13. Jo
THIRTEEN
jo
“Good morning, Mr. D,” Jo says to Douglas Dandridge as she wheels her cart into his hospital room on a rainy August afternoon.
Douglas is staring at the threatening clouds gathered outside his window. “It took me some time, Josephine,” he says without turning to look at her directly, “but I’ve come to love these summer storms in Florida. They really clear the air, don’t they?”
Jo has to agree with him: they do clear the air, leaving behind a freshness for a short while, and sometimes clearing out just in time for the bruised but hopeful evening sky to dissolve into sunset.
“How are you today?” Jo asks him, choosing two novels from her cart and setting them on his bedside table. In the time that Jo has known Douglas Dandridge, he’s worked through at least three or four Harlequin romance novels a week, and he’s showed no sign of slowing down. In fact, the hospital cart has run out of books for him, so she’s taken to asking her friends if they have any he can borrow, and she slides them onto his nightstand without letting him know that she’s had to seek them out on her own time.
Douglas finally turns to look at her, and Jo gasps at the sight of his forehead. “What happened?” she asks, rushing over to him with one hand outstretched. She stops short of gently touching the deep purple bruise over his eye.
Mr. Dandridge puts his own shaky hand to the knot that’s formed there, and Jo notices a string of stitches over his eye. “I fell,” he says simply. “It’s not unheard of for a man my age, you know.”
Jo pulls up the chair next to his bed and sits on it as she reaches for his hand and clasps it between both of her own. In the past two months, she and Mr. Dandridge have become fast friends, and seeing him like this brings a sharp pain to Jo’s heart. “How did you fall? Was the nurse here? Did you slip in the shower?”
Douglas chuckles and squeezes Jo’s hand with his long, cool fingers. “Don’t you worry for a minute, Josephine. I’m fine. I got out of bed one evening thinking I could make it to the bathroom on my own, and lo and behold, I could not.” He laughs again, but this time it’s tinged with embarrassment. “Some things about being an old man are not so wonderful,” he says with a little shrug.
Jo smiles at him sympathetically. “Promise me you’ll call for the nurse next time, will you?”
He’s about to respond when there’s a knock at the door of his room. Jo turns in her chair and sees an unfamiliar doctor in a white coat standing there. Her first instinct is to jump up and retrieve her cart, as she feels like she’s just been caught sitting down on the job, but Douglas does not let go of her hand.
“Hello, Mr. Dandridge,” the doctor says with a wide smile and a Latin accent. He turns to Jo with a puzzled smile when he sees the familiarity between her and Douglas. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know Mr. Dandridge had family visiting.”
Jo pats Douglas’s hand and stands up, smoothing down her skirt with both hands. “I’m Josephine Booker,” she says. “I’m actually a volunteer, but Mr. Dandridge is one of my favorite people here.”
The doctor’s smile widens. “He’s everybody’s favorite. I’m Dr. Chavez,” he says, extending a hand to Jo. “I’m new to Stardust General, but I’ve already become a big fan of this guy.” He tips his head at Douglas, who makes a pshhh sound and waves a hand at the doctor. “He acts like he doesn’t like me much, but let me tell you: when no one else is here, we can talk baseball for hours.”
“My son is a baseball nut, too,” Jo says as she looks back and forth between the two men. “He’s dying to go to New York and see the Yankees play.”
“I can understand that,” says Dr. Chavez. “Seeing the Yankees play is truly an all-American thing to do.”
There is a brief silence in the room and Jo gathers herself, realizing that Dr. Chavez most likely wants to check up on Mr. Dandridge or ask him some personal medical questions. “I should move along,” Jo says, taking her cart by the handle and steering it toward the door. “I’ll see you Thursday, Mr. D,” she says to Douglas, turning back to him regretfully. “No more falling down, you hear?”
“I hear you, Josephine,” he says, shaking his head as though he’s put out by her words, but from the look on his face, Jo can tell that he loves having someone worry about him. “Take good care of those kids.”
