Page 35 of Across the Universe

He frowns at her as she looks up to clock his reaction. "On us? As a family?"

"On us, as in you and me." Jo can feel a hard lump forming in her throat. "Have you told her about your… romantic feelings?"

"For you?" Bill looks as though he's working hard to keep his face completely neutral, but Jo knows him well.

"For anyone," she says, knowing that it's too late to back down now. "Have you told her whether you have feelings for anyone aside from me?"

In a display of horrible timing, the waiter stops at their table right at this moment, setting down their plates and leaving behind the distraction of steaming, fragrant food. Jo ignores the meal entirely.

"Did you tell her about the way I wrote about us? About you? Or how you spent time alone with Jeanie at The Black Hole--that time I saw you in the parking lot?"

"Jo," Bill says sternly. "Now, let's not go making a mountain out of a molehill..."

"I'm not!" Jo says, her words coming out in a higher, screechier pitch than she would have liked. "I know what I saw, Bill, and I know what I feel."

Bill glances around self-consciously; ever since the day he and the other guys were presented to the media at Cape Kennedy as the newest batch of astronaut hires, he's been far more attuned to his surroundings, to who might be watching him, and also to who might be listening.

"Keep your voice down, please," Bill says in a low, calm manner. "There's no reason for you to be shouting in here."

"I'm not!" Jo says again, but this time sheisshouting. Her nerves are frazzled, and after months and months of pretending everything is fine, that she's just the supportive wife to Bill as he goes through therapy, that she has no fears surrounding Bill's beautiful, younger coworker, a cord in her has snapped. She is unraveling. Jo shoves her chair back and stands, tossing her linen napkin onto the table. "I'm not shouting, but I am done with this, Bill. I deserve answers. I'm your wife, not your housekeeper. I'm not just here to raise your children and to occupy myself with my 'little stories,’ or to volunteer in the community to make you look better. I'm a woman with a heart. I haveneeds," she says, pointing at her chest as she says these words. Her eyes glass over with unshed, angry tears, and her vocal cords are strained. This is a speech she knows she cannot come back from. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you can't just give me a morsel here and there and expect me to feel like I'm a part of your life, Bill.I am your wife," she says tightly, holding his eyes for a long heartbeat.

Bill does not respond. He stares up at her, awed and cowed and shocked at her behavior. It’s so out of character. Jo does not yell. Jo does not make demands. She is becoming a woman he seems not to recognize, based on the look he's giving her as she stands there, heaving with emotion.

"Enjoy your dinner," Jo says, grabbing her purse from where it sits on the chair next to hers. It catches on the edge of the table cloth and she yanks it gently before she frees it, her cheeks burning with shame.

Outside, the night air is warm and traffic streams down the street. The headlights of passing cars illuminate the palm trees lining the sidewalks. Jo stalks along angrily, holding the handle of her purse as she takes long strides. The humidity causes sweat to pool in the hollow of her clavicle, and as she walks, it streams down her cleavage, sliding between her breasts. There's a pay phone ahead on the corner, and as cars fly past her, dragging their headlights across her body, Jo keeps her eyes trained ahead. She has change in her purse; she will call Frankie's house first, and then if there is no answer, she will try one of the other women. The realization that Bill himself will have to answer for why his wife is stranded on a street corner in Stardust Beach tempers the humiliation of asking to be picked up at a phone booth on a weeknight. The men at work will surely have questions for Bill if one of their wives is called to come and fetch Jo like this.

Jo is about a block from the phone booth when a car pulls to the curb and idles just feet ahead of her, its red taillights burning in the twilight. The passenger door opens, and a woman steps out.

"Jo?" Frankie asks, looking puzzled. "What the hell are you doing out here?" she calls over the rush of cars as they breeze past. "Where is Bill? Is everything okay?"

It's the sound of Frankie's voice that breaks her; Jo begins to sob.

"Come here," Frankie says, waving her over. "Get in."

And so Jo allows herself to be tucked into the backseat, her three worried, frightened-looking children squeezed to one side so that she can sit there with them. It's clear from the energy in the car that they have been laughing and talking up until this moment, but all of that is dead now as everyone watches Jo, even Ed, who is looking at her in the rearview mirror while he waits for Frankie to climb back in and close the door.

"Mommy," Kate says worriedly, her little face collapsing in fear. "What's wrong?"

Ed clears his throat. "Let's clear that up later," he says in a gruff voice. "For now, let's get you all home."

Jo rides along in silence, the headlights and taillights and streetlights blurring like a watercolor painting through her tears.

CHAPTER12

Jeanie

"Hi, Bill,"Jeanie says as she pauses in the parking lot, thermos in hand. She's taken to bringing her own giant container of coffee from home to get her through the morning, and even though it's May and the temperature is steadily climbing, she's got her warm thermos tucked under one arm, her purse hanging over her shoulder, and her lunchbox clutched in the other hand.

"Oh, hi," Bill says. He sounds stilted, and his smile is uneven. "Good morning. How are you?"

Jeanie falls into step beside him as they cross the smooth blacktop. She can sense instantly that this is not what he wants. Bill's eyes dart around the parking lot as if spies might be hiding behind the Mustangs, the Pontiacs, and the Chevrolets parked there in neat, gleaming rows.

"I'm well," Jeanie says, aiming for casual but sounding formal regardless.

It’s been a year and a half since their shared kiss in the stairwell, and Jeanie can hardly believe that much time has gone by. More importantly, she can’t believe that much time has gone by and nothing has dulled the electric feeling that pulses through her body in Bill’s presence.

Damn him! Jeanie thinks. Why should Bill Booker get to walk around this place with his head held high, thinking nothing of her all day, and then go home to his wife and children, while all she has is a roommate and a cat and thoughts of him? How isthatfair?

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