Jo stood beside her car, gulped down half a bottle of water along with four ibuprofen, and kneaded her forehead.
Not a blade of grass in sight, the single-vehicle carport more or less was the backyard. It afforded a spot of shade amid the relentless glare of sunlight. She faced the one-way, alley-sized thoroughfare and squinted. Heat waves quivered off lofty stucco walls, parked vehicles, and concrete. A tribute to the tenacity of life, plants sprouted everywhere, in pots and through cracks in the hard surfaces: jade, azalea, bougainvillea, bird of paradise, and even a palm tree. The sweet scent of alyssum wafted from somewhere.
Jo’s head throbbed, in sync with her pounding heart. What had she gotten herself into, inviting three strangers to spend a week in such close proximity? She felt like a bug under a microscope, limbs splayed and pinned down. No matter their common history, the women did not know each other. And to think she had been sober when she called them!
In an attempt to wriggle out from that feeling of being scrutinized, she scheduled activities. They could focus on things and Jo could ignore the feeling she just might pop. The ugly beach house, weird neighbor, and unaccustomed tenderness unnerved her.
The event-driven approach wasn’t working. Already the original timetable was shot to pieces. Molly was napping. Char had wandered down the boardwalk in search of a newspaper and who knew what else once she reached all those souvenir kiosks. Andie was at the front of the house, hosing down a boogie board and wet suit, the bridge of her nose scraped raw from an impact with the ocean floor. If yesterday’s hairstyle, makeup, and clothes were any indication, she was still at least an hour and a half away from being ready. When Jo walked past her on the way to the carport, Andie squirted Jo’s sandaled feet and teased, “Tag, you’re it, Zambruski!”
Jo rubbed her forehead again and closed her eyes. The sensation of pressure mounting refused to go away.
“Good morning!”
Jo looked up and saw a man walking in the narrow street. He stopped when he reached the carport, a few yards from her.
“Morning,” she said.
He smiled, a dazzling flash of white against flawless ebony skin. Black braided locks sprouted from his head every direction like a fireworks display held in suspension. A trimmed beard covered the lower half of his narrow face.
“How ya doin?” he asked.
“Just—” The word “fine” tangled with her vocal cords and didn’t make its way out. She wasn’t fine, and something in his black eyes told her he knew it.
“Oh, sister, life can be hard at times, can’t it?” The singsong cadence of his voice mesmerized.
She felt glued to the concrete. Something unearthly emanated from the stranger.
He said, “I find when I express my troubles out loud to another human being, they just sort of…” He spread his arms out like a band leader and wiggled his fingers.“Dissipate.” He laid a hand to his chest. “The heart doesn’t take on the full impact of unbearable pain.”
What was this? A Rastafarian-looking shrink in faded blue jeans and white button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves?
“My name is Zeke.” Now he held the hand out to her.
She crossed the distance between them and shook it. “I’m Jo.”
“Nice to meet you.” His eyes remained focused on hers. They were like magnets.“Your heart looks like it’s breaking with unbearable pain, Sister Jo.”
She folded her arms, locking them across her midsection. Her deep heart cried out that yes, the pain was unbearable. Unbearable and unspeakable.
Zeke shifted his stance. Expectancy was written in his posture and on his unlined face.
And then she knew he was right, to speak the anguish was somehow to bear it. She should tell her friends. They would give her sympathy and practical advice. Wasn’t that, in all honesty, the reason she had called them?
Her throat ached from its tight grip on words of confession. They would be swallowed, though. She knew that by the time she met up with Char, Molly, and Andie, she would have talked herself out of saying them. She would dredge up old things between them and shove the words back down.
Zeke, on the other hand, carried no baggage. He called her “sister.” In the twinkling of an eye he had connected with her on a deep level. Intuitively she understood he would offer something beyond sympathy and practical advice.
And he was available now even as her words clamored for release.
She said,“How much do you charge an hour?”
“Time means nothing to the good Lord.” He smiled. “I try to follow His example.”
