3. Jo
CHAPTER 3
Jo
It all feels like a fever dream for Jo, and she’s been moving through her days on autopilot. Everything plays on a loop in her brain, tormenting her all day and keeping her from restful sleep at night: Jeanie Florence calling her house one evening looking for Jo’s husband, Bill; meeting Jeanie at Frankie Maxwell’s house; having that niggling women’s intuition in the back of her brain that things could go seriously astray with Jeanie and Bill. (She hated herself for thinking that, but she had! Instantly!) And then, finally, the moment that she sees on the back of her eyelids when she tries to fall asleep at night: Bill and Jeanie, standing before a burning space shuttle at Cape Kennedy, holding hands as Jeanie looked up at him with a gaze that could only be described as loving.
“When is the party, Mom?” Nancy asks now, interrupting Jo’s thoughts as she sits at the coffee table in her living room, wrapping up two Barbie dolls for Hope and Faith’s birthday.
Jo glances at the slim, gold watch on her wrist. “One o’clock,” she says. Bill has gone into work for the morning, even though it’s Saturday, and rather than questioning this or begging him to stay home, Jo feels relief at his absence. Bill being gone gives her the chance to breathe, to think, to not pretend that everything is fine by plastering on a game face and smiling at him every time he enters the room to ask where he put his briefcase/book/brown belt. Having him out of the house allows her to reexamine the image of Jeanie Florence’s face in her mind yet again.
“Do I have to go?” Nancy asks, trying to sound sweet, but instead sounding a little pouty. “They’re only turning eight, Mom. They’re more Kate’s friends than mine.”
Nancy, who is ten, would rather spend her every waking moment with her nose in a book, and in a sense, Jo can’t blame her. She leans back against the couch, letting the wrapping paper she’s just been creasing unfold a bit as she sighs.
“You don’t want to go and swim? Jude said they were barbecuing hot dogs.”
Nancy looks at her mom with the patience of a saint. “I’m reading a really good book right now,” she says.
Jo still struggles with the fact that her oldest children are not babies any longer. Jimmy, who is now thirteen, and Nancy, her studious bookworm of a girl, are both trustworthy and calm. Leaving them home alone for a few hours while she takes Kate to the birthday party would be no big deal.
“Okay,” she says, relenting. “You and Jimmy can stay here, because I doubt he’s interested in going to a party for two little girls.”
“You got that right,” Jimmy himself says, striding through the room with a baseball mitt on one hand, and a well-worn ball in the other. He pounds the ball into the mitt, as he so often does, trying to wear in the mitt he just got for Christmas. “Can I play catch outside with Paul and Wayne?”
Jo nods. “Of course. Just keep an eye out for cars.”
“We always do, Mom,” Jimmy says, rolling his eyes.
As the kids wander off, Jo is left alone with her thoughts again. She leans forward and begins to tape the packages for the twins, watching her own long, slim fingers as they press firmly on the paper.
Her wedding ring sparkles, and Jo eyes the small diamond. Bill had given her that ring when they’d only been dating for a few months. Their courtship had been a quick one, their wedding small. And, up until recently, Jo has always thought that their love story was big. Their hopes and dreams worked in tandem, not against one another, and they always seemed to be in step.
She pulls a piece of tape from the dispenser and closes one end of the first Barbie box. Okay , she thinks to herself. You’re forgetting a lot of bumpy patches here, Josephine. Don’t gloss over the hard stuff. She flips the box and starts to fold the paper at the other end. Jo isn’t trying to lie to herself, but sure, there have been a few things that have made it feel like she and Bill are shouting to one another across a great divide.
Moving to Florida a year and a half ago had been the first thing that felt divisive, in her mind. She’d been a Minnesota girl, born and bred, and leaving her home and her extended family for constant sunshine and the unknown had been hard. It had taken Jo reminding herself many, many times that when you marry someone, you sign up to support them through all their hopes and dreams. Particularly if that someone is your husband, and he gets hired by NASA to become an astronaut. What woman wouldn’t support a dream like that?
Kate runs through the room in a short, flowered dress, her tanned legs moving quickly as she races into the kitchen. “Mommy, Mommy—can I have some Kool-Aid?”
“You may,” Jo says mildly. “Please rinse your glass afterwards.” Kate’s request doesn’t stop her wrapping or halt her train of thought.
