Page 34 of The Light Year

“Who is going to insist that you get what’s yours? A lawyer,” Jo says definitively. “That’s who. And we’re going to make it happen.”

Bill and Jo’s first appointment with Dr. Sheinbaum is during the second week of December. Jo has a lot on her plate in terms of the children, the holiday shopping and planning, writing the first draft of her book, and worrying about Barbie’s situation, which she’s taken on like a personal mission.

“You ready for this?” Bill asks her as he swings the car into the parking lot of the building where Dr. Sheinbaum has her office. He turns off the car and they sit there as the engine clicks and cools down.

Jo is quiet. She worries at the edge of her skirt, plucking at a stray thread. “I think so,” she says.

Initially, it had been her belief that by attending a sort of couple’s therapy, she and Bill might work through some things that feel like stumbling blocks between them. His resistance tothe idea had felt like a denial on his part, which had bothered Jo; was she the only one who felt the distance as they lay in bed next to each other in the dark? Was he saying that she truly had no reason to worry about his friendship—or his work relationship or whatever it was—with Jeanie Florence?

“Look,” Bill says, putting both hands on the steering wheel as he stares at the palm tree right in front of the car. “Dr. Sheinbaum will challenge you. She can ask questions that feel… uncomfortable. I want you to be prepared for that. But she is helpful. She’ll make you think. So don’t be afraid, okay?”

Jo turns just her head so that she’s looking at her husband’s profile. “I’m not afraid,” she says firmly. “Are you?”

Bill laughs so softly that it’s almost imperceptible. “I’m afraid almost every day of my life, Jo,” he says in a low, monotone voice. “And somehow I get through each day and wake up grateful that I’m still here, and that I have another chance to get it right.”

Jo watches him, searching his expression for clues. “Did it make you feel less afraid to talk to Dr. Sheinbaum?”

“Sometimes,” Bill says honestly. “And sometimes it made me more afraid.”

Jo nods. “Okay. That’s fair.”

Bill pulls the keys from the ignition and puts his hand on Jo’s knee. He finally meets her eye. “We should go in,” he says. “We’re here now, and it would be rude not to.”

Jo gathers her purse and opens the door to the slightly cooler December air. The sky is a dusky blue, and though it’s five o’clock in the evening, they’re only about forty-five minutes from the sun setting. She and Bill walk together through the parking lot, her hand in the crook of his arm, but the touch feels like it’s borne out of habit for him, and out of fear of the unknown for her. Regardless, Jo hangs on tightly until they’re standing outside of Dr. Sheinbaum’s office.

Bill looks at her expectantly. “Shall we?” he asks, tipping his head at the closed door.

Jo nods. “Yes,” she says, feeling anxious. “We should.”

As they cross the threshold, it feels momentous—momentous, and also like the simplest thing they’ve ever done.

When they sit, Jo holds her purse in her lap, crossing her fingers beneath the folds of her skirt so that Bill won’t see her silly, childish gesture.

This has to help them understand one another better.It has to work, Jo thinks, because if it doesn’t, she’s worried that their marriage will crack right down the middle, and that they may never see eye to eye again.

At Dr. Sheinbaum’s prompting, Jo takes a deep breath and starts talking.

barbie

. . .

The holidays arehard for anyone who has lost a loved one, but for Barbie, Christmas is always missing something with her mother gone. The tree is twinkling, the kids are excited, and the music puts her in the right spirit, but Barbie’s mother had always been the one to make the magic happen. She’d planned dinners and made sure that cookies and treats came out of the giant house’s kitchen as if on a conveyer belt, which Barbie took full advantage of.

Huck is old enough for Barbie to take the boys to see Santa Claus, and she’s looking forward to doing that at the holiday party that NASA is throwing for families. Todd is feeling almost entirely better than he had immediately after his return from space, which is an immense relief, as his stress over potentially needing surgery had grown. Barbie realized while he was off work to recuperate that the version of Todd who wasn’t involved in work and at NASA was an unsettled, unfocused version of her husband. She isn’t eager to revisit that again—ever.

And while the silent struggle between Barbie and her father and brother rages on, she’s keeping herself busy withvolunteering alongside Carrie, and making her own plans for how a foundation might integrate into her new community.

Finding a lawyer who can help her has proven to be easy enough, and she’s currently sitting in the lobby of her attorney’s office in Cocoa Beach, waiting for him to usher her in. At her feet, Barbie has a few bags of Christmas toys and gifts that she’s purchased for the boys, who are playing at Carrie’s house while she’s talking to the lawyer, and she glances into the bag now, pleased that she’s found Troll Dolls for Heath and Henry, who have come home from school talking of nothing else since a friend got one for his birthday.

“Mrs. Roman?” a young attorney in a navy-blue suit stands in the doorway smiling at her. Barbie looks up, surprised; she’d expected to be led in by a secretary, but Jasper Wilkins, Esquire stands there before her, smiling at Barbie and her bags of toys. “Would you like a hand with all of that?”

Barbie blushes. She should have dropped her things off in the trunk of her car, but she’s parked a couple of blocks away and thought she might just shop her way to the lawyer’s office—which it seems is just what she’s done.

She laughs and hands two bags to Mr. Wilkins. “Thank you so much,” she says, taking three more bags in her hands and putting her purse over her arm.

They walk down the hall to a closed office and Barbie sets all of her bags near the chair before sinking into it.

“Let’s cut right to the chase, since you’re paying me by the hour,” Jasper Wilkins says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting behind a large, polished wood desk. “I understand you want to discuss an inheritance that’s being questioned, right?”

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