Jo hesitated for the briefest of moments. She saw no fire in the man’s eyes, only acceptance.
“Four months ago I killed a sixteen-year-old girl and her baby.”
Midafternoon Jo strolled with her friends along a walkway in Old Town between historical white stucco buildings with red tile roofs. Eucalyptus trees cast long afternoon shadows.
Char purred a sound of delight and pointed to an open-air gift shop on their left. “Look at those wind chimes!”
Almost simultaneously Andie pointed to the right. “A hacienda! History!”
The two of them laughed.
Molly pointed straight ahead and moaned.“I’m going there to that grassy spot and sitting down. No way can I shop or sightsee. I ate one too many tortilla chips!”
“Molly, honey,” Char said, “perhaps it was the grande platter of tacos, enchiladas, refried beans, and rice you ate with the chips.”
She smiled.“Perhaps. Come plop with me, and then we’ll do something more tangible than digest lunch.”
Jo thought lunch a misnomer. It was after three o’clock.
They reached a vacant wooden picnic table where Char and Andie sat on the bench seat. Jo chose the ground. She slipped off her sandals and folded her legs lotus style. Molly stretched out full length on her back in the grass, crossed her feet at the ankles, hooked her hands behind her head, and eyed Jo.
“Josephine, you’ve been quiet. The restaurant was perfect.”
Andie nodded. “Yes. Great food. Reasonable prices.”
“Sugar,” Char sighed,“I swear I feel like a cow the way you insist on herding us about. It was not your fault we all got sidetracked this morning and then didn’t eat lunch until four o’clock central time.”
Molly chuckled. “Your stomach’s still on central time?”
“I’m not sure what time it’s on. I grazed my way through the grocery store, eating all those free samples. The cheese lady and I got to be on a first-name basis, I went back so many times. Speaking of grazing, that reminds me of the cow mentality. Shall we make some sort of schedule so Jo doesn’t have to behave like a livestock farmer?”
Andie raised a hand. “I vote for boogie boarding every morning.”
They all stared in obvious disbelief at Andie. Her face glowed. The scraped nose gave her the appearance of a little girl as did the straight hair and casual cotton top over blue jeans.
Andie said, “I mean for myself. You all don’t have to do it. But you can if you want. I think I counted six boards in that storage shed. And wet suits. What are you all staring at?”
Molly thrust a fist skyward.“Yes. Andrea Michelle Kendrick lives!”
Andie smiled crookedly. “Well, at least when it comes to the ocean she does.”
“I’m confident she will spill out into other areas.”
Jo thought she already had. Andie’s fears were fading before their very eyes. She had talked with the weird neighbor, did not wear yesterday’s makeup mask, and ate a salad for lunch, leaving most of the tortilla bowl behind.
Molly said, “I vote for breakfast at Kono’s every morning with whoever wants to come.”
Char said, “I vote for sleeping in. How about you, Jo?”
“The one healthy habit I have is walking, so I guess a walk to Kono’s is my choice. Then I can feed my caffeine habit without making a ruckus in the kitchen too early for some people.”
Char crossed one leg over the other and swung it. “Maybe we should address habits. Like I’m a night owl. I may go outdoors after dark. I hope no one worries about me.”
Andie smiled. “Guilty. I’ll try not to again.”
Molly said,“My habit is talking to Scott regularly and often.”
Now the other three stared at her.
“What?” she quizzed them.
Andie said, “That is so sweet.”
Char stopped swinging her leg. “I can’t relate to it. Truthfully, I’m enjoying a little break in the daily routine of marital miscommunication.”
Molly sat up and hugged her knees. “My birthday was a turning point. We’d been seriously growing apart. I was a diehard Superwoman. Now we’re in prevention mode. That means an awful lot of touching base. Anyway, I can use my calling card at a pay phone I noticed today. It’s just a few blocks from—”
They drowned her out with protests, offering the use of cell phones.
“All right, all right,” she conceded.“I will ask for yours when I need to. Not asking for help is a bad habit of mine.”
