Page 31 of Supernova

At her words, Jo’s shoulders fall a few inches. “I don’t want to think that way, Frankie. I don’t want to look at every woman who comes into Bill’s orbit and wonder what her motives are.” She turns to look at her friend. Frankie lifts her eyebrows. “Do you feel that way about every woman Ed comes into contact with?”

Frankie tilts her head to one side, looking at Jo pityingly. “Noteverywoman, no. Some are too old or not his type, but honestly, Josephine. You know how women can be—we keep tabs on who might be keeping tabs on our man. It’s just what we do.”

Jo sighs and looks out at the water. “Do you think it’s always been this way?”

“Since the beginning of time,” Frankie says without hesitation. “If there was a hot caveman and he brought home the best buffalo, you better believe that his wife was making angry eyes at the other cavewomen so they knew who was boss.”

This makes Jo laugh. “Cavewomen? Is that all we are?”

Frankie shrugs. “Sure. But with cars and better clothes.”

They finish setting out the spread Jo had made for Bill, and then Frankie goes still for a moment, her hands frozen over the napkin that Jo has placed in front of her.

“You okay?” Jo asks as she pulls the crispy skin from her chicken with her fingertips. She wipes her hands on her cloth napkin.

“Jo.” Frankie is looking at the water. “I need to dance.”

“I know,” Jo says, still picking at her chicken. “That’s why you’re going to open the studio.”

“No, I need to dance first. Forme. To get over the fear.”

Jo frowns. “I didn’t know you had stage fright.”

Frankie shakes her head vigorously and Jo turns her entire body towards her friend, putting her chicken on the plate. “It’s not stage fright,” she explains. “It’s the way I left it all. I left out of fear, and I need to reclaim that part of me before I can give it to anyone else.”

Jo wants to understand, but she doesn’t—not entirely. “You mean you need to prove to yourself that you can still dance before you try to convince people that you can teach their kids?”

Frankie’s head bobs back and forth as she considers this. “Yes and no. Sort of. I think I need to prove it to myself. I have a story to tell, and I need to tell it my own way.”

This makes sense to Jo, and is, in fact, part of why she feels the need to write, whether she realizes it or not. Being able to tell your story in your own way is integral to being a human. “That makes sense, Frankie,” she says. “I want to help in any way I can.”

Frankie picks up the buttermilk biscuit that Jo had helpfully already split and covered in butter when she packed the picnic basket at home. “Will you help me find a place to perform? I want to put on a real show.”

Jo watches her with a steady gaze; she sounds serious. “You want to perform…for everyone?”

“Everyone who wants to come. It’s important to me, Jo.”

“Okay,” Jo says, breaking off a bite of her own biscuit. “I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, Jojo. You’re a good friend—better than I deserve, probably.”

A disbelieving laugh comes from deep within Jo. “Frankie. You just came with me to NASA so that I could secretly spy on the woman who called my house one evening, and you didn’t even judge me.Youare a good friend. Better thanIdeserve.”

A big wave crashes onto the shore and the women turn in time to see two surfers emerge from the water with looks of pure joy on their faces. The young men high five one another and turn to point at the water, talking excitedly.

“Good chicken, by the way,” Frankie says, biting into a piece heartily. “Between this and my mom’s cooking, I’m going to need to drop a dress size or two once Ed gets back, otherwise I’ll be wearing muumuus everywhere because nothing else fits.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Jo says dubiously. She bites into her chicken with a happy smile. “You’ve got dancing to do, and you need your energy, so eat up!”

Jo is at the kitchen table that night after the kids are fast asleep, typewriter set up and a stack of pages filled with words at her elbow.

"Hey, Jojo?" Bill says, poking his head into the kitchen after turning off the television in the front room. "You coming to bed?'

"Not yet," she says. She has a pencil behind one ear, and she's lost in thought.

"Okay." Bill pats the wall with one hand. "Then goodnight. I hope the muse shows up." He gives her a playful half-smile thatJo can't help feeling is a bit patronizing, though in his eyes she sees pride. "Oh," Bill says, turning around and stepping back into the kitchen. I totally forgot to ask you--did you come by NASA today?" His frown is one of puzzlement; surely Jo would have mentioned it if she'd stopped by.

Without thinking, Jo shakes her head. "Nope," she says, plastering what she hopes is a believable smile on her face. "Not me."

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