With a wave at Mr. Dandridge and a nod and a smile for Dr. Chavez, Jo pushes her cart out into the hallway. She’s about to knock on the next door when she hears Douglas chastising Dr. Chavez. “You just had to butt in and scare off the only pretty girl who comes to see me, didn’t you?”
Dr. Chavez’s booming laugh echoes out into the hallway, and Jo smiles as she blushes. She enjoys Douglas’s company, too.
Jo finishes visiting the last rooms in the hallway and is making her way towards the elevator when Dr. Chavez spots her and lifts a hand for her to wait.
“Mrs. Booker,” he says, his eyes landing on her left hand ever so briefly to confirm that there’s a ring there. He looks back at her. “Thank you for taking the time to sit with Mr. Dandridge. I think it really makes a difference in his care to have someone he looks forward to seeing. As far as I know, he’s entirely without family here, and I truly think you brighten his spirits.”
Jo’s cheeks get hot again and she looks down at the neat rows of books on the top shelf of her cart. “Well, I enjoy visiting with him—and working here. Or, rather, volunteering. I know I don’t work here. Not for a paycheck anyway. Not like a real nurse or a doctor.” Jo can hear herself stammering nervously. To her own ears she sounds like a moronic nitwit, and she bites her bottom lip to keep any more words from tumbling out.
Dr. Chavez smiles kindly. “Make no mistake: you work here. Spending time with patients in a non-medical capacity is just as important to their overall care as a nurse coming in and taking their stats, or a doctor doing a progress check. When Mr. Dandridge—and, I presume, everyone else on the ward—sees you walk into the room, they undoubtedly experience some very positive feelings and physical responses.”
“Oh,” Jo says. She’s entirely flattered and far too flustered for her own liking. “Thank you. I just bring books and snacks.”
“You bring hope, friendship, a friendly smile, and, for some of them, the only news they get from the outside world. Don’t discount that, Mrs. Booker.”
“Call me Jo,” she says, knotting her hands together nervously. “And thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
Dr. Chavez watches her with open curiosity. He has dark black hair with bits of silver shot through at the temples and his dark brown eyes are framed by friendly-looking crow’s feet that crinkle every time he smiles. Jo can tell from the butterflies in her stomach that she actually finds Dr. Chavez quite handsome, though she doesn’t often have this kind of physical response to men anymore; it’s been years since she’s had a giddy crush on anyone other than Bill.
As if he’s just realizing how much time he’s spending talking to a hospital volunteer, Dr. Chavez takes a step back and gives Jo a friendly nod. “I’ll see you around, Jo,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Thank you. You as well, Dr. Chavez.” Jo punches the button for the elevator and the doors slide open instantly. She backs up into the elevator, pulling the cart with her. The doors close on Dr. Chavez, who is standing there with both hands in the pockets of his white lab coat.
As soon as she begins to descend to the floor below, Jo catches a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirrored doors in front of her. Her cheeks are pink like she’s just gone for a brisk evening walk with Frankie, and her eyes are shining with something that looks suspiciously like happiness. Of course she’s worried about Mr. Dandridge getting out of bed and falling and needing stitches, but as the doors slide open once again and she pushes the cart back out into a new hallway, she straightens her shoulders with purpose. A doctor—and a handsome, gregarious, friendly one at that—has recognized her for something good. It’s very validating.
Aside from being with the children, or taking walks with Frankie at twilight, Stardust General has become Jo’s favorite place to be. For the rest of the afternoon, she smiles at everyone she passes, glowing with pleasure over finding something that she’s good at. Something that makes her feel useful. Something that feels distinctly like a step on the path to finding out who she truly is.
“Mr. Huggins—please, come in.” Jo steps aside as she opens her front door the next morning. David Huggins, the official NASA photographer, has requested a day where he can drop in on each of the five families to take some candid shots of their mornings. From the kitchen, the children can be heard talking about an episode of The Bugs Bunny Show as they pour milk into their cereal bowls.
