Page 50 of The Light Year

Jo lets Frankie take her by the hand again and lead her back out to the backyard, where someone has put on Chubby Checker’s “The Twist.” Without giving it a moment’s thought,Jo follows Frankie over to the pool deck and they start to do The Twist, laughing and smiling as some of the kids join in. Before too long, Jo loses herself in the party, pouring a second mixed drink and letting Bill throw an arm around her shoulders as he tells his coworkers a story about a time they went rafting together in Minnesota before the kids were born.

By the time the stars come out, Jo has gotten good and soused, and her joy over her beautiful children, her strong and determined husband, and the book she’s written purely from her own dedication and imagination have left her feeling giddy with joy.

The kids have gone inside to watch television while the grown ups slow dance drunkenly on the patio, and Jo looks up at Bill, arms around his neck as she lets her wet noodle weight lean against his firm body.

“Are you happy, Jojo?” he asks. She can feel the heat of his body through his shirt on this warm spring night as they sway to Percy Sledge singing “When A Man Loves A Woman.”

Jo closes her eyes and immediately feels dizzy. “Right now?”

Bill tightens his grip on her. “Sure. Now is good.”

Jo puts her head on his chest and nods. “Mmhmm. This was a good party.”

Bill chuckles lightly. “It sure was. And I’m really proud of you, Jo. You wrote this book, and it’s going to be published. That’s a huge accomplishment.”

“Well,” Jo says sleepily, “I’m not going to the moon or anything.”

Bill stops swaying abruptly and it forces Jo to open her eyes. “Hey,” he says, giving her a light shake. “We’re not competing for who can do the biggest or the most impressive thing. We’re here to support each other, and to cheer one another on. Got it?”

Jo, feeling slightly sobered by his tone, nods. “Sure. I got it. I’m proud of you, too.”

“I know,” Bill says, looking down into her eyes. Around them on the pool deck, several other couples are dancing, and Ed kisses Frankie. Baby Lucas is inside, napping in a playpen where the big kids can watch over him. Jo smiles at their friends as they enjoy the early years of parenthood and the bliss of growing a family.

“I’m tired, Bill,” Jo says, leaning against him again. “I think I had too much to drink.”

Bill laughs again as he holds her. “You might have, but you’re my famous author, so you’re allowed one evening of excess and debauchery.”

Jo opens one eye and peers around the pool: piles of children’s shoes, empty glasses from their neighborhood friends; the swaying bodies of four other couples dancing in the moonlight—none of it feels terribly debaucherous, but it will undoubtedly feel less dreamy in the light of day, as Jo fights off a hangover and picks up the yard.

She sighs and tries to forget about tomorrow. For right now, all she wants is this moment, this feeling of being a writer with a success under her belt, this feeling of being safe—in her husband’s arms.

Most of their friends have gone home, and the lights are on in the neighbors’ houses, but Jo isn’t even tempted to turn down the volume on the speaker as they dance to “Stand By Me.” All she wants is this moment. Forever.

barbie

. . .

Barbienever truly believed that her father had anything to do with her mother’s death, though a part of her believes it was an easy way to close the chapter on a marriage that had been, at many points, less than satisfactory to them both. But she wants to leave room in her heart for the idea that, perhaps, things had started out so passionately between them that some part of that love and desire lingered over the years, carrying them through the hard times.

It’s always been a dark spot on her heart, remembering the shocking way her mother had simply left them all, drowning in just inches of water, but it does seem plausible to her that Marion Mackey had had too much to drink that night, and had wandered off of her own accord. For all her father’s faults, Barbie can’t imagine him doing anything to physically harm her mother, and that will always be her final determination—because it has to be. Believing anything other than that will upend her carefully constructed narrative about who she is and where she comes from.

But now… now, Barbie is on her own. Since Marion’s death, the bonds between Barbie and the men in her family have beentenuous, at best, but her father has given her an ultimatum that she actually kind of understands. There’s too much of Marion in Barbie—she brings too many reminders of her mother with her, and though her father presents himself to the world as strong and unflappable, his late wife was always able to get under his skin, and now Barbie does the same.

But it’s hard, Barbie thinks, to know that the relationship she’s always had with her family has changed irrevocably—and over money, which, in her mind, is no reason for a family to be divided. But it’s not just about money, and she knows that. It’s about control, about power, about prestige, about appearances… the list goes on and on. And because Barbie didn’t want to play into all those values that her father and brother hold dear, she’s been cut out of the family. With her inheritance, but still. They’ve washed their hands of her. Looked at Todd with pity, as if to say: “She’s your problem now.” Told her she’s not one of them anymore.

And now, as Barbie stands beneath the hot spring sun, handing out water and juice with a smile in the middle of a park in Palm Bay, she realizes that more than ever. She is every inch her mother’s daughter, kneeling down before a little girl in a plain dress, asking her if she’s thirsty as she waits to see the doctors and dentists that Barbie has helped to gather for this event.

“What’s your name?” Barbie asks the small girl with her hair in braids and her skinned knees.

“Althea,” the girl says softly. She is shy, maybe four years old, and standing next to a tired-looking woman who must be her mother.

“It’s nice to meet you, Althea. I’m Barbie. Do you want some juice?” Althea nods at her, and Barbie hands her a small paper cup. She looks at Althea’s mother. “We’re so happy you could make it today.”

In the way of many people Barbie has encountered who are on the receiving end of resources, the woman nods politely, remaining quiet. Barbie has learned a lot about need and lack of resources and about people in general as she’s worked alongside Carrie and gotten her foundation up and running. It’s all been incredibly eye-opening.

“Hey, Barb?” Carrie is walking across the park now, a large hat shielding her face from the sun as she carries a box of animal crackers under one arm. She’s holding her daughter’s hand with the other. “Are there more snacks in the trunk of your car?”

Barbie smiles at Althea and her mother one last time and then turns to Carrie. “Sure. I have more. Do you want my keys?”

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