Moving to Florida had been the first thing that felt like she and Bill weren’t entirely on the same page, and then there had been the fact that Jo wanted to do something for herself, and so she’d started to volunteer at Stardust General Hospital. While Bill doesn’t fundamentally have a problem with women working, with volunteering, or with Jo finding her footing in their new community, he’d struggled a bit at first with her being away from the children, and it had been a point of contention between them.
And then there is Jo’s writing. She’d felt the itch to write stories the year before, and with some real effort and a stroke of luck, Jo had gotten her short romance stories published in True Romance magazine. The pay is minimal—only ten dollars a month—but it had caught the eye of the PR department at NASA, and they’d thrown a reading in her honor. Unfortunately, that reading coincided with the explosion at NASA in December and the deaths of two astronauts, and Jo’s writing has suffered since then, but her writing is yet another thing that she feels has come between her and Bill.
He’s always been loving and supportive, but it’s all been hard. Every time one of Jo’s columns comes out she feels as if her husband is patting her on the head like a dog, congratulating her mildly for her ten dollar paychecks and for getting her little story published, but it hasn’t been lost on Jo that he’s never read her work. Any of it.
And if he did read it…that would be another thing. Her story, which is being printed in installments in True Romance , is about a woman in love with an astronaut. She’d set out not intending to infringe at all on their own lives or their marriage, but somehow the writing had become personal, and Winston, the main character in Jo’s story, had started a flirtation with a woman at work. Now, does Jo want to be embroiled in a scenario where art imitates life? No, not really. She’s chastised herself for that a number of times, but somehow writing her own emotions down just feels so good—so cathartic—that she can’t stop herself.
The doorbell chimes and Jo uses the heels of her hands on the coffee table to push herself to standing and crosses the vast sea of the carpeted living room to open the front door.
Frankie Maxwell is standing there, sunglasses in place, a cigarette held between her first two fingers.
“So, are we going to this shindig?” she asks throatily, exhaling a plume of smoke up into the sky.
Jo laughs. She looks her best friend up and down. “Is this a red carpet event? I thought it was a birthday party for two eight-year-olds.”
Frankie slides her sunglasses off her face. “Am I overdressed?” She glances down at the gathered and belted waist of her celadon green raw silk shantung dress. On her ears are two studded stones of a similar green color, and her hair is styled in smooth waves.
Jo glances down at her own capri pants and button-up blouse. She feels like they’re attending two different events. “No, you look gorgeous, but now I feel like I’m dressed to sweep out the garage or something.”
Frankie waves a hand and brushes past Jo. She makes a beeline for the kitchen and finds an ashtray in the cupboard, which is the one she always uses when she’s visiting Jo.
“You look gorgeous,” Frankie assures her, taking one last drag on the cigarette before stubbing the butt out in the ashtray and pushing it aside. She’s standing next to Jo’s kitchen counter. “I just felt like I spent the week cooped up inside, and I wanted to put on a dress that makes me feel good.”
“How is Ed? Has he been doing alright since the incident?”
“He's a little quieter than normal,” Frankie says, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down. She crosses her legs.
Both women clam up at the mention of the incident. The Gemini orbital mission, which was supposed to be led by Bill before he’d ultimately been removed from the test part of the project, had resulted in the deaths of Bob Young and Derek Trager. There isn’t a single person involved with NASA who didn’t spend the holiday season feeling traumatized by their terrifying and avoidable deaths, and the women in particular felt a shudder each time they imagined their own husbands trapped inside of a burning space capsule.
“How is Maxine doing?” Jo asks, reaching for the ashtray and dumping the single cigarette butt into the trash. Maxine Trager, Derek’s wife, is someone they know and like, and Maxine’s tragedy has become something of an unspoken cautionary tale to the women, as they watch her try to privately and publicly navigate the death of her husband.
Frankie shakes her head and looks off into the distance. “I saw her downtown the other day. She was taking her kids into the church, and let me tell you, she looked horrible.”
Jo winces. “Of course she did. I’m sure she hasn’t slept since December thirteenth.”
“Have any of us?” Frankie asks so quietly that her words are barely audible.
Jo, who knows how quickly she can fall down the rabbit hole and imagine herself in the worst case scenarios, wipes her hands on a dishtowel and takes a deep breath. “I’d better finish wrapping these Barbie dolls and make sure Kate is ready to go,” she says. “I’m guessing that Jude is nervous about throwing this party.”