“Thank you for having me,” Dave says, stepping into her open living space and looking around. Jo had spent the evening before dusting, vacuuming, and otherwise preparing the house to be photographed, though Bill had assured her more than once that everything looked just fine. Dave Huggins sets his camera on the couch and puts both hands on his hips as he looks around. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
Jo tries to look at the house through objective eyes: the furniture now is modern and airy, and the colors she’s chosen have the fresh, juicy feeling of citrus. The sunlight from the slanted skylight pours in, bathing the jade plants and the African violets near the windowsill in morning sunshine.
“Thank you,” she says. “Bill is about to leave for work, but we thought maybe you’d want some shots of us all having breakfast together?” Jo clasps her hands in front of her, trying to hide how nervous she feels about having her life and her family photographed for public consumption.
“I want to capture some truly candid moments, so please just go about your morning as you would if I wasn’t here at all.” Dave turns to his camera and begins to fuss with the buttons and switches.
It’s like she’s on stage, performing her life for a live audience, but Jo tries to push that thought aside and act normally. “Honey,” she says to Bill, approaching him with a pot of coffee as he sits at the head of the table. “Coffee?” It both sounds and feels stilted, but Jo wants her family to make a good impression.
Bill holds out his coffee cup and she fills it before filling her own and sitting down. A big family breakfast is an activity usually reserved for the weekends, but Bill had agreed that they should get up early and make themselves more camera-ready for Dave Huggins than they normally would be. In fact, Jo was accustomed to pouring coffee and packing Bill’s lunch while wearing a robe over her nightgown, then kissing him goodbye at the door before going to wake the children for the day. But there is something nice about having everyone up and dressed before eight o’clock. It feels organized. Productive.
“So, what are you all up to today?” Bill asks, setting a napkin on his thigh as he reaches for a piece of buttered toast from the plate that Jo has set on the table.
“Beach,” Kate says decisively. “Mommy said she would take us there for a picnic because she doesn’t have to go to the hospital today.”
“Oh,” Dave Huggins says. His voice is somewhat jarring in the middle of their family breakfast even though they are, of course, aware of his presence. “I wanted to come to the hospital with you for one of your shifts and get some footage of your good works there, if that’s alright.”
Jo smiles nervously, holding a piece of toast over her plate. “Oh,” she says, trying to look unbothered by the idea of having to explain why a photographer is following her around Stardust General. Thus far, she’s been able to get by without sharing much detail about her personal life, but she fears that her days as a quiet, mild-mannered volunteer are about to end. “Of course. I can arrange that. I have a shift tomorrow afternoon, if that works.”
“That would be great, wouldn’t it, Jojo?” Bill says encouragingly, looking at Jo with a kind of goofy pride. He’s done a night-and-day turnaround when it comes to her volunteerism, packing away any of his prior reticence as he’s come to realize how good the hospital has been for Jo, and—as she’d predicted—how good it looks to NASA for his wife to be integrating herself into the community in this way.
Jo chews her toast slowly and then takes a sip of coffee. “It would be great,” she says carefully. “I’ll just need to let my supervising nurse know so that no one is surprised.”
“Actually,” Dave says, moving his camera away from his face so that he’s looking at Jo. “I already called the hospital and explained the situation, and I’ve gotten clearance to be there.”
He at least has the common sense to look slightly chagrined at stepping into Jo’s life without permission, but she pushes down her annoyance and puts a cheerful smile on her face. “That’s wonderful.”
The rest of breakfast is easy and lighthearted, and the children do most of the talking as Dave Huggins walks around, taking photos of them laughing and smiling from all angles. He packs up his camera after Bill leaves for work, thanking Jo and leaving to do the same thing at Frankie and Ed’s house, minus the children.
