When she started kindergarten and saw all the dads of her classmates, she started asking questions. She knew Chad wasn’t her biological father which left gaps to be filled in. One night I was tucking her into bed, and with a chubby little hand she touched my blonde lock of hair, asking where she got her hair and eyes. I remember gently cupping her cheek and explaining that she got the most beautiful hair and eyes from her father. She also got his kindness, his willingness to help out, and I told her as much. Does she remember that conversation? She’s asked more questions over the years, ones I could explain quickly without dwelling on something she and I would never have.
Abby resumes practicing while I head to the kitchen to put the groceries away, pulling out my phone to text Penny.
He fixed my shutter.
Penny
That tracks. I told you, Jo, he’s a good man.
I have an idea.
I’m listening…
Penny
Have thanksgiving at my house. We aren’t eating until dinner, so that’d give you plenty of time for lunch with your grandmother.
Then you can be around him with the buffer of our families.
What should I bring?
Penny
Bring a dessert. And that rice casserole I love.
And what time?
Penny
Let’s shoot for 5:30
Is this you telling me the wrong time so I won’t be late?
Penny
I’ll do my best. What should I wear? What are you wearing?
Penny
Wear those jeans you wore to book club last month. Boho purple top with the flowy sleeves.
It’s not too much? That top kinda shows my cleavage. Don’t wanna bust up in there with my girls hanging out, ya know?
Penny
Even better.
Another day, another text with nothing but small talk. Unlike the rest of the world, I’m not typically glued to my phone. I’ve never had social media, and there’s a very short list of people I talk to regularly. Mostly only those involved with managing Austin’s schedule, and my family.
Despite my loath for texting, each morning I pick up my phone to send Jo agood morningtext. I’ve clung to the hope she’d at least want to spend time together. But no. All I get is short responses. She assured me that night meant something to her, so why is her behavior so off? I know an entire lifetime has happened since then, which is why I’d love to spend time with her.
Still, that didn’t keep me from fixing the shutter. Truth be told, I was hoping for a chance to see her again. Even if for a second. When I pulled into her drive and her car was gone, a flicker of disappointment hit me square in the chest, but I quickly got the shutter hung and left her a note.
Penny mentioned Jo and her kids would be at Thanksgiving dinner this evening, and the anticipation at seeing her again now floods all thoughts. Almost like there’s an internal countdown to the second I’ll be in her presence. I don’t even recognize myself.The night I met her, I knew she had a hold on me like nothing I’d ever experienced, but time must have dulled the edges of my memories, because Jo here in the present feels like sunlight after years of gray. Familiar, but brighter than I remember.
I’m pacing the length of Penny and Austin’s front porch, rehearsing what the hell I’ll even say tonight, when I pause to look across at Singing River Sound, the recording studio across the street. Thinking back to the past, Jo’s words sound in my mind when she told me about the studio.Maybe one day your cousin will record there. All the greats do.Of course I was thinking about her when I suggested Austin come to Singing River after his tour got rescheduled. That’s why I put him off for so long each time he invited me to visit. Assuming she no longer lived here, being in her hometown without her in it would have felt like too much. The temptation to ask around for her would have been too great. And if she was here but in a relationship or married? No, the timing might have been all wrong.
Making a mental note to check out the studio later, I’m distracted as Jo’s car rolls up the gravel drive and parks beside my SUV. I step off the porch to head her way but when she appears from her car, I forget how to breathe. She’s a vision, wearing a deep purple top that plunges in the front. Her dark wash jeans hug her hips like they were made for her and when she leans into the trunk, I catch sight of the top swell of her breasts. Suddenly a mental image flashes through my mind: the weight of those breasts in my hands, kissing up the valley between them until my mouth is on them. And now I’m twenty-two again, doing math formulas to rid myself of an inconvenient erection.
