October Snow (28 page)

“We have marshmallow topping in there, and we didn’t use it.” She scooped more ice cream into their bowls. “Let’s get it right this time.”

They assembled their second helpings, and Max was relieved that Jo seemed more centered again; at the same time, she felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if a better friend for Jo would be someone who didn’t depend so much on her being centered.

She came out of her reverie as Jo broke the silence. “You know, Bim, these women–these
females
–like Shelly…” She paused, considering her words. “It’s like they give aid and comfort to the enemy. No. It’s even worse than that. They
encourage
guys like Keith.” She scraped the last of the marshmallow from the jar with her finger, leaving a trail of it on her lips as she said, “You old enough to remember ‘the sisterhood’?”

“Yup. Don’t do unto another woman what he already did unto her.”

“That’s the credo.”

“I’m often amazed–no, disgusted–at what a woman will do to feel superior to other women. By the way, did they get married in a church?”

Jo rolled her eyes, sighing. “From what I hear, yes.”

“How did they manage that? Keith’s divorced.”

“You mean a church wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, please. Like churches don’t ignore the Bible when it defies their homemade theology? I’m sure they found a way to redefine it as biblical.” She turned to look out the window, her face slack.

Max had a flash of memory of their first visit to the house, and the look of childlike joy on Jo’s face as the seagulls flocked around them, scrambling for the chips she tossed in the air. The contrast between the two moments made clear to her the heavy regret she felt that day: once upon a time, her friend had been a happy, loving person, with dreams, and ideas–and hope. Someone’s sister, daughter, mother, friend. But she had also been Keith’s wife. The person that Jo once was, and the woman she might have been, were gone.

In a rush of anger–which felt strangely, vaguely familiar–Max saw that the woman sitting with her now had been beaten down to this place she was merely existing in, where she looked forward to nothing, anticipated nothing, just beaten to…

Beaten to death
.

“
No
.” It went through her with a jolt, and Max said it out loud before she could stop herself. But the idea had revealed itself to her now, and she didn’t know what to do with it.

Jo glanced at her, curious. “No, what?”

Max clasped her hands under her chin, leaning on the table. She was trembling slightly. “No, I don’t think that’s possible.” She hoped that would cover for her outburst.

“I’m sorry, Bim. You look really upset.”

“No, it’s okay. Really it is.” She rubbed her eyes, buying a few moments to compose herself by taking the towel off of her hair. “I’m going to hang this up. Be right back.”

“I’ll watch the ice cream. It’s safe in my hands.”

“I’ll bet.” It was unnerving, the way Jo could change tempo like that–from the depths of despair to cracking a joke. Max hurried to the bathroom, closing the door most of the way and hanging the wet towel on the hook that was there.

She leaned her head against the back of the door for a moment, wondering if she was overreacting. She went through the recent, more troubling moments with Jo, rapidly putting together snippets of her friend’s behavior–especially in the weeks leading to their getaway–and she knew with a searing certainty that she wasn’t imagining it: Jo didn’t care about living anymore, and that was only a brief step away from dying.

Max thought of her father. One of his favorite lines had always been, “If your conclusion makes the pieces fit together, then you’ve arrived at the truth.”

The truth was, Jo needed one of those heroes she so often despaired over.

Catching her reflection in the mirror, she decided it was time to stop kidding around. To stop needing so much for Jo to be some kind of mentor to her; perhaps, to try to shield her, when she could, from becoming everyone else’s protector. It was well beyond the time to help her friend.

As she looked into her own eyes, she wondered how, exactly, people became heroes.

Dave sat at the foot of the bed, hands clasped between his knees, his head down. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t know.” She had been direct, almost brutal in telling him about the baby. “I’m figuring, about twelve weeks.”

He nodded, burying his face in his hands. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.” She bit her lip, turning to look out the window, as she shook her head a couple of times to stifle the tears. She had again made a mess of what should have been a joyous thing, and she wasn’t going to manipulate mercy from him. “I really am.”

“I know why you didn’t. You were confused. Scared, I’m sure.”

She felt a flash of annoyance, and pushed it down fast, keeping her voice level. “No, Dave. Don’t do that. That’s not true. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

He looked up, surprised.

“I don’t want anyone excusing me anymore. It’s enough. I’ve cost everyone
enough
.” She turned from the window, meeting his eyes. “Tyler needs a mother who acts like an adult, not a reckless, thirty-eight-year-old teenager. I was going to have this fantasy here with you, then take off for Strafford, and figure the rest out later. Or rather,” she sat at the small, mahogany table by the window, looking at him with the defiance of someone who was going for broke, “I was going to let
you
figure it out. Because that’s what I’ve always done, and by the way, I’m fed up with myself.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t read his eyes as he studied her, but she hated the disappointment in his voice. “No matter what else happens, I promise you that with everything in me, I’m going to make sure this is the last time I screw you over. You, Ty,
anyone
.” She looked at her hand, at the ring that sparkled there, knowing that her heart would break when she took it off.

“When did this epiphany happen?”

