Atmosphere: A Love Story By Taylor Jenkins Reid - 43

“Joanie, I saw your landing in California. I was so happy to see that you got home okay. I know it’s safe to go up there, but I just feel better knowing you’re home. I love you.”

“Joanie, I thought maybe you’d be back by now, back home I mean. Maybe I could call you on Thanksgiving Day, if you’re around.”

“Hey Joanie, it’s me again. Sorry for calling so much. I think I’m just . . . can you call me back? I—”

While The rest of the crew needed some time to acclimate to the hard ground under their feet, it took Joan no time at all to readjust to the pull of gravity.

But when she stepped foot in her apartment that first morning back, something felt off. It was as if she’d come home to her childhood bedroom or tried to drive the old sedan she had in college. They had been hers, yes. But they belonged to a version of her that she’d grown out of.

It wasn’t until she hit the answering machine and heard Frances’s voice that she finally felt truly grounded again.

Before Joan had even finished listening to the third message, she’d grabbed the phone and dialed Frances’s dormitory. It rang for so long.

“Hello?”

“Frances?”

“Joanie?”

“You picked up!” Joan said.

“Yeah, I’m the only one in the hall.”

“You’re the only one there?” Joan asked. “Your mom said lots of kids are staying at school for Thanksgiving. She said there was a whole big to-do there in the cafeteria.”

“Um . . .”

Joan could hear Frances’s voice start to waver. “They do have it every year. But none of the other kids stayed. It’s just me.”

“What do you mean, it’s just you?”

“It’s just me and Ms. Green. But she’s very nice. And she’s not my teacher, so it’s not like I’m in class or anything. We are going to meet up at three tomorrow to have turkey sandwiches.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, but it’s okay, it’s okay,” Frances said, her voice so upbeat that it betrayed her. “She said they have cranberry sauce in them.”

“Franny . . .”

“I’m fine, Joanie.”

Then Frances burst into tears.

“Babe, I’m coming.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

“Frances,” Joan said, her voice stern. “I’m coming to get you, and I’m taking you home.”

Frances was quiet for a moment and then, finally, said in barely more than a whisper, “Okay.”

“Listen to me,” Joan said. “I was circling two hundred miles above the Earth, and all I wanted was to get home and see you. Do you understand that? Do you understand that I don’t care how big or small this world is, that you are the center of mine? Do you understand that, to someone, you are everything that matters on this entire planet?”

“Okay,” Frances said again. This time Joan could hear the lump in her throat.

When Frances was younger, her problems had been tough but simple. She couldn’t sleep. She cut her lip. She couldn’t write uppercase B ’s.

But Frances was ten years old now, a few months into sixth grade. Her problems were heavier and darker. Joan couldn’t fix them with a sweet word or a joke or some ice. To hear Frances alone and crying so far away, it made Joan feel absolutely helpless. And she could not live with that.

“I will be there in less than four hours. Pack your stuff.”

“I can’t leave without Mom signing me out.”

Joan sighed. “Goddammit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you.”

Joan considered the situation. “Okay, it might take me a bit longer. But I’ll be there. Have your stuff packed.”

“Okay,” Frances said. And then: “Joanie?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe. More than you will ever know.”

Joan’s ears were ringing as she knocked on Barbara’s front door with the side of her fist, pounding so hard she shook the windowpanes.

“Jesus, Joan,” Barbara said when she came to the door.

“Barbara, I swear to God . . .”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I assume she’s performed some sob story for you?”

“You said she wanted to stay there with a bunch of other kids.”

Barbara left the door open and walked back into the house. Joan followed her.

“Joan, what do you want from me?”

“Where’s Daniel?”

“He’s picking up the traveler’s checks.”

“What are you thinking, running off to Europe? Don’t do this. Let Frances come home.”

Barbara inhaled and then shook her head. “No.”

“She’s having Thanksgiving with a teacher. They are eating club sandwiches.”

“They are eating turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce. But there the two of you go, making it seem worse than it is. She’s being a manipulative brat. And I’m surprised you’re falling for it. But you always do. You’re such a mark, Joan, honestly.”

Joan could not control the ferocity that came out of her. “What is the matter with you?” she yelled.

“What do you want from me?” Barbara shouted.

“I want you to take care of your daughter!”

“I am! She has a roof over her head and food to eat and a good education!”

“She’s alone!”

“Joan, what am I supposed to do? Daniel has never wanted kids, but he said he was happy to try to be a stepdad. And he tried. He really tried. She made it impossible!”

“Why would you marry a man who doesn’t want kids? You have a kid!”

