She was liberal with her hugs and kisses, and happiest when she had her newest grandbaby in her arms. Every year, someone would be having some kind of crisis, either romantic or financial. Harold’s mother would invite the suffering son or daughter up into her bedroom, where, Bethie knew, she’d dispense commands in the form of advice from her seat at her vanity. So far, Bethie hadn’t set foot in the sanctum. Harold’s mother was polite to Bethie, and she treated Harold like a conquering king whenever he came home. There’d be a party, and Luther Jefferson’s famous barbecued brisket, cooked for twelve hours in a smoker out back, and games of dominoes and Spades, which Bethie had given up trying to learn. She always felt like an outsider there, no matter how polite Harold’s mother was to her, so she ate her brisket, played with her nieces and nephews, helped with the dishes, and tried to stay out of the way.
“I wasn’t the easiest kid.” Jo had another sip. “Some days, with Lila, I know how Mom must have felt. It’s like, I love her to death, but I also want to throw her out a window.”
Bethie snorted.
“I feel like she’s made it her life’s mission to get under my skin. I bet Mom felt the same way about me.”
“Still,” said Bethie.
Jo raised her shoulders, shrugging.
“I’m sorry, too,” said Bethie. “Your marriage was none of my business. I shouldn’t have dragged you down to Atlanta and lectured you about how you weren’t happy.”
Bethie saw her sister’s shoulders draw together, saw her pull her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them. After a moment, Jo said, “Marriage is hard.”
“It is,” Bethie agreed, even though her marriage, while of much shorter duration than her sister’s, had been largely trouble-free. Harold was a good man, and she knew what he’d sacrificed to be with her. She knew it when his brothers went on trips to Vegas and didn’t invite him; she knew it when, once, he’d called her from Mervyn’s, where he’d taken Kim and Missy. His voice had been tight when he’d put Bethie on the phone with the security guard who hadn’t believed that the girls were his nieces, and who’d needed a white woman’s assurance that Harold hadn’t kidnapped them. If he could endure that for her, if he could live with a wife who out-earned him, if he could sit and applaud while she collected an award from the Chamber of Commerce, Bethie could deal with his snoring, or the way he’d leave the sports section unfolded on the kitchen table, or the card games that lasted until two in the morning and left the living room smelling like an ashtray. She held out her hand for the bottle and waited to hear if Jo had anything else to say. When Jo didn’t speak, Bethie said, “I have an offer for you.”
Jo looked at her. “Oh?”
“Your trip. The one you never got to take. Now that the business is doing well . . .”
Jo made a face. “Nice understatement.”
“I want you to take a trip. Anywhere you want to go, for as long as you want to stay. You have to go by yourself, though. Or with a friend. No husband, no kids. That’s my only condition.”
For a long moment, Jo didn’t say anything. When she finally spoke, Bethie wasn’t surprised at her response. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s . . .” She turned her face away from Bethie. “It’s not a good time right now.”
“You don’t have to leave right this minute. I’m just making the offer.”
“It’s not your job to take care of me.” Jo’s voice sounded waspish. Bethie wasn’t surprised. With Dr. Shoemaker, and on her own, she’d spent a lot of time thinking about the ways that money can complicate relationships. If you give someone a gift they can’t hope to reciprocate, they can end up feeling resentful, Dr. Shoemaker had said. You have to give without expectation, without needing anything more than a thank-you.
“It’s not about taking care of you,” Bethie said. “You missed your trip because of me. I owe you. All I want to do is give you what you should have had.” When Jo didn’t answer, Bethie said, “Actually, that’s not the only thing I want. I want to be in your life, and I want you to be a part of mine.” Her voice sounded rougher as she said, “I missed you, you know. Not that I