“Good,” Andie said, “My bad habit is being afraid of my shadow. Obviously I’m working on losing it. I could use any help you three can offer.”
Char patted her arm.“It’s okay, sugar.” She turned.“Jo? How about your habits? Good or bad?”
“Like I said, walking and caffeine.”
“So nothing we can help with?”
Jo caught an undertone and suddenly recognized the real question. “Char, I haven’t had a drink in eight years.”
The collective sigh of relief was nearly audible.
Char’s genuine smile spread across her face. “Good for you, sugar. Well, okay. We have the mornings figured out. Now I have a suggestion for afternoons and evenings. Because you all had less than stellar birthday celebrations, I think you should do them over again this week. Everyone can have their own day to celebrate in their own way, and the others agree to go along with whatever they choose.”
“Great idea!” Andie said. “Do you still have that tourist pamphlet in your bag?”
As the others began to swap potential ideas, Jo followed a different train of thought. She could easily blame that stranger named Zeke—or thank him. With a few kind words and the softest eyes imaginable he had opened a corner of her heart that she both yearned and dreaded to reveal before her friends.
“Char.” She blurted her name, abruptly interrupting the conversation. “Molly. Andie. Maybe I do need your help. No, not maybe. I do need it.”
They stared, riveted. Molly gave a half nod of encouragement.
Ever the poised doctor, she presented her dilemma matter-of-factly. “I don’t know which way to turn. That’s why I wanted all of us together, to take me back to when I always knew which way to turn. No, let me rephrase that. Back to when if I didn’t know which way to turn, you guys pointed me in the right direction.”
Andie said, “Like you’re turning a corner and you can’t figure out right or left?”
“More like I’m still in a corner. The thing is, I’m losing my confidence in practicing medicine.” She paused, savoring again the new taste of freedom in finally admitting that first to Zeke and now to her old friends.
Molly said, “What happened, Jo?”
“Remember the sixteen-year-old I mentioned? The funeral on my birthday? She and her mom were my patients. Mom brought in daughter for birth control pills. Problem was, it was too late. The girl was pregnant. Mom requested an abortion. I don’t perform them. No doctor in our group does. I mentioned adoption. Mom went berserk. This is a wealthy, high-profile family. They don’t do teen pregnancy. Mom then insisted on RU-486, the abortion pill. I don’t do that, either, but we all know a clinic where it is available. Mom took her there.”
Jo rubbed her forehead.“Using the drug is not exactly a no-brainer. There’s the timing issue: It’s effective only during the first seven weeks. The patient must make at least three doctor visits. Sometimes it doesn’t work and surgical abortion is necessary. Severe side effects need to be addressed.” She paused. “In this case, Mom left town. Dad wasn’t clued in. The miscarriage-like symptoms were severe due to complications. She didn’t get help in time. She died. The baby died.”
Molly sighed as if in despair. Andie wiped away a tear. Char murmured consoling words.
Jo went on. “I feel responsible for her death. I can’t stop playing the ‘if only’ game. If only I had insisted more, convinced them otherwise. If only I’d given them names and phone numbers for help. I even think that if only I had no convictions, I could have given it to her. At least that way I would have been in charge and taken better care of her.”
Molly’s arm was around her shoulders. “It’s over.”
“I know. And I know I can’t grieve forever.” Jo looked at Andie. “But I feel stuck in a corner, not turning one.” She saw understanding and acceptance on all their faces. “I guess I need you three to pull me out and give me a push.”
Andie slid from the bench and knelt in the grass before her.“We’re here for you.” She lifted Jo’s right hand. “Remember?”
“What?”
“Oh!” Char sprang to join them and placed a hand on top of their two.“How could we forget?”
Molly leaned over and added her hand to the pile. “Good golly, yes, how could we forget? On the count of three. One, two, three.”
In a flash, Jo recalled a slumber party. Eighth grade, at Andie’s. That night they adopted the Three Musketeers motto for themselves, a rallying cry for four outcasts.
Now, in unison, they pronounced it: “All for one, and one for all!”
As one, the others hugged her.