other, and they’d drift with the current, hands and feet and bottoms in the cool water, faces warmed by the sun.
Every time Bethie visited her sister, she would hope that things had changed. She knew that Jo’s unhappiness was at least partially her fault, and she worried that, in some mystical, scale-balancing way, Jo’s misery was tied to her own contentment. Maybe neither of them could be happy at the same time; maybe one had to be down for the other to be up . . . and, of course, Jo could never be happy as long as she was married to Dave Braverman.
Bethie knew more than Jo thought she did. She’d seen Jo with Shelley in Ann Arbor, and had not failed to notice the way Jo had been when she’d come home from Turkey. Even in the depths of her own terror and misery, Bethie had noticed how quiet Jo was, how she’d jerk like she’d been electrocuted every time the phone rang, how she’d look like she wanted to cry when the Ronettes came on the radio. Jo told her that she and Shelley had had a falling-out, but Bethie figured that Shelley must have been the one who’d given Jo the name of the doctor, and she suspected, even though Jo refused to confirm it, that Jo’s attendance at Shelley’s wedding was the price Jo’s former best friend had exacted for that information. Jo had met Dave at Shelley’s wedding. And Dave was not a good guy, like their father had been. Once you got past his dark eyes and his glinting grin, once you’d heard all his big talk about his businesses and his plans, you saw that there was nothing there but hot air and hairspray. Dave might have had some of their father’s mannerisms, and maybe even some of Ken Kaufman’s kindness, but Dave was mostly superficial glitter. Bethie had tried to tell her sister these things, but Jo hadn’t wanted to hear them. Leave me alone, Bethie. This is what I want.
What happened to her sister? Jo had always been the brave one, the strong one, the one who stood up to wrongdoers and jerks. Bethie might never know who, or what, had broken Jo’s spirit, but she knew she would have to be strong for her sister. She’d have to do what it took to help Jo find that spark again.
The next morning, Dave went to work, and Jo and Bethie took the girls sledding. Together, they stood at the top of the hill on the town’s golf course, watching Kim and Missy zip down on their strips of brightly colored plastic, shrieking with glee as they flew into the air after bouncing over the lip of a sand trap. “Sleds sure have changed,” Bethie remarked. “Remember the one we had?”
Jo nodded. “Dave’s got a four-man toboggan for sale at one of the stores,” Jo said. “He keeps threatening to bring it home.”
“The family that sleighs together stays together?” Bethie couldn’t see much of her sister’s face, between her knitted hat and her sunglasses, but she thought she detected a wince, and decided that this was the best opening she’d get. “Hey, so, listen. How would you feel about coming back to Blue Hill with me?”
“Back—when, now?” Jo asked. A crease appeared between her eyebrows as she frowned.
“No time like the present.” Before her sister could give her excuses, Bethie said, “I could use your help. You know we’ve been talking about opening a shop, right?”
“I know, but . . .”
Bethie kept talking. “We found a place to rent on Peachtree Road. You can help us make labels for the jams and sachets and stuff. We’ve got the inventory, we just need a car big enough to move it all. And you’ve got a station wagon.”
Jo frowned. “There’s nobody in Atlanta with a station wagon?”
There was, of course, but Jo didn’t need to know that. “I need your car, and I need your help. We’ve got to come up with a name, and figure out what the signs and the ads and the flyers should say. You’re good at that stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Words,” said Bethie. “Remember the stories you used to tell me?” A faint smile lifted the corners of Jo’s lips. “And I get the feeling that you could use a break,” Bethie continued.
The smile vanished. Jo pressed her lips together, then said, “Why would you think that?”
Because you find excuses to never be in the same room as your husband,