She thought he might be mocking her, but his expression was authentically concerned, even kind. “Just over the past week or two. It occurred to me that day I left Mom’s house.” She stared out the window again, wanting him to yell, or throw something, or at least regard her with the contempt she felt for herself. “Too bad it didn’t take hold until now. This is going to be an absolute disaster for Ty.” She thought she couldn’t look at him, but she forced herself. “
And
for you–you deserve so much better.”

He tensed. “That’s enough, Samantha.”

His tone was harsh. It was an unexpected rebuke, and she stared at him silently.

“Better than you.” He chuckled, a short burst of sarcastic laughter. “Better than
you
? Okay, you don’t want to be coddled?” He stood; his effort to control his anger was obvious. He took the chair across from her. “Then I won’t coddle you. Sure, you’ve been a handful for the past few years, and we’ve had a tough time of it. But better than
you
? Look around.” He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms, taking in the opulence of the spacious room, the antique furnishings, the paintings she had picked herself, years ago. His gaze rested on the picture of Tyler on the nightstand. “Everything I have, I have because of you.” He ran his hands through his hair, clasping them on top of his head. “So for a little while, you were gone. And it hurt. You messed up–but so did
I
, you know. And now you’re back. We’re back, and there’s something here that we need to deal with.
But
…” He leaned in close to her, holding her eyes on his, “don’t sit there and erase the entirety of your life, and all that you are–all that you gave
me
–just because you’re angry at yourself. How is that any different than what you’ve been doing?”

She looked down at her hand again.

“Don’t touch that ring.”

Her head snapped up. She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. “What?”

“You’ve decided you want to do things differently. Is your first move going to be that you break your word?”

“Break my word…?”

“You made a commitment. You promised to marry me. Are you walking away?”

“I don’t see how we can…”

“Then
damn
it, Samantha,
let’s figure it out
.”

She thought that she couldn’t accept it–that the baby was, to him, just an issue that they simply needed to work out.

“Answer me. Are you walking away? Because I’m
not
. If you really want to change your life, this is a great time to show it.” His heart was pounding; he knew how precarious the situation was at that moment. “Remember what I said? A little faith. You make your decision, and we work the rest out from there.”

He held his hand out, determined–and more frightened than he could remember being–as he waited for her to decide whether or not she would take it.

As she took his hand, she wondered how she had ever left the man.

Jo was standing on the deck with a cigarette, looking out at the lake when Max came back. “Got the pack out here?” she asked.

Jo pointed to the table. “I didn’t like upsetting you, Bim. I know it’s a bizarre story. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.” She lit one for herself, turning the chair to face the water and propping her legs on the table. “Chilly tonight.”

Jo nodded, lost in thought.

Max wanted her to talk, about anything, about everything; but at the same time, she worried that she didn’t have Jo’s abilities in helping people, in reaching in to another’s soul, and pulling them away from whatever was destroying them.

Then I’ll do it my way
. “You thinking about the boys?”

Jo looked at her with some surprise at her bluntness, then nodded again.

Max persisted. “You must miss them, Jo. A lot.”

“I do.”

“So what else is on your mind?”

“Going for another misery moment, Bim?” she grinned, then turned back to the lake.

Max didn’t answer, and after a few moments, Jo turned to face her.

“No foolin’ around, huh?”

Max shook her head.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you’d like to tell me. I’d like to know
you
.”

“Please. You do. More than anyone else, anyway.”

“That’s not saying a whole lot.”

She was determined, that much was obvious. Resigned, Jo sat across from her. “I’m really not sure what to say.” She crushed out her cigarette, lighting another right away, looking to Max as if for some kind of direction.

“You never told me about the work you did at the crisis center.”

“That’s right. It never came up.” She didn’t want to discuss it, not then. She had already spent what seemed like hours talking about herself, revealing things that she was sure made her look crazy.

“Yes it did.”

Jo felt the anxiety–even anger–creeping in, but she managed a smile. “I’m kind of worn out, Bim. Maybe we can pick it back up later?”

“You know we won’t.”

What’s it to you?
Jo wondered, feeling backed into a corner–like she had marooned herself in the middle of nowhere with someone who wanted to invade her thoughts. “Later, okay?”

“Fine.” Max got up, pushing her chair back with enough force that it tipped precariously. As she steadied it, she took in Jo’s expression: startled, yet guarded. And, perhaps, just a little fearful–and for that, Max felt her stomach turn over.

Instead of following her inclination to apologize, to cover it over, she decided to push. “Jo, there’s something going on with you, and I’m afraid.” She pulled the chair back to the table. “I don’t know what it is, and it scares me.”

Eyebrows raised, Jo looked at her with sarcastic curiosity.

“And you know,” Max sighed as she sat down, “I don’t think you know what it is either.”

“Well now, that’s some deep amateur psychoanalysis there, Max.”

“And that’s some deep condescension, for someone who cares about you, Jo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are. You’re just pissed off because…What? I touched on some kind of an emotional sacred cow?”

“Back off, Maxine.” She crossed her legs and folded her arms, and Max looked her up and down.

“Look at you, Jo! You don’t have to be a psychoanalyst to read the body language. It’s like you slam a door or something.”