Page 33 of The Light Year

jo

. . .

The first draftof her book is coming along nicely, and as Christmas approaches, Jo is getting more and more excited to hand it over to Martin Snell, her literary agent, and see what he can do with it.

Her evening walks with Frankie have been curtailed for the time being as Frankie adjusts to motherhood and the whims of a newborn, and Jo has been using that time to be with her own kids, and to get more written than she normally does.

One evening in early December, after she’s showed Nancy how to knit a scarf, talked to Jimmy about a book report he’s doing for his sophomore English class onThe Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and discussed the true meaning of Christmas with Kate (which, Jo has emphasized, isnotgetting a Barbie Dreamhouse or a pair of sparkly red shoes like Dorothy wears inThe Wizard of Oz), she’s setting her typewriter up at the kitchen table when Bill walks in. He’s missed dinner, though that’s not unusual for him to do once or twice a week, and he looks like he’s driven home with the top down. His hair looks windblown, and his cheeks are ruddy.

“Jo,” he says in a hoarse voice, setting his briefcase down by the door. He looks oddly guilty and also somewhat worried, which puts Jo on alert.

“Yes?” She sets a stack of fresh white paper next to her typewriter and stands there, looking at her husband.

“I think we should go and see Dr. Sheinbaum. Together.”

Jo is stunned; she isn’t sure what to say. When Dr. Sheinbaum had cleared Bill mid-year, she’d offered to see them as a couple, but Bill had been adamant that it was unnecessary. For her part, Jo had been on board with the idea.

“Really?” she asks, eyebrows lifted. Bill nods, but says nothing. “Alright,” Jo says, giving him a slight nod. “If that’s what you want.”

Bill returns her nod and then leaves the kitchen with no mention of dinner at all, leaving Jo standing there, listening to his footsteps as he walks down the hall towards their bedroom.

Well, she thinks.This is an interesting turn of events.

Baby Lucas is squalling and red-faced, and it’s obvious that each of the women is dying to step in and offer to take him; to walk him, soothe him, and offer Frankie advice. But they all bite their tongues as she switches him from one arm to the other, trying to calm him down.

“So,” Jo says to Barbie as they sit under an umbrella that they’ve wedged into the sand on the beach. “That was quite a party!”

Barbie is peeling an orange as she tilts her head to one side. “It was nice,” she says noncommittally.

“What a husband you have, throwing you a surprise party!” Jo goes on. She’s digging through a wicker picnic basket forindividually wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which the kids will want as they come running up the sand after frolicking in the surf.

“Todd is wonderful,” Barbie agrees, but there is something in her eye that catches Jo’s attention; she seems lost in thought, and Jo lets the topic go.

“So,” Carrie interjects, slapping Barbie on her bare thigh lightly. “Barbie and I are doing a big Christmas event at the First Baptist Church of the Gospel, and you should all join us, if you can.”

“You’ve gotten really involved there,” Jude notes. She’s sipping Tab through a straw that she’s stuck into her glass bottle, and her eyes are on Barbie. “I think it’s really great what you’re doing there.”

“I’d like to do more,” Barbie says under her breath.

Jo arches one eyebrow at Carrie, who shrugs.

“Let me clarify,” Barbie goes on. “My plan has been to announce that I’m starting a foundation in my mother’s honor that will benefit people in need, but you were all at my surprise party, so you saw how that turned out.”

She explains to the women what her intentions had been, how she’d planned to fund the whole thing with the inheritance from her mother, and how it had all gone sideways.

“Wait, your dad co-opted the event to turn it into something that benefits him?” Jo asks, wrinkling her nose distastefully.

“That is exactly what he did.” Barbie tosses her orange rind onto the sand and eats a wedge of citrus as juice runs down her wrist.

“You can’t let him do that,” Frankie says, placing a lightweight blanket over her shoulder that shields Lucas from the group as she nurses him. “He can’t do that.”

Barbie looks down at the rest of the orange in her hand. “I’m not sure how to stop him.”

“We’ll help you,” Jo assures her. Barbie is one of the kindest souls she knows, and if her desire is to help others, then they can’t just sit by while her father and brother steamroll her and her ideas. There’s no way they’re going to let that happen.

“I don’t know how anyone can help me,” Barbie says. “I can’t even get a bank account without my husband signing on it, so who in the world is going to insist that my father hand a big chunk of money over to me?”

They all sit there for a beat as the ocean rushes in and out, lapping the shore. Frankie rocks Lucas, who has quieted and is contentedly having his meal. Carrie and Jude are watching the kids out at the shoreline. And Jo squints at the horizon, thinking.

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