Janie puzzles over Henry's shop name. "Hey, Carrie, *Dottie' is a nickname for *Dorothea,' isn't it?"

"How would I know?" Carrie says. And then, "Yeah, it sounds like it could be. And a h.e.l.l of a lot easier to say than that mouthful."

"Yeah," Janie says, and then opens up a new window and Googles it. "Yep, it sure is."

"What?" Carrie yells, now apparently sitting on the kitchen floor. Pans rattle.

"Nothing," Janie says absently. "Just stopa"whatever you're doing. You're making me nervous."

"What?" Carrie yells again.

Janie sighs. Her finger hovers over the mouse, deciding. Finally, she drops it, opening Henry's e-mail client.

Really feels like she's snooping, now.

But just can't help it.

Janie smiles, reading his kindly correspondence with his customers, trying to imagine him. Wishes she could have talked to him about all of this.

About his life.

But then a loud crash in the kitchen startles her again and she jumps up, frustrated. "Carrie, what the h.e.l.l? Seriously, let's just go, okay? Jesus Christ, I can't take you anywhere!" Janie just wants to concentrate, to be able to savor these words. The interruptions are driving her crazy.

Carrie stands on the kitchen counter facing open cupboards, hanging on to a door. She peers over her shoulder looking sheepish as Janie stomps to the kitchen to survey the mess. "I love it when you call me Jesus Christ."

Janie pinches her lips together, still mad, trying not to smile.

The crash wasn't as bad as it sounded.

Mostly just empty tins.

"Look what I found," Carrie says, pulling a shoe box from the shelf. She hops to the floor. "Notes and stuff! Like a box full of memories."

"Stop! This is so not cool." Janie glances nervously out the window, as if the crash of tins in this quiet setting would bring sirens and squealing tires. "We should get out of here, anyway."

"Buta"" Carrie says. "Dude, you've got to check this stuff out. It's a bunch of clues to your past. The story of your dad. Aren't you totally curious?" She stares at Janie. "Come on, Janers! What kind of detective are you, anyway? You should care about this. There's some little pins and some coins and stuff, and a ring! But there's also letters. . . ."

Janie's eyes flash, but she glances at the shoe box. "No. This is too invasive. It's not . . ." her voice falters.

"Come on, Janers," whispers Carrie, her eyes shining.

Janie leans over and peeks into the box, gently moving a few things around. "No." She straightens abruptly. "And I want you to stop snooping around."

"Ugh! How boring."

"Yeah, well, we're sort of breaking the law here."

"I thought you saida""

"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 againa"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 sorrya"look, it's not like we're going to get caught. n.o.body 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 doork.n.o.b.

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 c.r.a.p 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 anda"and some s.p.a.ce. 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 n.o.body 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 b.u.mps.

What if she took over for Henrya"in everything?

She looks around, her mind turning. h.e.l.l, she practically ran the household already with her useless mothera"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 toa"happily!a"no one. "Never getting sucked into dreams again." She grins because it feels delicious.

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 cla.s.ses. 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 eyesighta"having a dreaming child would totally wreck her. Besides, there's no way Janie would pa.s.s this dream catcher curse along to anybody.

She's okay with that.

But what does it mean for Cabe?

His future, in a nutsh.e.l.l: a live elsewhere a spend a couple hours a day hanging out at the shack a never marry a never have children a 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 h.e.l.l 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.