Chapter Twenty-Six Judy
Chapter Twenty-Six
Judy
Joe cancels his ferry flight and insists on meeting me in New York instead. He arrives an hour before I do and meets me at my gate at Idlewild. He wraps his arms under mine and lifts me up, gently rocking me as I bury my face into his neck.
“You’re not battling this alone,” he whispers.
At the Pan Am building on East 45th, Joe stops me at the door of the typing pool.
The clack-clack-clack of the typewriters compounds an already pulsing headache, which compounds the knot that has taken residence in my stomach ever since I received that letter from Pan American.
To: Judy Goodman
From: Arthur Ledbetter, Director of Personnel for Pan American Airlines
Re: Employment Review
Mrs. Goodman: It has come to the attention of Pan American Airlines that your marital status is in question. A man claiming to be your husband contacted us with a marriage certificate. Please report to the corporate headquarters in New York on June 11 at 2:00 p.m. for a review of this matter. If it is found that your application for employment was not accurate, you will be immediately terminated.
“I know Arthur,” Joe says. “He’s the one who recommended me for the training position in Miami. Why don’t I talk to him first?”
I feel my bottom lip quivering, and I am conflicted.
A Pan American stewardess takes on the world. She speaks multiple languages, walks with poise, handles emergencies as if they are child’s play. I’d tackled all of those things, but this makes me feel utterly reduced. It has been a fantasy to think that distance would sever the hold that my marriage has on me.
“Judy,” Joe says, taking my hand and rubbing it with his thumb. “I’m not insisting. This is your decision. But if you want any chance of staying on with Pan American, I may be your best shot.”
I nod, too spent with worry to advocate for myself. I haven’t slept since the letter came, fretting about what will happen if they fire me. Where will I go? How will I be safe from Henry?
Joe places a kiss on my forehead and walks me over to a leather couch in the hallway.
“One way or another, this will all be over soon.”
An hour later, Joe and I are sitting on the same side of a diner booth. The dizzying black-and-white checkerboard floor keeps me awake, as does the mug of strong but stale black coffee that I’ve been sipping for what seems like an eternity.
Despite the reason, it is exciting to be back here again. There is a buzz to New York that makes me feel like the world still turns and that my problems are less significant than I know them to be. For a moment, it is comforting.
“So what happened?” All I know is that Joe winked at me when he came out of Arthur Ledbetter’s office, but he didn’t want to talk in the elevator in case anyone overheard. I have been out of my mind wondering.
He looks at me with a hesitant expression, as if he doesn’t know if he’s delivering good news or bad.
“You’re getting a six-month suspension, unpaid.”
My hand flies to my mouth as I stifle a cry. A good cry. This is definitely better than I’d hoped for and more than my infraction deserves.
“Six months?” It seems like a lifetime. And yet, it’s better than the alternative.
“Yes.”
“But I thought—I thought they were going to fire me.”
He sips his coffee and nods.
“Yes. That’s the rule. I asked them to find a compromise. I tried for three months and they stretched it to six.”
Almost to Christmas. I’d have to find another job to keep up with the rent and groceries. Not what I imagined, but certainly not impossible. I knew I should consider myself lucky. They had every right to fire me.
“Why would they do even that?” I wondered.
Joe doesn’t look at me and instead hangs his head.
“Why do you think, Judy?” he mumbles.
I don’t understand at first, but then the realization washes over me.
“You told them about Henry, didn’t you? I mean, all about Henry.”
He nods again, words failing. When he looks up, his eyes are bloodshot. This has been an ordeal for him too. I hadn’t even considered that.
“Only enough to convince them. It—it wasn’t going in your favor, no matter what I said. I’m sorry. You and I hadn’t discussed it, and I should have asked. But it’s the only card I had.”
I fold my arms on the table and let this sink in. I should be angry. The details of my marriage had not been something that had been easy to tell even Beverly or Joe, but to have them exposed to a stranger makes my chest pound and my breath heavy.
I hang my head down, too, and it dawns on me that we must look like quite a pair. All around us, conversations prattle on. A child telling his mother about a project at school. An elderly couple ordering “the usual” to their waiter. A young couple in the new throes of love holding hands across their laminated menus and looking so innocent of the challenges that the world holds.
In contrast, I have a decision in front of me.
I can be angry at Joe for sharing something so secret, so sensitive.
Or, I can listen to the tug in my heart. Which tells me that I want to be the googly-eyed couple talking about trivial things with Joe. I want to be the mother, someday sitting across from Joe’s child— our child—talking about his teachers. I want to be that elderly couple, still together years later, so comfortable with each other that conversation isn’t even necessary. Memories, struggles, joys, losses etched on their skin through wrinkles.
I can retreat in bitterness. Or I can forgive.
If it even requires that. I know he was just trying to protect me.
“I understand,” I say at last, looking up again. “I know why you felt like you had to do it. And it sounds like it made a difference.”
Joe grabs my hand, obviously grateful for the olive branch.
“It did, Judy. It did. It gave them just the room they needed to declare it a special circumstance and give them a reason to settle at a suspension.”
Six months. It dawns on me that they probably hope I’ll quit in that time and remove myself from being an issue at all. But I can’t let that happen. I just got past my probationary period. There is still so much to see and do. I’ll do whatever it takes to return. Find a simple job to pay the bills and count the days until I can get back up in the air.
The waiter sets down our plates—we’d each gotten bacon-and-tomato omelets.
I take my fork and pick at the meal. I am ravenous, but my hunger pangs are overshadowed by another sense of crossroads.
It is not lost on me that all that I am dealing with may be more than Joe bargained for. On one hand, it has shown me how dependable he is. But on the other hand, I need to do my part to get things in order, what I have been making excuses to avoid.
I make an important decision for the second time in almost as many minutes.
“Joe, did you watch the movie Pollyanna when it came out a few years ago?” Emboldened by my decision, I take a big, wonderful bite of the omelet. The tomatoes burst like fireworks in my mouth, fitting of a celebration.
“Sure,” he says, cocking his head in confusion at the change of conversation. “On a layover in London. The whole crew went to a theater in Piccadilly. Great flick. Better than I was expecting. Why?”
“The Glad Game. I thought it was such hogwash for Pollyanna to try to find the good in every circumstance. That’s not how real life works, and I was living proof of it. But I think I may be in a better position to understand it now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m obviously going to miss the work and the paychecks for the next six months. But if I apply her philosophy, I can say that I am glad that the deck is cleared to do some things I should have done a long time ago. First things first. I’m going to Mexico to get my divorce.”
All that budgeting I’d done with Beverly was going to pay off. I’d been particularly frugal because of the example I was trying to set for her. So I had just enough in savings to make those things happen.
Joe smiles. “I think that’s an excellent plan. And I might be able to improve upon it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I negotiated with them to let you keep your flying privileges during your suspension.”
The man can read my mind.