Page 28 of The Space Between

Frankie looks at her long and hard before answering. “Are you asking me whether it’s wrong for you to feel relieved that your husband’s first wife is dead?”

“Maybe?” Jo squints her eyes, feeling the shame wash over her.

“I don’t think that’s wrong at all,” Frankie says simply. “In fact, I’d question you if you said that youdidn’tfeel that way.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. What woman enjoys the thought of a first wife out there roaming around, much less a first wife who needs her husband to still be involved, and to make expensive monthly payments for her upkeep?”

“Frankie,” Jo says gravely. “I need you to understand that this isn’t about the money. Not at all. I would have gladly gone on paying that than to have Margaret end her own life.” She blanches at the mere suggestion that she might intentionally wish for Margaret to be dead. But she does wish that it didn’t feel so wrong to be a bit relieved about that chapter of Bill’s life closing for good.

A car full of teenagers drives past, and one of the boys in the front seat shouts out the open window at Jo and Frankie. “You two gorgeous ladies looking for a lift?”

The women stop talking and look at the boys, who are all of sixteen or seventeen. “Sure,” Frankie calls back. “Give me a lift to your house so that I can tell your mother that you’re being disrespectful to a couple of grown women in their thirties.”

One of the other boys howls with laughter, and the driver hits the accelerator and races off down the road, the taillights of the car glowing like two red beacons in the near darkness.

“Likethatwas an offer we couldn’t refuse,” Frankie says with an eye roll. She turns her attention back to Jo. “Okay, so as for you feeling like you need to be sorry that you’re not one hundred percent remorseful about Margaret’s passing, I say get over it, Joey-girl.” Frankie reaches over and pats Jo’s knee a few times for emphasis. “You’ve got to toughen up. Life is full of twists and turns, and at some point, this was always going to happen—if not exactly this way, then in some other way. Some other trauma. Some other tragedy. Stuff like this just jumps up and bites you when you least expect it.”

Jo leans back on her elbows in the grass, stretching her legs out in front of her. The living room light of the house whose lawn they’re lounging on goes on, casting a yellow glow in the blue dusk.

“I suppose it kind of does,” Jo agrees, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Now, you’re dealing with this—I assume Bill might have to travel to Arizona again? To…close things out?” Frankie asks delicately, clearly indicating the claiming of a body or some such final details.

“Desert Sage has agreed with Bill that a cremation would be the best course of action, and then yes, I think he’ll go there and claim the remains.” Jo winces. Admittedly, the idea of Margaret’s final resting place being on top of her mantel has been haunting her dreams, but she hasn’t had the heart yet to bring it up with Bill and to insist that they consider scattering the ashes or perhaps burying them somewhere in Florida. Truth be told, Jo has no idea how to approach that. At thirty-three, she hasn’t yet had much interaction with loss and death, and she’s finding it all a bit heavier than she would have anticipated, particularly in this situation, where Bill’s feelings are so much more complicated than hers.

“Mmm,” Frankie says, nodding. “That makes sense.”

They sit there as two more cars pass with their headlights on. Finally, Frankie nudges Jo’s foot with her own. “So what happened with whatshername?”

Jo frowns. “Who?” All she’s had on her mind of late is Bill, Margaret’s demise, and the logistics of handling the practical and emotional fallout of that.

“You know—Jeanie. She came to the Fourth of July with that stale Cape Cookie, and I wanted to know how you felt about her after really getting to meet her.”

“Frankie!” Jo says with disapproval. “You can’t call Vicki ‘stale’ just because she’s over forty.” She shakes her head, shooting her friend a look. “She was…full of personality.”

“Oh, is that what you’d call it?” Frankie lowers her chin and gives Jo a knowing look right back. “I swear she would have ended up in the lap of one of the men if that party hadn’t broken up.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jo counters. “She seemed like she just wanted to have a good time.”

“Yes, with one of our men,” Frankie intones as she swipes at a bug that’s landed on her shin. “But anyway, we digress.”

“Yes, we do,” Jo says with more than a little sarcasm. “As for Jeanie, I quite liked her. She was sweet, and there was something almost innocent about her. I’m not sure if that’s the right word.” Jo flails around, searching for a more apt description. “I mean, I know she’s an engineer in her late twenties, but somehow she also comes across as the teenaged babysitter who refers to you as Mrs. So-and-so and bakes cookies with the kids while you’re out, you know?”

“That’s called a ‘minx,’ honey,” Frankie says as she wags a finger at Jo knowingly. “She’ll sweet talk her way in, and then she’ll close the deal with your husband.”

“Frankie, what has gotten into you tonight?” Jo is half-laughing, and half-shocked by Frankie’s outbursts. “I really believe she’s just a nice woman who hasn’t made many friends here yet. And that would be hard, being childless amongst all these women who have kids—“ Jo cuts herself off as the mortification over what’s coming out of her own mouth creeps up her spine and starts to tickle her scalp. “Oh, Frankie. I didn’t mean?—”

“No, no,” Frankie says, shaking her head firmly. “I know what you meant. She’s single with no children, and that’s a different world than us old married gals.” Frankie puts a hand on top of Jo’s to reassure her. “Being married—with kids or without—is the great divide.”

Jo feels somewhat mollified that her friend didn’t take her words with any offense, but it still pains Jo to know that she’d so casually said something to Frankie that could have truly hurt her.

“Let’s keep walking,” Frankie says, standing up and offering Jo a hand. She pulls her to her feet and Jo swipes at her backside to brush off any stray blades of grass.

The women stop at every corner, look both ways, and then cross the streets together, still talking about Jeanie and Vicki.

“They stayed after the party and cleaned up my entire backyard, you know,” Jo says, feeling as though she’s trying to build a case in Jeanie’s favor so that Frankie will see the younger woman as harmless and not at all minx-like. “I thought that was really nice of them.”

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