Jo took a seat at the table and reached for a cracker. “In other words, memoir material.”
Katie laughed as she began to twist the corkscrew. “Oh, yeah. Real exciting.”
“Do you want me to get that?” Jo asked.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Good.” Jo smirked. “Because I’m the guest, and I expect to be pampered.”
Katie propped the bottle between her legs and the cork came out with a pop.
“Seriously, though, thanks for having me over.” Jo sighed. “You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Really?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” Katie asked.
“Act surprised that I wanted to come over. That I wanted to bond over a bottle of wine. That’s what friends do.” She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and by the way, before you start wondering whether or not we’re actually friends and how well we know each other, trust me when I say that yes, absolutely. I consider you a friend.” She let that sink in before going on. “Now how about some wine?”
The storm finally broke in the early evening, and Katie opened the kitchen window. The temperature had dropped and the air felt cool and clean. While pockets of mist rose from the ground, rolling clouds drifted past the moon, bringing light and shadow in equal measures. Leaves turned from silver to black and silver again as they shimmered in the evening breeze.
Katie drifted dreamily on the wine, the evening breeze, and Jo’s easy laughter. Katie found herself savoring every bite of the buttery crackers and sharp, rich cheese, remembering how hungry she once had been. There was a time when she’d been as thin as a heated strand of blown glass.
Her thoughts were wandering. She remembered her parents, not the hard times but the good ones, when the demons were sleeping: when her mom made eggs and bacon, the aroma filling the house, and she’d seen her father glide into the kitchen, toward her mother. He would pull aside her hair and kiss the side of her neck, making her giggle. Once, she remembered, her dad had brought them to Gettysburg. He’d taken her hand as they walked around, and she could still recall the rare sensation of strength and gentleness in his grasp. He was tall and broad- shouldered with dark brown hair and there was a navy tattoo on his upper arm. He’d served on a destroyer for four years and had been to Japan, Korea, and Singapore, though he said little else about his experience.
Her mom was petite with blond hair and had once competed in a beauty pageant, finishing as the second runner-up. She loved flowers, and in the spring she would plant bulbs in ceramic flowerpots she placed in the yard. Tulips and daffodils, peonies and violets, would explode in colors so bright they almost made Katie’s eyes ache. When they moved, the flowerpots would be placed on the backseat and fastened with seat belts. Often, when she cleaned, her mother would sing to herself, melodies from childhood, some of them in Polish, and Katie would listen secretly from another room, trying to make sense of the words.
The wine Jo and Katie were drinking had hints of oak and apricots, and it tasted wonderful. Katie finished her cup and Jo poured her another. When a moth began to dance around the light above the sink, fluttering with purpose and confusion, both of them began to giggle. Katie cut more cheese and added more crackers to the plate. They talked about movies and books, and Jo shrieked with pleasure when Katie said her favorite movie was
Jo asked few questions. Instead, they stuck to superficial topics, and Katie thought again that she was happy for Jo’s company. When silver highlighted the world beyond the window, Katie and Jo stepped out onto the front porch. Katie could feel herself swaying slightly and she took hold of the railing. They sipped their wine as the clouds continued to break, and all at once, the sky was filled with stars. Katie pointed out the Big Dipper and Polaris, the only stars she could name, but Jo began naming dozens of others. Katie stared at the sky in wonder, amazed at how much Jo knew about the constellations, until she noticed the names Jo was reciting. “That one’s called Elmer Fudd, and over there, right above that pine tree, you can make out Daffy Duck.” When Katie finally realized that Jo knew as little about the stars as she did, Jo started to giggle like a mischievous kid.
Back in the kitchen, Katie poured the last of the wine and took a sip. It was warm in Katie’s throat and made her feel dizzy. The moth continued to dance around the light, though if she tried to focus on it, there seemed to be two of them. She felt happy and safe and thought again how enjoyable the evening had been.
She had a friend, a real friend, someone who laughed and made jokes about the stars, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry because it had been so long since she’d experienced something so easy and natural.
“Are you okay?” Jo asked.
“I’m fine,” Katie answered. “I was just thinking that I’m glad you came over.”
Jo peered at her. “I think you might be tipsy.”
“I think you might be right,” Katie agreed.
“Well, okay then. What do you want to do? Since you’re obviously tipsy and ready for fun.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you want to do something special? Head into town, find someplace exciting?”
Katie shook her head. “No.”
“You don’t want to meet people?”
“I’m better off alone.”
Jo ran her finger around the rim of the mug before saying anything. “Trust me on this: no one is better off alone.”
“I am.”
Jo thought about Katie’s answer before leaning closer. “So you’re telling me that — assuming you had food, shelter, and clothing and anything else you needed to simply survive — you’d rather be stranded on a desert island in the middle of nowhere, all alone, forever, for the rest of your life? Be honest.”
Katie blinked, trying to keep Jo in focus. “Why would you think I wouldn’t be honest?”
“Because everybody lies. It’s part of living in society. Don’t get me wrong — I think it’s necessary. The last thing anyone wants is to live in a society where total honesty prevails. Can you imagine the conversations?
With Jo’s words, Katie felt a finger touch her heart. All at once, it seemed hard to breathe.
“Are you talking about me?” she finally croaked out.
“I don’t know. Am I?”
Katie felt herself pale slightly, but before she could respond, Jo smiled.
“Actually, I was thinking about my day today. I told you it was hard, right? Well, what I just told you is part of the problem. It gets frustrating when people won’t tell the truth. I mean, how am I supposed to help people if they hold things back? If I don’t really know what’s going on?”
Katie could feel something twisting and tightening in her chest. “Maybe they want to talk about it but they know there’s nothing you can do to help,” she whispered.
“There’s always something I can do.”
In the moonlight shining through the kitchen window, Jo’s skin glowed a luminous white, and Katie had the sense that she never went out in the sun. The wine made the room move, the walls buckle. Katie could feel tears beginning to form in her eyes and it was all she could do to blink them back. Her mouth was dry.
“Not always,” Katie whispered. She turned to face the window. Beyond the glass, the moon hung low over the trees. Katie swallowed, suddenly feeling as if she were observing herself from across the room. She could see herself sitting at the table with Jo, and when she began to speak, her voice didn’t seem to be her own. “I had a friend once. She was in a terrible marriage and she couldn’t talk to anyone. He used to hit her, and in the beginning, she told him that if it ever happened again, she would leave him. He swore that it wouldn’t and she believed him. But it only got worse after that, like when his dinner was cold, or when she mentioned that she’d visited with one of the neighbors who was walking by with his dog. She just chatted with him, but that night, her husband threw her
