Page 43 of The Light Year

“You’re right,” she says. “Jimmy will be out of high school. We should probably think about taking him to a college campus and planting that seed for him. What would you think about sending him to visit my parents so he can see the University of Minnesota?”

Bill leans back in his chair, letting the paper rest on his lap. He takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure about that.”

Jo frowns. “Why not? A visit with his grandparents might be good for him. And I can’t say I’d be sad to have him going to college back home.”

“It’s back home for you, Jo,” Bill says gently. “But we’ve lived here since he was still in grade school. All his friends are here now. His sports. His parents and sisters. Do you really think he’ll want to ship off from the land of sunshine and surf to live in frozen Minnesota?”

Jo swats at Bill across the table. “It’s not frozen!” she protests with a laugh. “At least not all year.”

Bill lowers his chin and looks at her. “Aside from all that, I think he’s got some other ideas.”

This is news to Jo; she’s been so busy working on her book, imagining the time travel between her main characters, crafting the romance, and getting the pages typed out and turned in, thatshe honestly hasn’t checked in with her children the way she likes to or knows that she should.

“What other ideas?” Jo asks cautiously. Knowing her children and their hopes and dreams is a big part of who Jo is, and she feels as though Bill knowing more than she does is a sign of her failure as a mother.

Bill won’t look her in the eye. “He’s talked about the military.”

“When?” Jo huffs. Her voice has gone up an octave and a decibel, and Bill glances around before meeting her gaze.

Bill shrugs. “One evening when we were out playing catch together in the yard.”

Jo is miffed. The idea that she’d been inside the house, cleaning up after they’d all eaten her meat loaf or her pork chops and green beans, while Bill got to be the one outside bonding with Jimmy just doesn’t sit right with her. She’s the boy’s mother, after all; shouldn’t the years of kissing boo-boos, tying shoelaces, taking him to the dentist, and tucking him in at night while leaving the hall light on buy her some sort of first dibs when it comes to Jimmy’s plans and dreams? Apparently not.

“No,” Jo says without thinking. “Absolutely not.”

A cloud passes over Bill’s face. “Absolutely not what?”

“The military, Bill. No.” Jo can feel vehemence rising in her chest. “I’m not letting our only son get shipped off to Vietnam,” she says, putting her empty mimosa glass on the table between them. “It’s out of the question.”

“Jo,” he says in a measured tone. “I served in Korea. Your dad was in the Second World War. We’re a family of men who don’t shy away from our duties.”

“And I admire that,” Jo says hotly. “But my son doesn’t need to be a hero. He needs to be alive.”

Bill leans forward across the table, dropping his voice so that only she can hear it. “Jo,” he warns her. “We’re on a cruise withpeople our age and older. The majority of the men you see here fought for our freedom, and did so with honor. Don’t let them hear you denigrating their service.”

“I’m not,” Jo says. “I admire the people who’ve served our country, and you know I’m grateful, but…” Her eyes fill with tears and she reaches for her coffee as a distraction, holding the cup in both hands. “I can’t let Jimmy do that.”

This isn’t the time or the place for them to start talking about such things, and so instead of pushing the issue, Bill reaches out and takes her hand, and they sit there quietly together, watching the waves as they pass over them, making their way to shore.

There will be plenty of time to discuss the children and the things they agree and don’t agree on when it comes to the kids’ futures. On Tuesday, they’ll be back in Dr. Sheinbaum’s office.

Jo sits there in her chair until the very last possible moment, then goes back to the stateroom to pack her small suitcase with the dresses she’d worn dancing on the ship, the swimsuit she’s rinsed but that still smells like chlorine, and the tiny lingerie bag full of her unmentionables. She knows it’s a trip she won’t forget, but she can’t help wondering whether these days with Bill have truly re-cemented their relationship, or whether they’ve just been a band-aid to hold things together while they wait for the next tidal wave to knock them down.

barbie

. . .

The needsof just her own community and its surrounding areas are staggering to Barbie. She’s taken to spending Huck’s naptime making phone calls, and with each day that passes, she has information on more programs that need funding, assistance, and volunteers.

“It’s so much,” Barbie says to Carrie breathlessly as they walk around the perimeter of Cape Kennedy. It was Carrie’s idea to start a Walk-a-thon to raise money for the library in the same neighborhood as the First Baptist Gospel Church, and the PR department at NASA had been on board with them doing the fundraiser on a Saturday by mapping a route around the edges of the property, so long as they could invite full press coverage of the event.

Carrie twists her long ponytail as they walk, tossing it back over her shoulder. It’s an overcast day in mid-February, and she and Barbie are walking a few yards behind Jo and Jude. Frankie, who has baby Lucas with her, is pushing him in a pram with large wheels, wandering around the parking lot slowly and waving at them as they pass.

“You mean the needs of the people we’ve been working with?” Carrie says, guessing the direction of Barbie’s thoughts.

“Yes! Just from talking to Sam Watkins, I’ve realized that the things we do only scratch the surface of what their neighborhood needs.”

Carrie pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and looks at Barbie. “You and Sam have really hit it off.” It’s not a suggestive comment, but Barbie is hyper-aware that she and Sam have forged a bond that could look, to outsiders, like something closer than it is.

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