Jo slips her feet out of her flat shoes as she cleans up the breakfast dishes. The children sit under a tree in the backyard, just beyond the kitchen window. She knows they’re talking about ways to convince Jo and Bill to get them a dog, but she’s been pretending for days not to know what they’re scheming and planning. Jo doesn’t have the heart to tell them that she isn’t sure she’s ready for that kind of commitment, because no matter how much they promise to do the lion’s share of the work when it comes to walking, feeding, and cleaning up after a pet, Jo harbors no illusions about who will truly be on the hook for the heavy lifting when it comes to dog care.
She rinses the platter that held the scrambled eggs, setting it on the drying rack as she watches her children through the window over the sink. Kate jumps up from her spot on the grass, gesticulating wildly. She’s doing the majority of the talking while her older brother and sister listen. This makes Jo smile, as her youngest is a born leader and a true charmer. She has no doubt that Kate will do great things in life: she could be a teacher or a politician or a business owner…anything, really. Jo mourns the limitless possibilities of youth as she watches her kids’ faces turn pink and shiny from the August heat. Even being young enough that physical discomfort doesn’t matter when you’re in the midst of playing or talking or doing something interesting—she misses all of it. There’s a beauty to still having the story of your life mostly unwritten.
The phone on the wall rings just as Jo is wiping her hands on a dishtowel and admiring her sparkling clean kitchen. She unclips an earring and sets it on the counter, holding the receiver to her ear.
“Good morning, Booker residence,” she says without curiosity. It will undoubtedly be the hospital calling to ask her to take a different shift, or maybe Frankie wanting to complain about Dave Huggins not catching her in the best light as he snapped her and Ed sharing a pot of coffee and the newspaper on their living room couch, or perhaps even one of the other wives, looking to have a get-together with the children.
“Good morning,” a crisply efficient woman says. “May I please speak to Mr. William Booker?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Booker is at work. This is his wife, may I help you?” Jo frowns. This woman on the phone sounds official. Busy. Serious.
“This is May Ogilvy from Desert Sage in Tucson, Arizona,” the woman says. “I really do need to speak with Mr. Booker directly. Is there a time when I might call back and reach him, or is there perhaps a work number I could call?”
A wave of something rises inside of Jo; it’s not anger, and it’s not frustration, but it’s something that is almost tangible. “Mr. Booker arrives home at six o’clock,” Jo says formally. “You may try to call him again then.”
Because they have plans that night, Jo knows that Bill will actually walk in at six o’clock rather than stopping at the Black Hole for a beer, and sure enough, the garage door opens and closes just when she expects it to. Bill walks in and sets down his briefcase, just as he does every day, and the kids come rushing in to greet him.
“You should have a phone call coming here soon,” Jo says. The smell of fried chicken fills the kitchen and she tosses a green salad with a wooden spoon and fork.
Bill gives her a puzzled look. “From whom?”
Kate and Nancy have been arguing all afternoon about a dress that Nancy has outgrown and that Kate wants to wear, and Jo has very little patience left in her at the moment. They’ve got a babysitter arriving in an hour to watch the kids, and she really needs to get everyone seated and started on dinner. Jo blows her hair off her forehead impatiently. “May Ogilvy from Desert Sage.”
It’s almost as if her words summon the ringing of the phone, and Bill reaches for it, plucking the receiver off the wall.
“Yes,” he says. “This is Bill Booker. I see. Yes. Thank you. I can handle that tomorrow. Thank you for letting me know. Of course. I’ll do that. Thank you.” He hangs up after this short exchange.
Jo busies herself with setting the table. She is quite literally biting the tip of her tongue to keep from asking questions, though she certainly has them.
The topic of Margaret’s more expensive care has not come up again since the night they’d gone to bed in silence, and Jo is not eager to go into the evening ahead with this sitting between them. She sighs as she washes her hands at the kitchen sink. “Is everything okay?”