“Nervous?” Frankie, a former Rockette who is not the least bit shy, cannot imagine being anything but excited about inviting people over to hang out by her pool.
“Sure,” Jo says. “Jude isn’t exactly a social butterfly, in case you haven’t noticed. I bet Vance has pushed her to throw this party, and that she’s doing it for the girls.”
“I wonder if they’ll serve alcohol?” Frankie folds her arms across her stomach and tilts her head to one side.
Jo, still holding the dishtowel, snaps it in the direction of her friend. “Be nice!” she says with a warning.
Jude’s drinking has bothered Jo for a long time, but no matter how many times she’s pointed it out, the other women in their group have shrugged it off. To Jo, it’s not nothing that a young mother drank so much that she ended up falling, hitting her head on the concrete, and sliding into the pool. Jude had been saved by a neighbor who saw the whole thing happen, and when she was brought into the hospital during one of Jo’s volunteer shifts, Jo had gotten a front row seat to her friend’s personal struggle. She’d even taken Hope and Faith home with her overnight while Vance stayed at the hospital with Jude.
Frankie holds up both hands. “I’m just saying—I could use a cocktail.”
“Well, slow down there, Boozy McGee,” Jo says, looping the dishtowel over the handle of her stove. “It’s only noon. Maybe start with a Tab or something.”
When they arrive at Jude’s, there’s a shroud of morbid curiosity hanging over everything. First is the fact that the Tragers’ house is right next door, with its curtains pulled shut tightly and the car hidden away in the garage. Jo wonders momentarily whether it’s bad form to throw a pool party right next door to the house where a young, pregnant widow of only a month is living with her two children, trying to survive the days and nights since their unimaginable loss.
She tries not to visibly shudder as they walk up the driveway with Kate in front of them, holding the wrapped Barbie dolls to give to the twins.
Inside the house, Jo plasters an uneasy smile on her face, greeting everyone as Jude leads them out to the pool, which she can’t help but remember is the sight of Jude’s near drowning.
“You okay?” Frankie nudges her as they sit in chairs near the pool while the children all gather together to listen to Hope and Faith talk excitedly about the cake and the presents that are forthcoming. “You look terrified.”
Jo shrugs. “I don’t know. Something feels off.”
This makes Frankie laugh. "Are you a psychic medium now, Josephine? You gonna read all our palms and talk to our dead relatives?"
As she says this, Maxine Trager walks through the gate holding two wrapped boxes. She looks pale and drawn.
The women who are gathered around the pool go quiet, but then realize it immediately and try to go back to their conversations as if their worst nightmare hadn't just come to life before their eyes.
"Maxine," Jo says quickly, standing up and sweeping her hands down the front of her capris. "Come sit with us."
God, I hope she didn't hear Frankie say that , Jo thinks, trying to keep the mortification off her face.
Maxine walks over to them. "I'm not staying," she says, looking stricken. "I just wanted to bring gifts for the girls."
Jude comes out from the kitchen holding a platter of cheese and Ritz crackers. She sets it on the picnic table and rushes over. "Maxine," she says. "I'm so sorry--were we being too loud?"
Maxine waves a hand as Jude takes the gifts from her. "No, no. Not at all. But even though I'm not in the mood for a party, I wanted to bring gifts by for Hope and Faith."
"Maxine, you didn't have to..." Jude trails off, holding the wrapped gifts dumbly.
Jo steps in to save her when she realizes that Jude might cry. "I want to bring dinner over for you and the kids this week," Jo says to Maxine boldly. None of this "tell us what we can do for you" nonsense that people say when they aren't sure what else to say. In Minnesota, where the winters get cold and long and the people speak more plainly, Jo learned that you told a grieving person what you were going to do for them rather than asking them to figure it out for you. And if they didn't want what you offered, then that was just fine too.
"That would be really nice, Jo," Maxine says in a near-whisper. "The kids and I are getting by, but I'm afraid I make a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You all have been so wonderful checking in on us and bringing meals, and I know I need to get back on my feet here soon, I'm just...not there yet."
This time it's Maxine who looks like crying, and Jude looks torn between staying and taking care of the guests who are there to celebrate her daughters' birthday, and walking her friend back home.
Again, Jo steps in: "Jude, I can get everyone here something to drink if you want to take Maxine home and get her settled in. And Maxine, if you feel like sending the kids over, we are all more than happy to watch Wendy for a bit and to have Ryan join us for cake and games."
