Page 22 of The Space Between

“Hi, there,” Vicki says to Jude. “I was just telling your husband that Stardust Beach must be the most perfect place to raise children. Your daughters are precious—twins?”

“Yes,” Jude says, taking a sip of her mixed drink and keeping her eyes on Vicki. “Hope and Faith. They’re identical. And a handful.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” Vicki says. “I just have the one boy myself, but he’s always kept me on my toes. I mean,” she says with a disarming smile, “less so now that he’s twenty, but they never fully grow up, you know?”

Jeanie listens to the whole exchange with amazement; until Jude had appeared there at the table, Vicki had been regaling Vance with a story that involved a bottle of tequila, two Navy fighter pilots, and less clothing than any of the kids are currently wearing in the pool. But as Jude had neared, the story morphed, as did Vicki’s posture and voice. If there’s one thing Vicki knows how to do, she clearly knows how to put a wife at ease.

“Tell me about your life in Stardust Beach,” Vicki says to Jude, her eyes scanning the woman’s face. Jeanie looks on, impressed with the way Vicki can work nearly anyone simply by assessing who they are, what they need, and how she can give it to them. Jeanie should take notes, really. This is a skill that could help her to come across as more polished and worldly than she actually is, but she doesn't know if she has the self-confidence to pull it off. At least not yet.

Jude lets her hand fall from Vance’s neck. “Life here is lovely,” Jude says in a tone that doesn’t give away much. “It’s funto have a house with a pool, and the girls are really happy with their school.”

Jeanie’s mind wanders from this conversation and she glances at Bill. He's turning over a steak with a pair of tongs, still holding a bottle of beer in one hand. He laughs at his son as the boy takes a running jump into the pool, and Jeanie can see a spark of boyishness in Bill. She can even picture him as a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy himself, and she wonders if he resembled his son at all at that age.

The door from the patio to the kitchen slides open and Jo steps out. Something about her face or her posture catches Jeanie’s eye and she watches Bill’s wife suspended there in that moment. There’s a blankness to her that reminds Jeanie of the instant you get a deep cut in your skin—that second between the slice and the blood rushing to the surface—when it seems like maybe things won’t be that bad. But the gush of red relieves you of this feeling, and suddenly you can see how deep the cut truly is. And then the pain starts.

“Bill,” Jo says feebly. Her voice does not carry at all over the children, the radio that’s playing, the sizzle of meat, and the laughter of Vicki and the men. “Bill,” she calls out again, but only Jeanie can hear her.

Jeanie looks from face to face; no one can hear Jo. Jeanie stands, tempted to go to Bill and point out the way his wife is just standing there, looking shocked, but instead, she cuts across the grass and makes her way to Jo.

“Is everything alright?” Jeanie asks her, grabbing Jo by the elbow. “Are you okay?”

There’s a moment when Jeanie thinks that perhaps Jo has hurt herself in the kitchen, or that maybe something is on fire. “Jo?” she tries again. “What’s wrong?”

Jo’s face turns to Jeanie, but her eyes are flat. “It’s Bill’s wife,” she says. This confuses Jeanie; of course Jo is Bill’s wife.Is she saying she wants Jeanie to refer to her as “Bill’s wife” rather than as Jo? Jeanie is puzzling it through when Jo shakes her head, jarring loose the shroud that’s seemingly fallen over her. “No,” Jo says, closing her eyes tightly for a beat. “I mean, it’s Bill’s first wife.”

Jeanie is even more confused. Bill had a first wife? Jo is not his first wife? Is that even possible?Of course that’s possible, you idiot, Jeanie thinks. “His first wife is here?” Jeanie tries, looking around, searching for a newcomer.

Jo shakes her head again. “No,” she says as the sounds of the party continue on around them. “She’s not here. She’s dead.”

CHAPTER 9

Jeanie

It all comes backto her: the phone call. The tears. The shock. The silence. Everything about this moment gives Jeanie a shiver of familiarity, and a dark cloud falls over her as she’s thrown back in time, remembering the day she and her mother found out that her father had been killed in action.

Also familiar to Jeanie is Bill's reaction to the news that Jo delivers to him quietly near the pool: he falls to his knees; he makes a keening sound like an animal in pain; he looks like a man who has been wounded and may not recover.

They all watch in horror as Jo tries to pull her husband to his feet and bring him into the house. She clearly wants to get him to safety.

After Bill goes inside, the backyard remains silent. Everyone looks at one another to decide what they should be doing. Even the kids have picked up on the change in the atmosphere. Vicki’s smile vanishes, and her wide, made-up eyes flit from face to face; as the biggest outsider at the event, she has no context, no idea what to do with herself, no clue as to who the players are in this scenario.

In the end, everyone gathers their things and their children and leaves through the side gate.

Jeanie looks around now at the mess and thinks that perhaps she should stay and clean things up. After all, whatever trauma is going on inside the Booker home shouldn’t be amplified by what looks like a party that ended in some sort of kidnapping or disappearance of the humans.

“Hey, Vicki,” she says to her friend, who is sipping a beer at the picnic table as the first fireworks go off in the distance. The sky is still somewhat light. “Let’s pick up a bit and then get out of here, huh?”

Vicki shrugs. “I mean, the party does appear to be over.” She looks around at the paper plates, empty cups and bottles, and the inflatable ball floating in the pool like a lonely beacon of hope drifting across the water. “And the lady of the manor will be the one to clean all this up. That won’t do.” She pats the table with both hands and stands up decisively. “Yep. Let’s whip this into shape for her.”

Jeanie takes the barbecue, turning it off and removing the steaks that Bill had left cooking. She sets them on a tray and covers the whole thing with a piece of crinkled aluminum foil. Vicki walks around the yard collecting empty cans, bottles, and cups, tossing them all in a paper grocery bag that she found near the sliding door. Jeanie stacks the empty plates and cutlery into a pile, and then walks around gathering napkins that have blown away, as well as anything else that she can find that doesn’t belong in a backyard. She puts it all in the center of the picnic table on top of the tablecloth, then folds the ends up around it so that it makes a neat pile of picnic trash.

Jeanie looks around, surveying the yard. It’s the best they can do without going into the house, which is something she does not want to do. But hopefully Jo will come out later and appreciate the fact that the entire mess hasn’t been left for her.

“Let’s get out of here, princess,” Vicki says, slinging an arm around Jeanie’s shoulders as the fireworks begin to go off in earnest.

They drive home in Jeanie’s yellow VW Bug together with the windows down. Dionne Warwick is singing “Walk on By” on the radio, and the sky has suddenly dropped off into darkness, providing the perfect backdrop for the bright bursts of light that go off intermittently.

“The Fourth of July is magical,” Vicki says. “Hot and sultry, with the added punch of explosives, a bit of alcohol, and the feeling that you’re celebrating something real, but still completely intangible. I’ve always loved it.”

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