Bill pulls out his chair distractedly and sits. He doesn’t even take off his tie or unbutton his short-sleeved shirt. Bill sets a napkin in his lap as the kids sit down gloomily, the residue of their day-long battle over the stupid yellow dress still hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. Without looking at Jo, he clears his throat. “I need to make a trip to Arizona,” he says brusquely. And then, without further comment: “Jimmy, please pass the corn on the cob.”
They eat dinner in relative silence, and Jo’s mood is further aggravated by the fact that she’s been battling menstrual cramps and moodiness all afternoon. She stabs her fork into her pile of salad and glowers first at Bill, and then at the girls. Jimmy is the only one of them with whom she has no quibble at the moment, and he eats his fried chicken lustily, seemingly oblivious to his sisters’ drama, his father’s dark frown, and his mother’s raging hormonal storm.
The evening ahead promises to be a fun one.
“Can we get through this as a team?” Bill asks as he swings the Corvette into the lot of the bowling alley, where a bright neon sign advertises twenty-five cent games on Thursday nights. The sun has almost set, and the palm trees outside the bowling alley stand against the watercolor painting of a sky. Jo puts her hand on the door and stares out the windshield. In the parking spot next to theirs, Carrie and Jay close the doors of their car and interlace their fingers as they walk towards the building. Jo can only dream of being that in tune with Bill again; at one point, every day felt that easy between them, with stolen kisses, hand-holding, and being on the same page about things.
Jo turns her head and looks at him directly. “Of course we can. We’re a team, Bill. Always. But I need to know why you’re going to Arizona.”
He lets out a loud, impatient exhale and bangs his palms against the steering wheel. “Dammit, Jo. Isn’t it obvious? Margaret. Things are a mess out there, and I need to get it sorted out so that she can stay on at Desert Sage. If I don’t, they’re going to ask for her to be moved.”
A lump forms in Jo’s throat as a pair of headlights swing into the lot and illuminate her and Bill in the front seat. His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, and her fingers are knotted together in her lap. “You mentioned once that she has an aunt in Phoenix.” Jo stabs wildly at this notion, hoping for another solution. “Maybe she could handle Margaret’s care? I mean, this isn’t really your job anymore, Bill.”
Bill closes his eyes and keeps them that way as someone parks on the other side of their car. He waits for the couple to close their doors and walk away before he speaks. When he does, his words are measured and careful. “Margaret’s aunt is elderly and has no money. She cannot handle this.” He pauses. “And as much as you don’t want to think about it, I was once married to Margaret. I loved her. I vowed to love her ‘in sickness and in health,’ and then I broke that vow by divorcing her and marrying you.”
Jo lowers her chin as she watches his profile. “Is that honestly how you feel? As if you shirked your real responsibility to marry me? Do you see me as the cause of your broken vow?”
“No. Jojo. Of course not. But you know who I am. You know I’m a man of my word, and that was a promise I didn’t keep. A part of me will feel that way forever. But what I can still do is look after her from a distance. I can do that, and I will do that.”
Even through the fog of her hormonal rollercoaster, and in spite of the way his words land in her heart, Jo has to admire this about her husband. He is a good man. He has never accepted a responsibility that he hasn’t taken seriously, and he gives his all to everything he does. She just wishes that Margaret had never existed. Or, rather, that Margaret had been someone else’s wife and not Bill’s.
It’s her turn to sigh in exasperation, but only because she can’t find the right words to say to make things better. “Look, we can’t solve this tonight, and there’s no point in sitting out here and discussing it when we could be inside blowing off some steam.” Jo opens her car door. “Let’s go in and play a few games with everybody and see if we can relax, yeah?”
Bill opens his door and gets out, slamming it more forcefully than is necessary, in Jo’s opinion. They walk in side by side, but neither reaches for the other’s hand.
Inside the bowling alley, Carrie and Jay are just putting on their rented shoes, and Jude and Vance are already claiming a lane for their group.
