Page 37 of Across the Universe

There have been many times over the course of her life so far when Jeanie has been the one to hold herself accountable and to push forward even when she doesn’t want to, so she knows it can be done. This is just another hurdle, another thing to conquer. Her feelings for Bill will dissipate, and she’s going to do everything she can to help that process along. It isn’t Bill’s job to make her not care about him, and it isn’t his fault that she can’t move on. He’s done nothing to openly encourage her affection.

Jeanie pats her face and neck with a paper towel as she looks at herself in the mirror of the ladies’ room.

It’s time to move on. She balls up the paper and tosses it in the trash can, pulling the door open with intention.

When she gets back to the office space, her metal thermos and lunch pail are sitting on the middle of her desk like a message. She looks around.

Bill is nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER13

Jo

Word comesfrom Martin Snell on a Friday in May. Jo has answered the telephone in the kitchen with a smile on her face, thinking that perhaps it will be her mother returning her call, and so she unclips her earring and sets it on the counter as she puts the receiver to her ear.

“Booker residence,” she says expectantly.

“Mrs. Josephine Booker?” a woman asks.

“Yes, this is she.” Jo’s smile falters slightly as she waits to hear who is on the other end of the line.

“Mrs. Booker, this is Sheila in Martin Snell’s office. He’s asked me to get you on the line. Are you available to speak to him?”

Jo’s heart races. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I am.”

Martin Snell comes on the line. “Josephine?” he asks, his voice booming and friendly. “Martin Snell here.”

“Mr. Snell,” Jo says breathlessly. “Hello.”

“Call me Marty—please.” Martin Snell pauses and Jo can hear the smile in his voice. “I have good news for you.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to offer you literary representation. I read what you sent, and I loved it. Truly loved it. The time travel element, the fish-out-of-water take, the big city girl trapped on a farm… not to mention the romance. I can really feel Henry and Adeline falling for one another, and as a reader, I want more.”

“You do?” Jo is stunned. She nearly laughs out loud at how surprised she must sound. “I mean, that’s wonderful.”

“I think there are women out there who would love to read this book, and I want to see it through. Let’s get this written, edited, and packaged, and I’m sure we can sell it.”

“You are?” Jo shakes her head at herself; she needs to stop sounding so uncertain. “Thank you, Mr. Snell. Marty.” Jo taps the heel of her hand against the countertop lightly. She’d love the opportunity to start this entire conversation over from scratch with the foresight of knowing who was on the other line when she picked up the phone.

“I am sure, to answer your question. I think that at least one or two of the major publishing houses will be interested in this, and the success you had with your serial story inTrue Romanceis a great way to get our foot in the door. You have a track record now of writing things that your target demographic loves, and that’s extremely important, Josephine.”

Jo opens her mouth and closes it again, regrouping. “I’m so sorry,” she finally says, grateful because Martin Snell can hear her, but not see her reddened cheeks. “You’ve just caught me off guard here so completely that I’m not saying anything the way I want to.”

Martin Snell laughs. “It’s okay. You’re fine. Trust me, I get a lot of people who don’t know quite how to respond when you tell them they have what it takes to be successful at this thing that they really want to do. And, Josephine, listen to me here.”

“I am,” she says, feeling breathless.

“You have what it takes. So I need you to get back to it, finish this book, and send me the completed manuscript as soon as you can, alright?”

Jo nods, then realizes he has no clue that she’s agreeing with him. “Yes,” she says quickly. “I’m already working on it, and I’ll have something for you as soon as I can.”

“Perfect.”

They end the call and Jo stands there in her kitchen, still only wearing one earring as she looks out the window at the bright blue afternoon sky.

Someone wants to represent me as a writer, she tells herself.Someone thinks I’m talented and that I can make money at this thing. The very idea leaves her awestruck, and the first thing she wants to do is call Bill at his desk to talk about it. But she doesn’t reach for the phone again.

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