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“I know, sweetheart,” Jude says, forcing herself to hold Hope’s gaze. “I didn’t die, but it was a dangerous thing I did, and drinking too much wine—or other adult drinks—can be very bad. And that’s why it’s something I’m not doing as much of. I want to be the best mommy I can, and being a good mommy means never falling down like that again. Okay?” She holds Hope’s hand between both of hers; she’s pleading with her baby girl to understand.

“Okay,” Hope says simply, glancing at the sliding glass door as Faith comes outside. “Hey, Faith,” she says, standing up and brushing the blades of grass from her knees. “Want to jump rope?”

Without missing a beat, the two identical girls head through the house to find their rope and take turns jumping in the driveway out front.

Jude exhales and closes her eyes. There’s a sensation deep in her chest that she almost can’t identify. But after taking a few good breaths, she realizes what it is: it’s determination. Jude is determined to do this for herself, for her marriage, and for her daughters. She’s ready to find out who the real Judith Majors is, and she’s going to do it sober.

Jude stands up and goes back to the kitchen to finish baking the cake that she’s taking to the Bookers’ house.

* * *

“Welcome!” Jo opens the door widely and ushers Vance, Jude, and the girls into the house. Jude has dressed the twins in matching pink dresses, and she watches them proudly as they stand there, smiling at Jo politely. “Do you girls want to go and play with Kate? She’s got her dolls spread out in the backyard.”

With a glance at their mother for permission, Hope and Faith rush through the house, which is nearly a carbon copy of their own in layout.

Jude looks around: she’s always been impressed by Jo’s chic taste in decor, though she heard recently that Jo had felt inferior when she’d first moved to Florida, and that she’d hired a decorator to help her find an aesthetic that's more beachy and less down-home. For some reason, this makes Jude feel better. Ever since she and Vance got married, Jude has always felt that she’s the wife in any group who has no taste, no class, no real personality. She knows this isn’t strictly true, but to find out that a woman as put together as Jo Booker might have those same inklings of inferiority makes her feel less alone.

"Let's chat in the kitchen while the men have a beer outside," Jo says, leading Jude towards the heart of the house.

The men drift outside without any further prompting, and Bill grabs bottles of beer from the fridge as they go.

"How are things going with you?" Jo asks as she turns her back to Jude and continues prepping things on the counter. "Are you doing alright? I feel like you've been busy with Maxine, and I haven't seen much of you lately."

Rather than sitting down, Jude leans against one edge of the counter with a hip and folds her arms across her chest. "Things have been busy," Jude says honestly. "I have spent a fair amount of time with Maxine, but I've been working on some other things, too."

A brief silence falls between the women; Jude remembers Jo walking in on her in Carrie Donovan's kitchen when they'd first met, pouring herself more vodka when she thought no one was looking. She also remembers that Jo was right there when she'd woken up in the hospital after her fall into the pool, and thus, she knows she can speak to Jo more frankly than she perhaps can to the other women.

Jude clears her throat. She feels nervous even saying the words. "I've been drinking less."

Jo turns her head just slightly, but keeps her back to Jude. "Oh?"

"It seemed like something I needed to do," Jude admits. "I drank too much one evening and forgot that I needed to pick up the girls from Frankie's dance studio, and it was sort of a wake-up call. Things were getting messy."

Rather than readily agreeing with the messiness, Jo simply nods and turns back to the food on the counter. "I think that's really wonderful, Jude. I do. I'm proud of you. I understand how difficult it can be to step back from something that's become a big part of your life."

Maybe it's the kindness of Jo’s tone, or possibly even the lack of judgment in her words, but Jude’s entire body relaxes. She holds her words in for a moment before speaking.

“Thank you. I never really understood how big of a problem it had become, but I’m trying to figure some things out.”

Jo stops what she’s doing, wipes her hands on a dishtowel, and walks over to where Jude is standing. She looks her in the eye. “Never forget that weallhave things to work out, Judith. Life is a process of growing, learning, making mistakes, having regrets, and figuring out how to move on from the things that hurt us, or the things we do that hurt others.” Jo pauses and looks like she has something specific in mind. “Sometimes it’s hard to accept the ways we hurt one another—even the people we love—but as long as we can find a way to make things right, and as long as we learn something about ourselves in the process, then maybe it’s not all for nothing.”

Jude smiles and forces the tears in her eyes to recede. She looks up at the ceiling and blinks a few times; crying in front of people isn’t something she does because it feels like an extreme kind of vulnerability. Once she takes a deep, steadying breath, she nods.

“You’re right. And I’ve hurt plenty of people.”

“And been hurt, too, I would imagine.” Jo looks at her wisely.

It’s not in Jude’s nature to be overly revealing, but there’s something about Jo that makes it feel okay to share with her. “I have been hurt,” Jude whispers. “I’m lucky to be married to Vance and to have his love, and our girls are such a point of pride for me—pride and joy—but my childhood wasn’t great, Jo.”

At this point, the tears won’t be held back, and Jo opens her arms to Jude, pulling her close. “Hey, it’s okay,” Jo says soothingly. “Whatever happened when you were a child is not your fault, Jude.”

And Jude knows she’s right—she has to be right. Conventional wisdom of adulthood tells Jude that, certainly, the things that happened in her childhood were out of her hands—at least to a certain extent. The choices made by her parents were not things she could control, nor did she have a hand in Pearl Harbor, in Chester touching her inappropriately on the boat on the way from Japan to Los Angeles, or in the way people reacted to her throughout her life. At seven years old, she was not in charge of her relationship with her adult stepmother, nor could she control how Bea felt about the child her husband had fathered with another woman. It was not her decision not to see her own mother again after leaving Japan. She could not even fault herself for her feelings towards Catherine Hamnett, though she has most definitely tried to cast herself as the villain in that situation a number of times.

“You’re right,” Jude whispers into Jo’s shoulder as the other woman holds her. It’s not awkward, and Jo makes no move to let her go, but rather rubs Jude’s back in slow, comforting circles. “You are so right, Jo. I was a little girl, and I let all these things build up inside of me over the years, and I made them into things I needed to bury. I needed so badly to forget where I came from and the things that had happened, and in order to do that, I tried to drown myself in alcohol. And it worked for a while—it really did. I managed to float through my days in a haze and to block out the bad thoughts, but in the end, they always catch you, don’t they?”

“Sometimes,” Jo says. “Sometimes. And that’s okay. But you can’t give in to them permanently. You have to get up every day, just like you’re doing, and live your life with intention. I have my things too, you know. I have thoughts that are troubling to me and that really bother me, but I try to keep my mind and my body busy with other things.”

Jude can’t help herself—the curiosity wins out here. “What kinds of things trouble you, Jo? You’re so smart and successful.” Jude takes a step back from Jo and wipes her eyes with both hands. “You always seem so put together.”