Page 6 of The Space Between

Jo, who has been working at the hospital as a volunteer for nearly a year, is standing beside Nurse Edwina, watching the men digging and planting as their shirts cling to their sweaty backs. More than one gardener has stopped to pour water directly over his own head, and that in and of itself is creating a mild ripple of curiosity amongst the female nurses on staff.

Jo turns to Edwina. "It's lovely," she says sadly. "I wish Mr. Dandridge could have seen it."

"Oh, honey," Edwina says. She puts a hand on Jo's arm and pats it in a motherly, concerned way. "Even a cat only has nine lives."

Of course Edwina is only making a joke, and without question, Douglas Dandridge had been a favorite of everyone--doctors and nurses alike--but he and Jo had been particularly close.

Jo wipes a tear as it escapes her eye. "I know. And he fought long and hard. No one expected him to see 1964, much less nearly make it to summer. But he was such a good, kind, funny man."

"And the world got to appreciate his sense of humor for ninety years, Josephine," Edwina says with a tilt of her head. "We should all be so lucky."

Jo shakes her head and wipes both cheeks resolutely. "You're right. I know it. And it's a rookie mistake to get so attached to a patient. This is my own fault, isn't it?" She laughs.

"Well, no," Edwina admits. "Not entirely. It was impossible not to love that old coot."

They turn back to the window and the goings on below. "Still, he would have enjoyed the garden." Jo points at the path that's being paved from the door all the way to the fountain. "I could have pushed him around on nice days."

"That would have been lovely.”

“And I’ll miss walking into his room with two or three romance novels that he would always read on the sly.”

Edwina turns to look at her with surprise. “Romance novels? I swear he loved spy books!”

Jo shakes her head. “Nope. He loved ones about women who traveled and fell in love. I borrowed them from my girlfriends and brought him new ones every week.” She steels herself for a moment. “I started writing with his encouragement, you know.”

“You did? I didn’t know you wrote, Josephine.”

Jo nods. “I do. I started out with a few chapters of a book, but it wasn’t going anywhere, so I wrote a short story instead.”

“Well, huh! Some people just surprise you.” Edwina shakes her head slowly from side to side. “And old Mr. Dandridge encouraged that?”

“Yes, ma’am. He did. He told me he’d stay alive to read my first chapter, but instead I was able to bring him my first published story inTrue Romancemagazine. I got paid ten dollars for that,” she says proudly.

“Josephine Booker,” Edwina says with a big grin and a faraway look like she’s imagining something grand. “Famous author.”

“Actually,” Jo says. “I used my maiden name—Josephine White.”

“You did? How does your hubby handle that? Mine wouldn’t go for such a thing.” Shetsksa few times. “He’s fairly old-fashioned about things.”

“I never asked Bill what he thought, and he hasn’t read the story, so I guess it doesn’t much matter.” Jo’s spirits plummet as she recalls that Bill had been happy for her, but his pride and joy had felt lukewarm. “And I don’t think I’m going to bring it up—not yet, anyway.” She pauses and chews on the inside of her cheek. “I actually have the third installment of the same story coming out this month.”

“What?” Edwina looks really and truly shocked—she even puts a hand to her ample chest. “You wrote more than one story?”

“It’s kind of ongoing,” Jo admits. “I wrote part one about a couple named Maxine and Winston. Winston is an astronaut who is trying to get chosen to go to the moon.”

“Uh oh,” Edwina says, her smile fading. “I see why you didn’t want to tell Mr. Booker about this one.”

Jo shrugs. “Well. I don’t think he would be too upset—it’s not the story of our lives or anything.” She pauses and pulls a face. “Not entirely, anyway.”

“Oh dear.”

A voice crackles over the loud speaker right then: “Nurse Edwina to the third floor station, please. Nurse Edwina to the third floor station.”

“Well,” Edwina says, smoothing the front of her crisp, white uniform. “They’re playing my song. I’d better get a move on.”

Jo leans against the window with one shoulder and looks down at the men on the ground again, watching as they work together to drag a tall palm tree and get it set up right in the wooden brackets they’ve built to hold it in place.

“Hey, Jo?” Edwina stops halfway down the hall and turns to her. “Could I get a copy of your first story to read? And maybe the second one, too? I want to be all caught up when the newest installment comes out this month.”

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