got to tie up before she quits catching dreams altogether. One last puzzle to solve.

It seems fitting to end it this way.

Although it’s bound to be the worst one of her entire life.

Janie sucks in a deep breath and lets it escape, making her lips vibrate. She’s scared. More scared now to go back to the hospital than she was when she had to go to Durbin’s party. More scared than when that strange boy named Cabel first fell asleep in the school library and dreamed of a monster man with knives for fingers.