And then it hits.

What if her mother really is dying? Or dead?

It’s both fascinating and horrifying. Janie imagines the scene.

“What is it?” Cabel says, coming into the cabin. “What’s going on?”

“Here,” she says. She dials voice mail and hands the phone to Cabel. “Listen to all the messages.”

As Cabel listens, Janie, in a daze, continues to pack.

After all her things are crammed inside, she realizes that she needs something to change into—she can’t drive all the way to Fieldridge in her swimsuit.

She can’t drive at all.

Cue major detail.

“Fuck,” Janie mutters. She watches as Cabel listens to the messages. Watches his expression intensify.

“Holy shit,” he says. He looks at Janie. Takes her hand. “Holy shit, Janie. What can I do?”

Janie just buries her face in his neck. Trying not to think.

Endless.

7:03 p.m.

It’s a three-hour drive home. Cabel’s at the wheel of the Beemer that Captain Komisky lets him drive. A Grand Rapids radio station deejay cracks a lame joke and then plays Danny Reyes’s “Bleecker Street” in his all-request hour, and Janie stares at her phone, willing Carrie to call. But it’s silent.

Janie calls the hospital. They have no record of a Dorothea Hannagan being admitted.

“Maybe she’s fine and they didn’t have to admit her,” Cabel says.

“Or maybe she’s in the morgue.”

“They’d have called you by now.”

Janie’s silent, trying to think of reasons why the hospital hasn’t called, much less Carrie with an update.

“We can call Captain,” Cabel says.

“What good will that do?”

“The police chief? She can get info from anybody she wants.”

“True. But . . .” Janie sighs. “I don’t . . . my mother . . . never mind. No. I don’t want to call Captain.”

“Why? It would put your mind at ease.”

“Cabe . . .”

“Janie, seriously. You should call her—get the scoop. She’d totally do it for you if you’re worried about imposing.”

“No thanks.”

“You want me to call her?”

“No. Okay? I don’t want her to know.”

Cabel sighs, exasperated. “I don’t get it.”

Janie clenches her jaw. Looks out the window. Feels the heat in her cheeks, the tears stinging. The shame. Says softly, “It’s embarrassing, all right? My mom’s a freaking drunk. Stumbling around in the front yard, yelling? My God. I just don’t need Captain seeing that. Or knowing about that—that part of my life. It’s personal. There are things I talk about with Captain, and things that are private. Just drop it.”

Cabel is silent. After a few minutes of radio deejay babble, he plugs his iPod into the car stereo. Josh Schicker’s “Feels Like Rain” washes through the car. When the song ends and the first notes of the next song begin, he stiffens and then hastily flips it off. Knows what’s next. Knows it’s “Good Mothers, Don’t Leave!”

An hour passes as they travel eastward across Michigan, leaving the sun setting orange and bright in their wake. Traffic is light. Janie leans her head against the window, watching the blur of deep green trees and yellow fields pass by. There’s a deer in a grassy area as darkness approaches—or maybe it’s just that burned-out tree stump that fools her every time.

She wonders how many more times she’ll witness scenes like this. Trying to remember everything she sees now, for later. When all she has is darkness and dreams.

She tries the hospital again. Still no record of Dorothea Hannagan. It’s a good sign, Janie thinks . . . except that Carrie still isn’t calling. “Where is she?” Janie bounces her head against the headrest.

Cabel glances sidelong at Janie. “Carrie? Didn’t she say her phone’s dead?”

“She said her battery was low. But there are other phones. . . .”

Cabel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Does she actually know your cell number or are you on her speed dial?”

“Ahh. Good point. Speed dial.”

“So that’s why she hasn’t called. She doesn’t know your number, it’s in her dead phone and she can’t get to it.”

Janie smiles. Lets go of a worried breath. “Yeah . . . you’re probably right.”

“Did you try calling your house to see if your mom is there?”

“Yeah, I did that, too. No answer.”

“Do you have Stu’s number? Or Carrie’s home phone?”

“I tried her home. No answer. And I don’t have Stu’s. I should. I’ve always meant to. . . .”

“What about Melinda?”

“Yeah, right.” Janie snorts. “Just what I need—the knobs from the Hill spreading this story around.” She turns back to the window. “I’m sorry I was snippy. You know—earlier.”

Cabel smiles in the darkness. “S’okay.” He reaches for Janie’s hand. Snakes his fingers between hers. “I wasn’t thinking. My bad.” He pauses. “You know nobody thinks badly of you for things you can’t control, like what your mother does.”

“Nobody?” Janie scowls. “Right. They all have their opinion on the Durbin mess.”

“Nobody who matters.”