Page 41 of The Light Year

“Cheers,” Bill says, putting the rim of his glass to Jo’s and clinking it. “To us, and to a few days of peace and quiet.”

Jo sips her cocktail and turns to face the open water. She is, of course, happy to have this time with her husband, but there’s still a nagging part of her that isn’t sure whether five days together will be the balm that soothes all the little cuts and scrapes that they’ve incurred over the past few years.

All around them, people are cheering, and a speaker plays tropical steel drum music to put the crowd in a festive mood. Jo smiles at Bill and then looks out at the sea.

“Bill,” she says, resting her elbows on the railing and holding her drink in both hands. “This was a good idea. And I’m glad that you finally agreed to talk to Dr. Sheinbaum.”

“But?”

“But,” Jo says on a sigh. “I feel like a lot has happened, and I’m not sure how to bridge some of the gaps between us.”

“Isn’t this a start?” Bill says in a low voice, moving closer to her so that no one will overhear their conversation.

“Yes.” Jo nods. “It is. We’re making time for us now. But moving to Florida was hard, and finding my way here was hard too. I didn’t come here with a mission, like you did, and when I tell you that you dove into it and lost yourself in work, I mean it.”

Bill glances around; he’s clearly uncomfortable having this discussion amid a group of strangers.

“Don’t get me wrong, Bill—I’m proud of you. And so are the kids. You’re part of an elite group that gets to do things that others only dream of, but it doesn’t mean that those of us left on the ground don’t have feelings, too.”

Those feelings, which Jo deals with all the time, suddenly come spilling forth and she catches a sob before it escapes, putting the back of her hand to her lips and closing her eyes.

“Jojo,” Bill whispers, touching her arm. He takes the drink from her other hand and leads her away from the railing to a quiet spot under an overhang. Bill nods at a chair and Jo sits while he puts their drinks on a small, round table next to her. He sits and leans forward in his chair so that their knees are nearly touching. “I know this has been hard. And I admire all the things you’ve done to make Stardust Beach a home for us. You really put yourself out there by jumping into volunteering at the hospital, and your writing…” Bill looks out into the distance for a moment, blinks, and looks back at her. “Your writing was hard for me at first. You’d found something that you clearly felt passionate about, and it kept you up at night until all hours. I felt like you were going in a different direction—one that I couldn’t follow.”

Jo is incredulous. “Seriously? You felt likeIwas going in a different direction? Bill, you were headed towards themoon. How do the kids and I compete with that?”

“You don’t have to,” Bill says simply. Their fellow cruise-goers wander by in dresses and slacks, talking cheerfully about what they’ll do in the Bahamas, stopping to pose for pictures with the ocean behind them, and debating how much they’ll be able to eat at the dinner buffet. Bill waits for the knot of people to pass before he goes on. “You don’t have to compete, Jo. Not you, not the children. You’re my reason—if I go to the moon andcome back to anything but the four of you, then what was the point?”

Jo’s chest heaves; her intention all along has been to go on this cruise and reconnect with her husband, not to dump her feelings on Bill the moment they’ve left solid ground.

Jo suddenly feels like she can’t breathe. She bends at the waist, letting her head fall towards her knees. Bill looks around at the people walking by, then reaches over and puts a hand on her back.

“Jojo,” he whispers. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jo nods, but doesn’t lift her head. “I’m fine, Bill. I’m always fine. I have to be.”

“You don’t,” he assures her. “It’s okay not to be okay sometimes. Dr. Sheinbaum taught me that.”

Jo laughs a little, and when she finally lifts her head and looks at Bill, he’s startled.

“Oh,” he says. “I thought you were crying.”

“No,” she says, laughing even more and feeling like she’s been through an entire storm of emotions in less than five minutes. “I’m actually laughing.”

Bill’s eyes are dark with worry and concern. “But at what? What made you laugh all of a sudden?”

Jo breathes in deeply, straightens her shoulders, and wipes the tears off her cheeks. “I guess it was just the mention of Dr. Sheinbaum,” she says. “So much of what we’ve been through now involves her, and it just struck me as funny that the three of us are in this together.”

A deep frown creases Bill’s brow. “It might feel that way,” he says, “but in reality, it’s just you and me, Jo.”

“Oh, it is not,” she says firmly, her smile fading. “It’s not and it’s never been.” As they square off with one another, the ship pushes farther away from shore, and all they can see inthe distance is blue water. “First there was Margaret—she was always there, even when she wasn’t.”

Bill drops his eyes and his shoulders visibly round as he slumps forward. “Jo,” he says in weak protest. “Don’t.”

But Jo has just gotten started. “And then there was Jeanie Florence.” Bill is clearly about to say more as his head snaps up and he meets Jo’s gaze, but she goes on rapidly. “And don’t you deny that, William Booker. You’ve had eyes for her, and even a blind woman could see it. I don’t know what’s gone on there, but it needs to stop.”

Bill’s silence speaks volumes, and instead of replying, he puts his elbows on his knees and simply listens.

The deck has cleared—at least where they’re sitting—and so Jo stands, turning her back to Bill and her eyes to the water. “And now we have Dr. Eve Sheinbaum in our business.” Jo glances back at her husband, folding her arms across her chest. Their Harvey Wallbangers have been sitting on the table and the ice is melting, leaving puddles of condensation as the maraschino cherries bob in the vodka and fresh orange juice.

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