Maxine's eyes look like saucers and all of a sudden Jo realizes that she's looking at a woman on the verge. Jo turns to Jude. "Jude, can you bring Wendy back with you? We'll keep her for an hour or two so that Maxine can catch a nap, okay?"
Maxine looks like she wants to protest, but instead, Jude puts an arm around her shoulders and walks her back to the gate, shooting a grateful look at Jo over her shoulder.
True to her word, Jo heads for the kitchen and starts pouring Kool-Aid for the kids, then filling glasses with ice for tea or Tab for the women. She sets everything on a tray that she finds on the kitchen table, and she's about to carry it out to the table by the pool when she spots a cupboard that's slightly ajar. The urge to look is overwhelming, so Jo glances around, makes sure she's alone, and then peers inside without opening it much further. Right there, amidst the bottles of vinegar, oil, and jars of spices, is a clear bottle of vodka. It's partially hidden behind the Worcestershire sauce, but Jo can tell by the label that it's a half-empty bottle of vodka. She leaves the cupboard door as is and heads outside with the drinks.
When Jude comes back, she's got tiny, blonde Wendy on one hip and is cradling the little girl to her as she points out the other kids.
"We'll all keep an eye on her," Barbie promises as she joins the group. "She can play with Huck."
Barbie Roman has three boys--Huck is the same age as Wendy--and she crouches down next to her older two boys to tell them to play nicely with the little ones.
"I set up an area away from the pool where they could play games," Jude says, pointing out a patch of grass near the fence where the kids are gathered.
"Everything looks really nice, Jude," Frankie offers. As the only one of the women with no children of her own, she isn't one to get really into kids' birthday parties, but she can appreciate a well-organized event when she sees one.
Jo gives Frankie a look of gratitude. Their little group of five women is close-knit, but Jude is the outlier of the bunch. Carrie and Barbie get together occasionally with their kids to chat the same way that Jo and Frankie have paired off and become closer, but so far Jude has kept to herself. Sure, she'll show up to every event and get together, but there's a reservedness to her that makes it difficult to break through the barrier and really get to know her.
"Thanks, Frankie," Jude says.
Carrie Donovan has joined them. "So anyway," she says, reaching out to brush her daughter's hair from her eyes as she sprints by the group. "I hear I just missed Maxine. What's the word? How is she holding up?"
Jude bites her lower lip and looks at the cement beneath their feet. "She's barely hanging on, from what I can see. It's rough."
"You were just inside her house--is she keeping up with things?"
Jude pulls a face. "I don't want to gossip, but no, not really. There are piles of laundry, and the sink is full of dishes."
"I don't suppose Ryan is in a position to help much," Jo says, thinking of how Jimmy would react in the same scenario. "Though he's going to need to step up here and be the man of the house."
"Idea," Carrie says, holding up a finger. "How about if we all offer to go over one afternoon and clean her house top to bottom, and we enlist our husbands to take Ryan out to catch a ball or something so that he can have some reinforcement from guys who knew his dad. And they can--oh, I don't know how you would say it--maybe give him some advice on how to step up to the plate around the house now that his dad is gone? I mean, Maxine has another baby coming. She's really going to need him to pitch in with the little ones."
Jo is nodding as she listens. "That sounds like a great idea. I think we should set up a time to head over and clean." She turns to Jude. "Do you think maybe you could arrange to get her out of the house one afternoon? If not for a trip to the salon, then maybe just for a cup of coffee or a long walk? We can head over and get things shipshape."
"And I can make some easy pasta dishes that she can freeze and eat whenever," Frankie offers.
"That sounds wonderful." Jo nudges Frankie with an elbow and turns to watch the children in the grass for a moment. The older kids are doing a great job of looking after the younger ones, and so far, Jude seems to be easing into the event.
"I think we have a plan then," Barbie says. "A good one."
Jude excuses herself then to head back into the kitchen and finish prepping the snacks and cake, and Jo watches her go. She wants to follow and see if Jude is topping off her own drink with a splash of vodka from the open cupboard, but just then there is a wail from the grassy area as two of the kids have knocked into each other and need soothing and attention.
From the window, Jo can see Jude moving around the kitchen, but she's distracted and forgets to worry too much about whether Jude can make it through the party without dipping into the vodka.