“Hi!” Frankie calls out, standing up from her seat at the end of the lane. She waves at Jo. “Over here!”
Jo lifts her hand half-heartedly. She’s mentally preparing herself for socializing and bowling—neither of which she’s entirely in the mood for.
“Hi, you two.” Frankie stands up and gives Jo a relaxed kiss on the cheek. Frankie is wearing a pair of capri pants in a pink and white checkered pattern, with a tight pink top and a pair of white bowling shoes.
“Do they rent those here?” Jo points at the clean white shoes. “Because I want those ones.” Jo, never one to fuss over such things, suddenly wants the glamour of the white shoes as opposed to the regulation bowling alley ones with the inevitably broken laces.
Frankie hands Jo a glass of beer that she’s poured from a pitcher. “Nope. These are mine. One of my many secrets and surprising talents: I was once in a bowling league, and I have my own shoes and my own ball.” Frankie nods at the line of bowling balls, and Jo guesses immediately that the marbleized pink one is Frankie’s.
“Okay,” Jo says, accepting the glass of beer. “I am surprised. And impressed. I never imagined you as a bowling alley babe.”
“Alright, alright. Go get your shoes.” Frankie gives Jo a playful little shove. “I’m ready to clean up this entire alley with our high scores. We’re teaming up.”
Jo had assumed that the evening would be each couple paired up against the others, but in the end, a part of her is thrilled to partner with Frankie instead of with Bill. She goes to get her rental shoes, handing over her sandals and taking the size sevens that the young girl pushes across the counter to her. The whole alley is filled with the echoing sound of falling pins, and the shouts of glee as people get strikes, spares, doubles, or turkeys ring out up and down the lanes. Everything smells like beer and stale popcorn, but it isn’t unpleasant. In fact, the change of scenery is somehow refreshing for Jo. She feels like, if she plays her cards right, she can hide out in their little group all evening and not have to think about Margaret, or about Bill’s impending trip to Arizona.
Jo slips on her shoes and walks back to their lane, where Bill is talking animatedly with Ed. He slaps Ed on the shoulder as they laugh about something. Jo sinks into the empty chair next to Frankie and picks up her glass of beer again. This evening out with friends is a first for Bill and Jo since they’ve been in Florida, and it’s only been made possible by the fact that Carrie had met the Wilson triplets at the library in town. Paula, Vicki, and Christina Wilson are sixteen, and as soon as Carrie discovered that they were all experienced babysitters, she’d gotten their phone number and then called the other women excitedly.
Barbie and Todd have opted to sit this one out (baby Huck had passed a cold on to the older boys, and they felt like three sick kids—one just an infant—was too much to put on a teenaged sitter), so Paula, Vicki, and Christina have been split up amongst Jo’s kids, Carrie’s son and daughter, and Jude’s twins, allowing the adults to all have a night out on the town together.
“Team One,” Ed announces with mock outrage, “will be myself and Lieutenant Colonel Booker, as our ladies have jumped ship and decided to partner up against us.”
The other two couples turn to Jo and Frankie with encouraging cheers. “You can take these two old geezers for a ride,” Vance says, clapping his hands together as he nods at them. “You got this, girls.”
“Next,” Ed says. “We have Vance and Jude. Then Carrie and Jay. We’ll let our traitorous wives take the last turn,” he says, winking at Frankie to let her know that he’s playing around.
Frankie plays into this by giving her husband a sassy look as she sips her beer, but Jo sits back in her chair and stifles an eye roll. She’s not even close to being in the mood for this, and yet here they are, out on the town without kids. Jo wants to enjoy this, but she’s going to need to finish this beer and relax a little if that’s going to happen.
Someone finds the jukebox in the corner and puts on “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” by the Shirelles as Jo slings one leg over the other. She looks like a woman who is in no hurry to rack up a strike.
