Лиза Макманн - Wake

“ No. Not really. Not for help.”

He throws his hands in the air. “ Why?” His voice is incredulous. And then, suddenly, he knows why. “ Sorry,” he says.

She doesn’ t answer. She’ s thinking. Thinking hard.

“ You know, nobody’ s ever gone there with me, like you did.” Her voice is soft, musing. She gives him a sidelong glance. “ I don’ t understand that part. How did you get there too?”

“ I don’ t know. All of a sudden it was like I had two different angles to watch from: one of them as an observer, the other as a participant. Like virtual reality picture-in-picture or something.”

“ And don’ t even tell me you’ d believe a word of this if you hadn’ t come through it with me.”

He nods soberly. “ You’ re right, Hannagan.”

It’ s 10:21 p.m. when Cabel says good night at the door. He leans against the frame, and Janie kisses him lightly on the lips.

He hops off the step and starts walking home, but turns back in the driveway. “ Hey, can I see you tomorrow night? Sometime around nine or ten?”

She nods, smiling. “ I’ ll be here. Just let yourself in— Carrie always does too. It’ s cool.”

TRUTH OR DARE

October 16, 2005, 9:30 p.m.

It’ s Sunday. The house is clean. Janie had the day off. She ran out for groceries in the morning, vacuumed, dusted, washed, polished, shined, and steam-cleaned.

Now, Janie is asleep on the couch.

Cabel doesn’ t come.

Or call.

11:47 p.m.

She sighs, clicks off the lamp, and goes to bed, miserable.

October 17, 2005 7:35 a.m.

Janie grabs her backpack and heads out the door. She’ s pissed. And hurt. She thinks she knows why he didn’ t show up.

On Ethel’ s windshield is a note, under the wiper. It’ s wet with dew.

I’ m sorry, it says.

Cabe.

Yeah, well. Not as sorry as I am, she thinks.

She passes him on the way to school.

He looks up.

And eats her dust.

He’ s late for school.

She doesn’ t speak to him.

11:19 p.m.

He’ s sitting on her front step.

She’ s pulling up to the house after work.

She gets out of the car, crunches over the gravel, and stands in front of him.

“ Yes?” she says.

“ I’ m sorry,” he says.

She stands there, tapping her foot. Searching for words. She blurts them out as they come to her. “ So, you got freaked out. I’ m a lunatic. An X File. I figured it would happen.”

“ No— ” he stands up.

“ It’ s cool. No, really.” She runs up the steps, past him, and fiddles for her key in the dark. “ Now you know why I didn’ t want to tell anybody.” The keys rattle in her fingers, and she cusses under her breath. “ Least of all, you.”

She drops the keys. “ Goddamnit,” she sniffs, picks them up again, and finds the right one.

“ And if you tell anybody,” her voice pitches higher as she gets the door open, “ you’ ll learn a new definition of flagrant foul! You big… fucking… jerk!”

She slams the door.

11:22 p.m.

The phone rings.

“ Asshole,” she mutters. She picks it up.

“ Will you let me explain?”

“ No.” She hangs up.

Waits.

Pours a glass of milk.

Drinks it.

Cusses.

Turns out the kitchen light, and goes to bed.

She is cursed for life. She will never have a boyfriend. Much less get married. Hell, she’ ll never be able to sleep with anybody.

She’ s a freak.

It’ s not fair.

Sobs shake the bed.

October 18, 2005, 7:39 a.m.

Janie calls the school, pretending to be her mother. “ She won’ t be at school today. She has the flu.”

She calls the nursing home. “ I’ m sick,” she sniffles. “ I can’ t come in tonight.”

Everyone is sorry. The secretary. The nursing home director. “ Feel better soon, sweetie,” the director says.

But Janie knows there is no “ better.” This is it. This is her life.

She falls back in bed.

12:10 p.m.

Janie drags her ass out of bed and, sitting on her bedroom floor, does the homework she didn’ t do the previous night.

She can’ t stand getting behind in school.

She works ahead, even.

Her mother shuffles around the house, oblivious to Janie’ s presence. The sleaze-bitch. It’ s her fault for giving birth to me, she thinks. She’ d blame her father, too, if she knew who he was.

Briefly, she thinks of her mother’ s kaleidoscope dream. Wonders if the hippie Jesus is her father. Wonders what happened that made her mother give up on absolutely everything. She’ ll probably never know.

Maybe it’ s better this way.

2:55 p.m.

The phone rings. Janie’ s mother answers it.

“ She’ s at school,” she slurs.

Janie didn’ t know her mother ever answered the phone.

4:10 p.m.

Janie sits wrapped in a blanket on the couch, a roll of toilet paper next to her, watching The Price

Is Right. Carrie lets herself in.

“ Hey, bitch,” she says cheerfully. “ You missed a good one today. You sick?”

“ Hey. Yeah.” Janie blows her nose loudly in some toilet paper to prove it.

“ You look like hell,” Carrie says. “ Your nose is all red.”

“ Thank you.”

Carrie sits on the couch next to Janie.

“ Funny… Cabel looks like hell too,” she says lightly.

“ You sure you don’ t have something you want to tell me?”

“ Pretty sure, yeah.”

Carrie pouts. Then, she ruffles through her backpack and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She tosses it on the coffee table. “ This is from him. You’ re not preggers or something, are you?”

Janie looks at Carrie. “ Ha-ha.”

“ Well, jeez. Whatever it is, it’ s got to be a big deal to keep you home from school. You haven’ t missed a day since eighth grade. And, sorry to say, you might look like shit, but I don’ t think you’ re sick.”

“ Think what you want,” Janie says dully. “ I think you have to have sex in order to get pregnant, last I heard.”

“ Aha, so it’ s a sex thing!” Carrie shouts triumphantly.

“ Go home, Carrie.”

Carrie grins. “ You know where to find me. Sex tips and advice— just holler out the window.”

Janie holds back an urge to strangle her. “ Good-bye,” she says pointedly.

“ Okay, okay. I can take a hint.” She heads to the door and turns back to Janie, a curious expression on her face.

“ This, by chance, doesn’ t have anything to do with Cabel messing with drugs this weekend, does it?” She blinks rapidly, grinning.

“ What?”

“ He’ s sort of a dealer, I guess— or, you know. One of those guys who works as a go-between.

Whatever they’ re called. So Shay danced with him at a party Sunday night. She was really high, though. I heard he got busted. Is that true?”

Janie’ s stomach twists and shreds.

She’ s going to be sick.

“ No,” Janie says slowly, “ it doesn’ t have anything to do with that.” Tears well up in the corners of her eyes and she presses them back with her fingers.

Carrie’ s face falls. “ Oh, shit, Janie. You didn’ t know.”

Janie shakes her head numbly.

She doesn’ t notice when Carrie leaves.

October 19, 2005, 2:45 a.m.

Janie lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Arguing with herself. She knows she shouldn’ t do it. But she has nothing to lose.

Feeling like a total creep, she gets dressed and slips out of the house. Runs softly through the yards, avoiding the houses with dogs.

Sneaks up to Cabel’ s house and sits outside his bedroom window, in the bushes. She leans up against the house and waits. The bricks snag her sweatshirt. It’ s chilly. She puts her mittens on.