Page 40 of The Space Between

Jo takes a deep breath and laces her fingers together. This whole conversation has quickly gone off in a direction that Jo wasn’t expecting, nor could she ever have anticipated it.

“Anyhow,” Jo says, “I’m thrilled that people are enjoying it.” She pauses here, inserting a silent “but” to let Irene know that she’s aware the other shoe is about to drop. Jo lifts one eyebrow with expectation.

“Right.” Irene drops the pencil back into the cup on her desk with finality. “Okay, so I asked you in here today because peopleareenjoying it, and I think that, frankly, this would be an amazing opportunity for NASA.”

Jo sits with this for a long moment. “How so?” she finally asks. Never in her wildest dreams has she thought that her little ten dollar a month payday and the tiny thrill she gets from seeing her name in print would get her called in to NASA to discuss some shared opportunity.

“Publicity, my dear,” Irene says, leaning back in her chair grandly and crossing her legs. She sits back and puts her elbowson the armrests as she swivels back and forth in the chair. “Can you imagine the publicity for Cape Kennedy over one of its own?—“

“But I’m just a wife,” Jo interrupts.

“You’re one ofours, Josephine,” Irene counters. “Don’t doubt that for a minute.” She pauses and holds Jo’s gaze before going on. “It’s great for us that one of our own is doing something creative, and capturing the imagination of thousands of readers each month.”

Jo has truly not imagined in her mind the number of people who might be reading about Winston and Maxine—all she knows is that Bill isnotreading the story that so closely mirrors their own, and now her very real fear is that he might. She’s actually at a loss for words.

“We’d love to set up an event here to showcase your writing, Josephine. I’m thinking that another couple of months of stories should come out, and then maybe during the holidays, when we’ve got five or six months of Maxine and Winston’s story to work with, we could do a reading.”

Jo nearly chokes at the thought. “A reading? As in--you want me to read my little romance story to people? Out loud?”

Irene throws her head back and laughs theatrically. “Yes, Josephine. Yes—out loud!”

Jo inhales and holds her breath as she tries to imagine herself reading her words to a crowd like a serious author who might be promoting a book would. “I don’t know. That seems kind of far-fetched.” Jo knows her face looks as dubious as she feels. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be offensive or anything,” she says, shifting around in her chair and finally setting her purse on the floor next to her feet. “But I’m just a housewife who wrote a little story. I only get paid ten dollars a month for it.”

Irene’s eyes flash, and Jo realizes in an instant that the woman is far more than she seems. She’s got a grander vision, and Jo is about to hear it.

“Listen to me here, Josephine: I know someone in publishing. Someone high up. I’d like to send your stories on to him, with your permission of course, and I’d like to see what he thinks. I feel like there’s a book in here somewhere, don’t you? An astronaut with a family is on track to go to space and leave them all behind, and on the way there, he meets another woman who turns his head—someone who catches his eye, if you will—I just think this could really be something.”

Suddenly, and without warning, tears are stinging Jo’s eyes and her throat feels tight. She isn’t sure if it’s the surprised shock of finding out that someone believes in her this way, or whether it’s hearing her own life and marriage boiled down to a simple tagline like this.

“I’m—“ Jo pauses, blinking away the tears as quickly as she can. She focuses on the hem of her dress for a moment, smoothing it as she gathers her thoughts. “I’m incredibly flattered, Irene. I am. I’m just not sure about making a big deal of this one story. I wrote it kind of on a whim, and I’m not sure it’s at all indicative of what it’s like to work at NASA, or that it even represents what it’s like to be the wife of an astronaut.”

Irene spreads her hands widely. “But who would know better than you?”

“Well, true,” Jo says, nodding slowly. “But it’s fiction.”

“Of course. And we’d market it that way.” Irene leans forward and lowers her voice like someone else might be listening. “But I need you on board, Josephine. I’m thinking a cocktail party during the holidays. You in a pretty dress—maybe red—standing up in front of a gathering of women, because let’s be honest: it’s going to be women who read your work, right?”

Jo nods helplessly. “I would imagine.”

“We’ll get Dave Huggins to take the photos, and we can get a local news station here to cover it. ‘Wife of Astronaut Turned Author: Is It Her Truth, or Is It Just Fiction?’” Irene says, making it sound like she’s writing a headline with her words.

Jo nods diplomatically. “Maybe we could work on that part together,” she says with a watery smile. The idea of people gathering together to listen to her read her stories aloud is daunting, but it’s quickly growing on her. After all, who writes without some desire of acknowledgment or accolades? Who ever commits word to paper and hopes thatno onewill appreciate it? But the idea of approaching a bigwig in publishing still seems a bit grand to Jo.

As if reading her mind, Irene pulls the pencil from the cup again and scribbles something on a notepad. “I just need you to give me the go-ahead to speak to my friend in New York, and I’ll pitch my idea to him.” She glances up at Jo and most likely sees terror on Jo’s face. Irene laughs softly. “It’ll be okay, Mrs. Booker,” she says. Her eyes crinkle with a blend of kindness and determination. “I could have just sent your stuff on to him and let him contact you when he realizes that your writing is wonderful and that you have a story to tell, but I thought asking you first was the right thing to do.”

Jo puts a hand to her cheek. Irene is right; she could have easily just sent the clippings on to her friend without saying a word, so she’s done Jo a real favor by asking. Finally, she nods. “Okay,” Jo agrees. “Yes to all of it.”

Irene slaps the desk as her face breaks into a grin. “Fabulous. I knew you’d be on board.”

But how had she known? Jo wonders. They’ve never even met one another until today. Her next thought is about Bill: will he be alright with this? He’s never been one to suffocate her with rules or demands, and in no way does Jo see herself as a woman chained to the oven, nor is she a woman without a voice (and shehas known women in her life whose husbands have given them far less freedom than Jo enjoys, so she’s aware that marriage is a whole spectrum), but whether or not Bill will see her giving a reading at a cocktail party at Cape Kennedy as a positive for his own career is not something she can know for certain.

Jo leans over and picks up her purse again, setting it on her lap. “I apologize for seeming reticent about this,” she says to Irene. “I just had no idea what you were calling me in for, and I wasn’t expecting this. Truly.”

Irene stands as Jo does, and the desk takes up the space between them. “I understand, Josephine.” Irene smiles at her pleasantly. “I do. But I think we could work together on this and do a really nice publicity piece for NASA. I’m excited about this.”

Jo straightens her shoulders, finally feeling the sense of pride that she supposes she was meant to feel all along. After all, she’s been called in by the PR department to talk about being the star of an event, all based on something that she sits around late at night doing in her robe and slippers. The things she dreams up in her own head have earned her recognition, and she should give herself more credit for that.

Irene walks her to the elevator and sees her off with a promise to call as soon as she has any news, or to pick a definite date later in the year. As the doors slide closed, Jo allows herself a moment of pure, unbridled excitement.

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