The other couples banter and take turns sending their balls down the lane while Jo watches the people around them. In the next lane over, a busty redhead giggles every time her date rolls his ball, then she stands and holds out her hands to put on his cheeks and pull him in for a big kiss. Jo remembers feeling this way about Bill—wanting to kiss him and touch him as much as possible, regardless of where they were and who was watching. She folds her arms over her stomach and takes a few deep breaths.
It’s been ages since Jo and Bill had their first date, and she watches him now, remembering the way he picked her up at her house all those years ago.
“Hello, sir,” he’d said to Jo’s father, stepping up to the porch and offering his hand to shake. “I’m William Booker.”
Jo’s father, a man who had lived through The Great Depression on a farm in rural Minnesota, stood there in suspenders and a pair of pants that Jo’s mother had fixed on more than one occasion. “You’d like to take my daughter out?” Jo’s father, Herman White, had said, eyeing Bill warily.
“I would, sir. Josephine is a wonderful girl, and I’d like to take her into town for a movie.”
Jo, stationed inside the house with her mother, chewed on the side of her thumb nervously as she waited for her father to give his final approval. The men talked for another minute or two, and finally Herman White had acquiesced, stepping aside and motioning for Jo to come to the door.
“You two have a nice time,” he said, shooting Bill a long warning look. “And we’ll see you back here no later than ten o’clock.”
Driving away from her house that night, Jo had felt the indescribable sensation of promise bubbling inside her stomach. Little pinpricks of joy tingled up and down her spine all evening as Bill sat next to her in the theatre, and she’d smiled stupidly at the movie screen in the dark when he’d taken her hand in his.
Now, twelve years later, she watches him and wonders whether that Jo—the young, inexperienced girl she’d been—had any clue at all what she’d been getting into. Dating a man who’d already been married, one who was three years older than her and with five years of military experience already at that point…well, she’d been out of her depth and she hadn’t even known it.
“Heyyyy!” Ed shouts, punching a fist in the air as Bill bowls a strike. The two men high-five as Carrie writes down the score. Jo slides further down in her seat, her arms still folded over her stomach. She has yet to say much of anything to anyone.
“Hey, bucko.” Frankie leans her head closer to Jo and speaks in a low voice. “I’m thinking of having a cigarette here before we take our turn. Want to join me?” Jo shakes her head. “Okay, let me rephrase that: join me outside for a cigarette.” Frankie grabs Jo by the elbow and hoists her up. “We’re headed out for a smoke,” she says to everyone else, pulling Jo along with her.
Outside, Jo leans against the wall, putting the bottom of one flat bowling shoe against the wall.
“So, what’s your damage tonight, chickadee?” Frankie says, lighting up. She takes a long drag and passes Jo the cigarette. “You and Bill on the outs?”
Jo waves the cigarette away. “Kind of. Remember how I told you about Margaret, his first wife?”
Frankie squints out at the purple evening sky as she exhales up towards the awning that hangs over the building. Behind them, they can hear the sound of cheering and of pins being knocked over through the open front door. “Of course,” Frankie says. “Yes.”
Jo sighs and waits as a young couple walks past them and into the bowling alley. “Well, now it’s not just more money that they need for her care at that home she’s in, but there’s something going on and he needs to make a trip out there. To Arizona.” She turns to Frankie and waits for a response.
Frankie ponders this silently as she smokes. “Hmm,” she finally says, flicking her ash onto the pavement. “Well, this is a tough one, Jo. I think he needs to do whatever he needs to do in this situation, and while you might not like it, he’s kind of being a stand-up guy by looking after her.” Frankie shrugs helplessly. “We can hate that he was married before, but we can’t hate him for being a gentleman and a caring human being. Right?”
