Henry David Feingold
University of Michigan
She squats down and pages through the textbook, reading notes in the margin. Wonders if those are his notes, or if they belonged to someone before him. The binding is broken and some of the pages are loose so Janie closes the book and returns it to the shelf.
Cabel is looking through papers on the desk. “Invoices,” he says. “For all sorts of weird things. Baby clothes. Video games. Jewelry. Snow globes, for Chrissakes. Wonder where he keeps it all. Kinda weird, if you ask me.”
Janie stands up and walks over to Cabel. Picks up a notebook and opens it. Inside, in neat handwriting, is a list of transactions. No two are alike. Janie puzzles over the notebook and then she goes to the front door. Pulls the packages inside and looks at the return addresses. Matches them up in the notebook.
She flips her hair behind her ear. “I think he must have a little Internet store, Cabe. He buys stuff cheap and sells it in his virtual store for a profit. So he’s got a little shipping/receiving department over there.” She points to the large shelving unit.
“Maybe he goes to yard sales and buys stuff too.”
Janie nods. “Seems weird that he’d go to school for science and end up doing this. I wonder if he got laid off or something?”
“Considering the state of Michigan’s economy and rising unemployment rate lately, that’s entirely likely.”
Janie grins. “You’re such a geek. I love you. I really do.”
Cabel’s face lights up. “Thank you.”
“So . . .” Janie sets the notebook on the table and picks up a well-worn paperback copy of Catch-22. Pages through it, losing her train of thought. Sees a torn piece of paper used as a bookmark. Words are scribbled in pencil on the bookmark.
Morton’s Fork.
That’s what it says.
Janie closes the book and sets it back down on the desk. “Now what?”
“What do you want to do? I don’t see any evidence that he’s a dream catcher, do you?”
“No. But would you find any evidence of that in my house if you looked?”
Cabel laughs. “Uh, green notebook, the dream notes on your bedside table . . .”
“Bedside table,” Janie says, tapping her bottom lip with her forefinger. She walks over to Henry’s bed, but there’s nothing there. Just the water glass. She even pushes aside the mattress and slips her fingers between it and the box springs, feeling for a diary or journal of some sort. “There’s nothing here, Cabe. We should go.”
“What about the computer?”
“No—we’re not going there. Really. Let’s just go. And besides, you saw the guy. He’s not all gnarled and blind.”
“How do you know he’s not blind? You can’t tell that.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Janie says. “But his hands looked fine.”
“Well . . . what did Miss Stubin say in the green notebook? Mid-thirties for the hands? He can’t be much older than late thirties, forty tops, right? So maybe it just hasn’t happened yet.”
Janie sighs. Doesn’t want to go this deep. Doesn’t want to think about the green notebook anymore. She walks to the door and stands there a moment. Bangs her head lightly against it. Then she opens it, goes outside and sits in the sweltering car until Cabel comes.
“Hospital?” he says, hope in his voice, when he turns the car onto the road.
“No.” Janie’s voice is firm. “We’re done with it, Cabe. I don’t care if he was the king of dream catchers. He’s probably not—he’s probably just some guy who would freak out if he knew we were snooping around inside his house. I just don’t want to pursue this anymore.” She’s tired of it all.
Cabe nods. “Okay, okay. Not another word. Promise.”
7:07 p.m.
At Cabel’s house, they both work out. Janie knows she’s got to keep her strength up. They have a meeting with Captain on Monday, which means an assignment looms. For the first time, Janie doesn’t feel very excited about it.
“Any idea what Captain will have for us?” Janie asks between presses.
“Never know with her.” Cabel breathes in and blows out fiercely as he reaches the end of his arm curl reps. “Hope it’s something light and easy.”
“Me too,” Janie says.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Cabel puts his weights on the floor. “In the meantime, I can’t seem to stop thinking about Henry. There’s something weird about the whole situation.”
Janie sets the bar in the cradle and sits up. “Thought you said you were going to let it go,” she says. Teases. But the curiosity takes over. “What makes you say that, anyway?”
“Well, you said there was a connection in the dream, like you had with Miss Stubin, right? That’s what got my brain going and now I can’t stop it. And how odd, just the way he lives. He’s a recluse. I mean, he’s got that old station wagon parked in the yard, so he obviously drives, but . . .”
Janie looks sharply at Cabel. “Hmm,” she says.
“Maybe it’s all just a coincidence,” he says.
“Probably,” she says. “Like you said, he’s just a recluse.”
But.
10:20 p.m.
“Goodnight, sweets,” Cabe murmurs in Janie’s ear. They’re standing on Cabel’s front stoop. Janie’s not about to sleep there again. It’s too hard. Too hard to keep her secret.