17. Jo
CHAPTER 17
Jo
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Jo, who is trying to stay open, to stay neutral, smiles at Dr. Sheinbaum as she sets her purse on the floor next to her feet. She and Bill are side-by-side on the couch, and she's chosen to sit as close to him as she can without touching him, mostly for the comfort of it as they go into this meeting that Bill has promised her is just an informal meeting at Dr. Sheinbaum's request.
"It's lovely to meet you as well," Jo says, folding her hands in her lap. She looks around the wood-paneled office, taking in the framed degrees and the shelf of books. Jo wants to add something like, "I've heard a lot about you," but somehow that feels wrong, so she stays silent.
"Well," Dr. Sheinbaum says. She smiles sunnily at Jo. "Bill and I have had some wonderful talks these past six months, and I thank you for sparing him at home on the afternoons that we've met."
Jo isn't sure how to respond to this. Was there ever a choice? And, if she had a say in it, would she have opposed her husband--who had melted down over his first wife's death and then gotten into a fistfight with a senator's son on New Year's Eve--getting some professional help?
"It was no problem at all," Jo says solicitously. "I think he's gotten a lot out of his time with you."
Dr. Sheinbaum looks back and forth between Jo and Bill. "I'm glad to hear that. And now our official time together has ended, as far as NASA is concerned, but I really wanted to meet you and offer to continue to see you--either both of you together, or just Bill alone. I think it's important for a person to feel as though they have an outlet and an impartial ear, and, if I can be frank--" She looks to Bill, who nods his approval. "If I'm allowed to be honest here, I think it might be beneficial for both of you to come in weekly, or even once a month, so that we can talk."
Jo frowns at this. It has never occurred to her that she and Bill should see a therapist together.
Jo turns her head to look at Bill just as he's turning his to look at her. They lock eyes, and between them passes the kind of unspoken question and answer that most long-married couples know well. In seconds, they both turn back to Dr. Sheinbaum.
"I'm not sure," Bill says, at the same time that Jo says: "That might be helpful."
They turn back to look at one another in surprise; Jo was sure that she and Bill agreed on this.
"You think it's a bad idea?" Jo says to him, lowering her voice as if this will keep Dr. Sheinbaum from overhearing their discussion. Jo folds her arms across her chest.
Bill is facing Jo, but his eyes cut to Dr. Sheinbaum for just a moment. "Sweetheart, I think we should discuss it and see what we think the pros and cons are."
"I think it might be good to talk things through with a professional in the room."
Bill laughs nervously. "You make it sound like we're having knock-down, drag-out fights, Jo. Like we need an impartial jury, or a referee."
Jo is getting exasperated. "No, not at all. But any marriage you can think of might benefit from a little tune-up, Bill. I bet we don't know a single couple who wouldn't gain something from sitting down with a therapist once in a while."
Dr. Sheinbaum holds up a hand, which catches their attention in their respective peripheral visions. "I think you two should chat about this alone, and you can get back to me. It's simply an offer--take it or leave it."
Jo turns her whole body back to Dr. Sheinbaum and attempts to look poised. In control. Not rattled one iota. "Absolutely. We will discuss this, and we'll let you know. Thank you for the idea."
For the next ten minutes, Bill and Dr. Sheinbaum chat briefly and vaguely about some tools she's given him for coping at work and in life, and Jo gets the distinct feeling that she's overhearing a heavily coded message that she herself doesn't have the "tools" to decipher. She keeps a smile on her face and nods along as Dr. Sheinbaum congratulates Bill for his openness and honesty, and when they say their goodbyes, Jo strides out of the office building several paces ahead of Bill, cutting through the hot parking lot to where their car sits facing the road.
Bill catches up and unlocks the passenger door for Jo, which he holds open. Rather than sliding onto what will surely be a scalding hot leather seat, Jo stands outside the Corvette, arms still folded across her chest. She looks out at the cars zipping down the street, keeping her eyes off Bill.
"Jo," he says. She hears a pleading note in his voice. "I don't think we need therapy. We get along better than any other married couple I can think of."
Jo gives a terse nod. "We get along fine, Bill. When you're not shutting yourself in a dark bedroom or reaming me for writing about the things I know—about the life I live."
Bill takes a step closer, but it's nearly July and almost ninety degrees in the shade. The humidity brings the temperature even closer to the boiling point. Jo steps back, bumping her bare upper arm against the hot metal of the car. She winces.
"Jojo," Bill says tenderly, reaching out to touch her skin where it connected with the heated metal. He runs his fingers down her arm and she shivers despite the heat. "I've been working to set myself right. I've been doing really well--and a lot of that is thanks to you. You're my Girl Friday. I couldn't do anything without you."
Jo softens slightly at his words and tone. She looks down at his hand, which has stopped stroking her arm, and now rests on her hip. She exhales. "I'm trying to hold down the fort, Bill. I do everything I can with the kids, the house, myself… but sometimes it feels like it's not enough." Her eyes glass over and she looks at the cars racing down the asphalt under the hot afternoon sun. "Am I enough for you?" she asks so quietly that she isn't even sure she means for Bill to hear her.
Bill's response is sudden and forceful; he puts his other hand on her waist and pulls her closer to him, so that the heat from both of their bodies is mingling.
"Jo," Bill says in a husky voice. Her body is barely an inch from his, his hands on her lower back as he holds his wife close. "You are more than enough. I've wanted you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I saw you behind the counter at that dental office, and I thought you were the loveliest girl I'd ever seen."
Jo flushes at the memory; she'd thought he was the most handsome man who'd ever walked into the dental practice up to that point, and she'd worked hard not to giggle and act silly behind the counter just to get his attention. Some innate part of her had kicked into gear as he sat there, reading a newspaper, and she'd inherently known that she should tuck her hair behind one ear, speak into the phone in a sweet, lovely voice, and that putting an extra sparkle in her eye when she called his name to go back to the exam room would make him notice her.
And notice her he had. But now here they are, fifteen years and three kids later, and she's wondering whether she's still enough for him. That feeling sits in the pit of Jo's stomach like a boulder.
"I love you, Josephine," Bill whispers, putting his lips to hers. And even though it's hotter than Hades and anyone they know might drive by, Jo leans into the kiss, parting her lips and letting her husband press his body against hers right there in broad daylight.
The kiss goes on far longer than what Jo thinks is decent, but it also sends pulses and waves of desire flooding through her body; even her toes tingle with electricity. When Bill finally pulls back, they both laugh, breathless. Jo pats her hair self-consciously, as if they've just taken a wild roll in the sand rather than sharing a fairly chaste kiss in the parking lot of her husband's therapist's office. She laughs and swipes at her mouth to make sure she doesn't have smeared lipstick.
"Here, milady," Bill says, holding the door for her. "Your chariot awaits."
As they drive away, Jo realizes that whether or not they should go back to see Dr. Sheinbaum as a couple hasn't exactly been settled. She glances at the window that she knows belongs to the therapist's office, and there, holding a cigarette out the window, eyes studiously blank, stands Dr. Sheinbaum, watching them as they pull away.
Jo is tempted to wave, but she doesn't. Instead, she slips on her sunglasses and lets her husband drive her home.