Frankie’s eyes are on Jo as she stares up at the neon sign at the edge of the parking lot. “I guess,” Jo says like a pouty child. “I mean, yes, of course I respect him for that. I just wish he didn’t have to go out there. It’s like, we already pay every month for her care, but I can usually pretend that she doesn’t exist. And now it’s like every time I’m starting to get my feet under me in Stardust Beach, there’s a letter or a phone call about Margaret.” Jo shrugs one shoulder. “And I don’t want him to leave us here in Florida without him,” she adds in a small voice. “Wow, that sounds childish now that I’ve said it out loud.”
Frankie drops her nearly-finished cigarette and crushes it, then puts an arm around Jo’s shoulders. “Nah,” she says reassuringly, giving her friend a light shake. “Not childish. You feel what you feel, and that’s okay. But if he goes—when he goes—I’ll keep you company, okay? We’ll plan things and the days will go by fast. Promise.”
Tears prick the back of Jo’s eyes. She’s about to make a joke about her own wildly swinging emotions when the old familiar sensation of a cramp in her lower abdomen nearly doubles her over. She purses her lips and blows out a long breath. “I think I just started my period.” She laughs as she swipes away a tear.
“Well, that explains a lot.” Frankie squeezes Jo’s shoulders with a loud laugh. “Why don’t you go and do what you need to do, and I’ll bowl our round for us?”
As Jo walks through the bowling alley towards the restroom, everything suddenly looks different: the couple in the lane next to theirs seems sweet and hopeful rather than too kissy and annoying; the pitchers of beer at the various tables look frosty and appealing, not warm and flat; and Bill looks like the same handsome, earnest man she married, not a stranger who has dragged her across country and who now wants to abandon her here while flying off to see his ex-wife.
Jo almost laughs at herself in the bathroom mirror as she washes her hands and checks her mascara for tear streaks. She was being silly and hormonal; she can handle this situation. She’s got a strong, upstanding husband, three amazing kids, and some great new friends. She reaches for a paper towel, drying her hands as she smiles at her reflection confidently.
“Well, I think he’s a hunk,” a woman says to her friend as they walk into the restroom together, ignoring Jo completely. “I think they all are. Have you seen them? I’m going to do everything I can to land me an astronaut.”
The other woman giggles and shoves her friend’s bare arm. “They’re all married, I think.”
The first woman shrugs as she chooses a stall and locks herself inside of it. “Well, if their wives let them hang out at the Black Hole all the time, then they can’t be that married, can they?”
Woman number two has come to stand next to Jo at the sink, and she smiles at Jo distractedly as she pulls a tube of lipstick from her pocketbook and purses her lips in the mirror seductively. She’s chewing gum, and her hair is like a cloud of blonde cotton candy around her head. “I think you gotta watch yourself, Annie. You don’t want some old broad coming to find you at work and starting trouble for you in front of your boss.”
From inside her stall, Annie flushes the toilet and laughs cattily. “ Some old broad ,” she says with a cackle. “That’s true.”
Jo wants to say something, but she can’t find the right words. She’s always known that Bill is a good-looking guy—and that he’s made even more so by the addition of his flight suit or Air Force uniform—but she’s always let herself believe that other women would respect the bonds of marriage and steer clear of flirting with a man who is clearly spoken for. But hearing these two women makes her think otherwise, and the very idea of younger girls hitting on her husband at the Black Hole makes her stomach lurch.
Actually, it infuriates her. In fact, Jo has some sharp words for these ladies and she’d love nothing more than to let them know that they’re acting in a way that not only tears down other women, but tears themselves down as well. Fortunately, she quickly remembers where and who she is before she even opens her mouth: Jo is no longer just a Midwestern mom, but the wife of an astronaut whose family is in the public eye. So rather than saying the kinds of things that could spark rumors and get spread around, pegging her as a hotheaded, jealous wife, Jo takes a deep breath and straightens her blouse.
Instead of waiting for Annie to emerge so that Jo can at least make meaningful eye contact, she balls up her paper towel and throws it into the trash can, and then walks out of the bathroom with her head held high.