Janie looks up. “Henry?”

“Yeah, Henry Feingold. That’s the guy’s name.”

“Henry Feingold,” Janie says. The name sounds empty. It has no meaning to her. It doesn’t sound like what she imagined her father’s name would be. “How would I even know if that’s him? Dorothea,” she says, emphasizing each syllable, “never bothered to share any information with me about him.”

Carrie nods solemnly. She knows.

And then.

Janie blinks back the tears as she realizes the truth. “He must live nearby if they brought him here. Guess he didn’t ever bother to know me, either.”

“I’m sorry, hon.” Carrie looks at the floor.

Janie stands abruptly and turns to Cabel and Carrie. “I can’t believe she ruined our vacation. And I’m so sorry, Carrie, that you wasted your whole day and evening here. You are such a good friend—please, go on home or to Stu’s or whatever.”

She turns to Cabel. “Cabe, I’ll handle this from here. I’ll take the bus home once I collect my mother. Please, guys. Go get some rest.” She walks toward the door, hoping Carrie and Cabe will follow so she can usher them out and suffer the embarrassment of all of this in private. Her bottom lip quivers. God, this is so fucked up.

Cabel stands up, and then Carrie stands too. “So,” Cabel says to Carrie as they follow Janie to the door. “What’s wrong with him? Do you know?”

“Some brain injury or something. I don’t know much—I heard the doc tell Dorothea that he called 911 and was still conscious until after he got here, but now he won’t wake up. They finally let Dorothea in to see him about thirty minutes ago. And Janers,” Carrie says, “it was no problem, okay? You’d do the same if my mom needed help. Right?”

Janie’s throat tightens and she blinks back the tears. All she can do is nod. When Carrie hugs her, Janie chokes back a sob. “Thanks,” Janie whispers in Carrie’s hair.

Carrie turns to go. “Call me.”

Janie nods again, watching Carrie walk to the elevators. And then she looks at Cabel. “Go,” she says.

“No.”

He’s not going anywhere.

Janie sighs uneasily. Because it’s great he’s so supportive, but this situation is totally weird. And Janie’s not quite sure what to expect.

Some things are really just easier done alone.

It’s quiet and the lights are low as Janie and Cabel push through the double doors into the ICU patients’ hallway. Janie feels the faint pull of a dream from a distance and she combats it immediately, impatiently. Spies the culprit’s room whose door stands ajar and silently curses him. Frustrated she can’t ever get away from people’s dreams, even when her mind is extremely busy doing other things.

They check in at the nurses’ station. Janie clears her throat. “Henry, uh, Fein . . . stei—”

“Feingold,” Cabel says smoothly.

“Are you family?” the nurse asks. She looks at them suspiciously.

“I, uh,” Janie says. “Yeah. He’s my . . . father . . . I guess.”

The nurse cocks her head to the side. “The trick to getting into someone’s room is to lie convincingly,” she says. “Nice try.”

“I—I don’t want to go into his room. Just tell my mother I’m here, will you? She’s in there with him. I’ll be in the waiting room.” Janie turns around abruptly and Cabel shrugs at the nurse and follows. They march back through the double doors to the waiting room, leaving a puzzled nurse watching them go.

Janie mutters under her breath as she flings herself in a chair. “Feingold. Harvey Feingold.”

Cabe glances at her. “Henry.”

“Right. Jeez. You’d never guess I work for the cops.”

“Which is probably why you’re so convincing undercover,” Cabel says, grinning.

Janie elbows him automatically. “Well, not anymore. Don’t forget you’re talking to narc girl.” She turns to him. Grabs his hand. Implores. “Cabe, really, you should go. Get some sleep. Go back to Fremont and enjoy the rest of the week. I’m fine here. I can handle this.”

Cabel regards Janie and sighs. “I know you can handle it, Janie. You’re such a damn martyr. It’s tiring, really, having this same argument with you every time you’ve got shit happening. Just let it go. I’m not leaving.” He smiles faux-diplomatically.

Janie’s jaw drops. “A martyr!”

“Ahh, yeah. Slightly.”

“Please. You can’t be slightly a martyr. You either are, or you aren’t. It’s like unique.”

Cabel laughs softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. And then he just gazes at her, smiling the crooked smile that Janie remembers from the awkward skateboard days.

But right now, Janie can’t seem to smile back.

“Um, about this little adventure,” she begins. “This is really mortifying, Cabe. I’m . . . I’m so embarrassed about it, and I have a lot on my mind, and I can hardly stand how nice you are being. I hate that I’m ruining your time too, instead of just my own. So, really, please. It would make me feel better if you’d just, you know . . .” Janie gives him a helpless look.

Cabel blinks.

His forehead crinkles and he looks earnestly at her.

“Ahh,” he says. “You really do want me to go home. When you say this is embarrassing, you mean it’s embarrassing to you for me to know this stuff too?”