Page 30 of The Light Year (Stardust Beach #6)

“But you’re not,” Bill says vehemently. “You’re not her anymore, Jo. You’re someone better.”

Jo blinks back the unexpected tears that come as he says the words she’s wanted to hear for so long.

“You’re stronger, you’re a mother, you’re a writer, and you’ve been my partner for fifteen years.

You’re so much more than you were when I met you, and baby, you were a lot even then.

” Bill reaches for her hands and holds them in his.

In response, Jo knots her fingers through Bill’s.

A steel drum version of “Unchained Melody” comes over the speakers, and Bill stands, tugging Jo to a standing position. She looks at him with curiosity.

“Can I have this dance?” Bill asks, though all he really would need to do is to pull her into his arms and sway. Jo nods and slips her hand into his as he places one hand on the small of her back.

An elderly couple walks by, hand-in-hand, and the woman smiles at them as she sees them dancing. Jo smiles back and then rests her forehead against Bill’s collarbone.

“Jo?” he says into her ear as they move out into the open water. “It’s a new year, and we’re new people. We just need to work together, and I promise you, we’ll be fine.”

Jo doesn’t look up at him; instead, she nods against his chest, not wanting him to see the questions in her eyes. Because Jo, for all of her imagination, is having a hard time picturing how everything is going to be okay in the blink of an eye. She can’t even agree with him out loud.

“I love you,” Bill says to her, pulling her even closer.

“I love you too,” Jo says, still not looking at him. At least that much is true: she does love him. And when she says it, she means it with all her heart.

When the boat docks again at the Port of Miami five days later, Bill and Jo are tanned, relaxed, and more at ease with one another than they’ve been in a long time.

Jo wakes up that morning and stretches her arms in the narrow bed; she and Bill have quickly come to enjoy the forced proximity, and rather than tossing and turning, they’ve found their way into one another’s arms each night, then rolled up like potato bugs around each other, cuddling until the sun peeks through the porthole window.

“Hi,” Jo says sleepily, sitting up with the sheet over her naked body as she watches Bill step out of the tiny bathroom with a towel around his waist. He looks happy.

“Morning, Jojo,” he says, holding the towel closed with one hand. “How’d you sleep?”

Jo reaches for the satin robe that she’d flung over the foot of the bed and puts her arms through it, belting it as she stands. “I slept like a baby being rocked in a cradle all night long. Something about being on the water has knocked me out every night.”

“Are you sure it’s not the cocktails and the things we’ve been getting up to after dark?” He turns to her and wiggles an eyebrow suggestively.

Jo laughs. “Okay, possibly those things, too.” Jo walks around him, opening up the small chest of drawers and taking out a cotton dress, a bra, and a pair of underwear.

“I know we get back around eleven, but I was thinking I could shower and get dressed, and maybe we could have one last breakfast together before we dock.”

Bill is already stepping into a pair of shorts and zipping them over his white briefs. “Sounds good to me. Should I go ahead of you and get the newspaper and some mimosas going?”

Jo stands on tiptoes and kisses him. “Yes, please.”

They’ve sat by the railing each morning, sharing the paper, a carafe of coffee, and another carafe of mimosas, which has rapidly become how Jo wants to start every single day. She turns on the shower and steps out of her robe as the stateroom door clicks shut and Bill disappears.

Thirty minutes later, Jo walks through the dining room and spots Bill, sitting at a table for two like they’ve done each morning.

He’s got The Miami Herald opened on the table, with the Arts she’s been so busy working on her book, imagining the time travel between her main characters, crafting the romance, and getting the pages typed out and turned in, that she honestly hasn’t checked in with her children the way she likes to or knows that she should.

“What other ideas?” Jo asks cautiously. Knowing her children and their hopes and dreams is a big part of who Jo is, and she feels as though Bill knowing more than she does is a sign of her failure as a mother.

Bill won’t look her in the eye. “He’s talked about the military.”

“When?” Jo huffs. Her voice has gone up an octave and a decibel, and Bill glances around before meeting her gaze.

Bill shrugs. “One evening when we were out playing catch together in the yard.”

Jo is miffed. The idea that she’d been inside the house, cleaning up after they’d all eaten her meat loaf or her pork chops and green beans, while Bill got to be the one outside bonding with Jimmy just doesn’t sit right with her.

She’s the boy’s mother, after all; shouldn’t the years of kissing boo-boos, tying shoelaces, taking him to the dentist, and tucking him in at night while leaving the hall light on buy her some sort of first dibs when it comes to Jimmy’s plans and dreams? Apparently not.

“No,” Jo says without thinking. “Absolutely not.”

A cloud passes over Bill’s face. “Absolutely not what?”

“The military, Bill. No.” Jo can feel vehemence rising in her chest. “I’m not letting our only son get shipped off to Vietnam,” she says, putting her empty mimosa glass on the table between them. “It’s out of the question.”

“Jo,” he says in a measured tone. “I served in Korea. Your dad was in the Second World War. We’re a family of men who don’t shy away from our duties.”

“And I admire that,” Jo says hotly. “But my son doesn’t need to be a hero. He needs to be alive.”

Bill leans forward across the table, dropping his voice so that only she can hear it. “Jo,” he warns her. “We’re on a cruise with people our age and older. The majority of the men you see here fought for our freedom, and did so with honor. Don’t let them hear you denigrating their service.”

“I’m not,” Jo says. “I admire the people who’ve served our country, and you know I’m grateful, but…” Her eyes fill with tears and she reaches for her coffee as a distraction, holding the cup in both hands. “I can’t let Jimmy do that.”

This isn’t the time or the place for them to start talking about such things, and so instead of pushing the issue, Bill reaches out and takes her hand, and they sit there quietly together, watching the waves as they pass over them, making their way to shore.

There will be plenty of time to discuss the children and the things they agree and don’t agree on when it comes to the kids’ futures. On Tuesday, they’ll be back in Dr. Sheinbaum’s office.

Jo sits there in her chair until the very last possible moment, then goes back to the stateroom to pack her small suitcase with the dresses she’d worn dancing on the ship, the swimsuit she’s rinsed but that still smells like chlorine, and the tiny lingerie bag full of her unmentionables.

She knows it’s a trip she won’t forget, but she can’t help wondering whether these days with Bill have truly re-cemented their relationship, or whether they’ve just been a band-aid to hold things together while they wait for the next tidal wave to knock them down.