Page 29 of Starlight & Dark Nights

It’s his tone; Jo can hear it and sense that something is up with Bill. She stirs the spaghetti with one hand on her hip, keeping a side-eye turned towards her husband.

“I read your stories,” he says when they’re alone. Bill opens his briefcase, pulls out the magazines, and lets them land on the kitchen table with a slap that's almost accusatory. At the sound, Jo nearly drops the wooden spoon in her hand. “I don’t know what you were thinking, Josephine.” Bill’s voice is quiet, but his tone is grave. “That entire story is about us.”

Jo turns her back to the stove, leaning against the counter. “Bill…”

He holds up a hand and lowers his gaze. They stand there like that for what feels like an eternity. “Do you understand how invasive that is for me?” Bill puts one hand on the back of a kitchen chair and leans on it like his back is hurting him. He shakes his head before looking right at his wife. “I opened that story only to find that you’d written about us up on the roof of the house on that hot summer night. That wasours, Jo. That’sourstory.”

“Of course it is. I know it is,” Jo says, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s our private story, Bill. And I shouldn’t have written about the roof. You are so right. I’m sorry.” She searches his face and waits to see what more he’ll say.

“And the rest of it…my job. The things I go through as an astronaut and as a man…” Bill’s words trail off and he stands there, looking forlorn. “I can’t stand knowing that women all over this country have read our story and that they know about how I feel.”

Jo is tempted to tell him that, most likely, the women who read her story aren’t all that interested in the day-to-day inner workings of an astronaut’s job, and that they’re far more interested in what happens between Maxine and Winston, but she realizes that this isn’t the time to interrupt. Instead, she nods. “I’m sorry, Bill,” Jo whispers. “I’m so sorry. I just felt like us coming here was such a changing, formative thing for me—for us—and it really inspired me. I just started writing, and that’s what came out. I couldn’t help it.”

“But you could,” Bill says firmly, finally raising his voice.

Nancy comes out of her room then, book in hand. “Hi, Daddy,” she says, looking back and forth between her parents. “How was your day?”

Bill puts a hand to the back of his neck and rubs it before answering. “It was fine, Nance. Your mom and I are talking now, sweetheart. Would you mind giving us a few minutes before dinner?”

“Actually,” Jo says, untying the apron that’s around her waist. She lifts the neck loop over her head and passes the apron to Nancy. “Honey, I want you to keep stirring the pasta sauce, okay? Your dad and I will be outside.”

Jo motions at the sliding door to the pool deck, and they walk out, closing it behind them. She folds her arms across her chest, watching through the window as Nancy props up her book on the kitchen counter, puts the apron over her head and ties it at the waist, and begins to stir the pasta sauce absentmindedly while keeping her eyes on the book she’s reading.

“Okay,” Jo says, sitting on the edge of a pool chair. She looks at Bill and waits for him to go on. He’s the one who has things to say here, not her.

Bill throws his hands in the air and turns around, pacing in the grass towards the fence line. “Well, I can’t ask for a retraction, Jo. There’s nothing to be done now, but I’m currently under a microscope at work. Everything I do is up for scrutiny, and having this story out there feels damn near humiliating.”

Jo is gobsmacked. “Bill…how? How is it humiliating to have people read a story about a person who feels real? Whose troubles are real ones? Nowhere in it does it say that the story is about you, and I don’t even use my married name when I write.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. You think I didn’t notice that you went by Josephine White instead of Josephine Booker? I noticed.” Bill jabs a finger at his own chest. “I noticed.”

Jo sighs heavily. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. I understand that you’re upset, and I wish I could do something to make you feel better, but I think it’s obvious that you want to be mad at me.”

“That Iwantto be mad at you? Jo,” Bill says, walking in circles as he puts his hands to both temples. “Why would I want to be mad at you? You’re my wife. My partner. The mother of my children. I want us to be on the same page, and I definitely don’t want us to be on opposite sides of the fence. But if you’re going to disclose the most personal parts of my life—of our life together—then I feel like I can’t trust you.”

This hits Jo like a blow to the chest. “You can’t…trust me?” She blinks repeatedly, trying to hold the tears at bay. Trust is everything in a marriage, and until now, it’s never been in question—for either of them.

Bill looks at her with wounded eyes. “You know what a private person I am. You know that I don’t share things about myself with just anyone. The idea that you were letting strangers read the most private parts of my life just bothers me on a deep level, Jo. Can’t you see that? I feel exposed. I feel like you’ve shared me without my permission. I had no say in this, and that bothers me most of all.”

Jo swallows hard and holds back her tears. Betraying Bill has never been her intention, and she takes the accusation seriously. Very seriously. “I never meant to share things about you, Bill. I just started writing and it felt so good, so cathartic. It helped me to work through some of the things I was feeling to just be able to open up—even on the page, even to people I didn’t know—and to put some of my thoughts and emotions out there. I know that’s selfish, but sometimes I need to talk about things, and baby, I have to tell you,” Jo says, shaking her head as she sits on the edge of the chair, looking up at her husband, “you aren’t always much of a talker. That’s hard for me. I can’t approach you, and I can’t talk about you with you. I needed to think and write and process the parts of our life that are difficult for me. Can you see that?” she pleads, one hand pressed to her chest.

Inside the house, Nancy flips on the kitchen light, which illuminates the dining room area. Jo looks at Bill as he turns his back to her, folding his arms over his chest.

“I don’t like it, Jo. I feel betrayed. I can’t help it, and I know that’s extreme and maybe feels a bit dramatic,” he says, turning halfway around so that he can glance at his wife, “but I feel hurt by this. I have a lot going on at work, and a lot of people thinking that maybe I’m not fit to do my job, and to feel like my own wife doesn’t think I’m approachable or that I’m someone she can talk to…that really hurts me.”

Jo stands slowly, walking up behind Bill like she’s approaching a horse that might spook. He turns back to the fence, and Jo slides in behind him, putting her hands on his waist and letting them move around so that she’s holding him around his midsection. She puts her cheek to his strong back and tightens her embrace.

“Bill. I never meant to hurt you, or betray your confidence, or make you feel like I couldn’t talk to you. I just have some things in my heart that are bothering me, and they came out on the page.”

Bill is silent, but Jo can feel him breathing. When he finally speaks, it’s calm, and he sounds almost fearful.

“You know what really bothers me, Jo?”

“What?” Jo closes her eyes, keeping her cheek pressed to his back. “What bothers you most?”

“The way you wrote all this under a different name. It’s like you were trying to hide it from me. Like you wanted to get away with something and that I’d never find out.”

Jo pulls away but stays behind him, her arms loosely holding his torso. “No, that’s not why I used my maiden name, Bill. It’s not. I just wasn’t sure about you having a wife in the public eye at all. I didn’t know if that would be something that could fall back on you, and this seemed like a fun hobby. A lark. I thought I might write a few short stories and make a few bucks and that would be it.”

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