“I am doing my best! Before I met Daniel, I spent most nights crying myself to sleep because I was so lonely and so tired. Do you know how hard it was just trying to take care of her and make enough money to keep us eating canned beans? You think this world is easy on a single mother with no college degree?”

“I could have lent you money.”

“I didn’t want your money! I wanted a life! I want a life with a man who loves me and pays the bills and provides a beautiful home and makes sure my kid gets an incredible education so that she never ends up like me! That’s what I want, Joan! I don’t want your charity.”

“And so that’s it? You’re shipping her off—and she’s never allowed to come home—because you picked a guy who doesn’t know how to deal with her?”

“ I don’t know how to deal with her! She’s insufferable!”

“She’s hurting!”

“Well, I don’t want to deal with her anymore!”

Joan pulled back. Barbara blinked a few times and then she sank down on the sofa and sobbed. Joan stared at her, shocked that she had the audacity to cry.

Joan marveled at how easy Barbara’s inner life must be. How entirely undemanding of yourself it was to believe that everything happened to you. And everything was about you. And that your feelings were the only ones that mattered. Worse yet, to afford yourself the role of the victim always—regardless of how grotesquely it required you to twist reality—so that you never had to look in the mirror and admit you were the perpetrator.

“She’s your daughter,” Joan said, finally.

“I know,” Barbara said as she continued to cry. She buried her face in her hands. Joan refused to comfort her.

“You are going to find a way to fix it,” Joan said.

“I can’t. Daniel doesn’t want her here after the way she’s acted.”

“Well, tell him that’s not realistic. Even if she stays at school the rest of the semester, what are you going to do? Not have her come home at Christmas?”

Barbara pulled a tissue from her pocket to dry her eyes. “Daniel wants to stay in Europe for a little while.”

“What?”

“Copenhagen for Christmas, Paris for New Year’s. He has a few meetings in London at the top of the year, so we’d stay until then.”

Joan dropped her head. She was so stupid. So incredibly stupid not to see what had really been going on. But it was hard to admit just how low your own sister could go. Joan’s own moral code had felt so innate as to be genetic, intrinsic to the DNA they both shared. And perhaps that’s why, until now, she had been unable to see just how little they had in common. “What kind of meetings?” Joan said finally.

“What?”

“What kind of meetings does he have in London, Barbara?”

Barbara looked away. “They are transferring him there. In the spring.”

Joan shook her head and then closed her eyes. She stared at darkness and then opened her eyes and her mouth at the same time. “Please tell me you’re making this up.”

“I’m not.”

“What is your plan?”

“I don’t know.”

“I will not let you abandon her. What is your plan?”

“She’s at boarding school, Joan. For crying out loud, no one has abandoned her.”

“She’s crying. Alone up there. She thinks no one loves her.”

Barbara shook her head in her hands. “Of course I love her.” She began to howl in tears.

“If you love your daughter, then you need to show her. By taking care of her,” Joan said. “There is no other option.”

Barbara stood up and snapped, “It’s not that simple!”

“Yes, it is!”

“It’s not! I’ve been doing it on my own since I was twenty years old, and I’m sick of being treated like some sort of screwup because I’m trying to create a life out of this mess!”

“She’s not a mess! Stop talking about her like that!”

“She’s my daughter, I can say anything I like about her!”

“I’m not sure you ever deserved her, you know that? I’ve tried to avoid thinking that for years, but I don’t know what other conclusion to draw anymore. She deserves better than you give her.”

“Then take her!” Barbara said. “You think you’re so fucking smart, Joan. Oh, the mom you’d be! If only you had a love life or a man interested in you enough to give you a child. Please. You take care of her. The two of you would probably love that.”

“Barbara, don’t say things like that. This is not a game.”

But it was a game, wasn’t it? And Barbara had been winning for a very, very long time.

“I mean it!” Barbara said. “She has never liked me as much as she likes you. The two of you, with your special bond. You can have each other, as far as I’m concerned. You can go be happy together, without me to look down on.”

“She doesn’t look down on you. She worships you.”

Barbara laughed and shook her head. “She hates me. She thinks I’m a selfish fool, just like you do, and she makes it perfectly clear. Oh, you’ll see, Joan. Once she’s really yours. It’s no picnic. She hates me. One day she’ll hate you, too. You’ll finally see it then. And it will be too late, because I won’t accept your apology. But in the meantime, go for it. She’s all yours.”

Joan stared at her. But Barbara’s face did not seem sad or angry so much as unflinching. Her eyes had gone dead.

This was Barbara’s whole plan. Joan was her get-out-of-jail-free card.

“You are seriously going to let this child be alone on Thanksgiving?”

“I am going to let her learn that it’s not always about her and that it’s time that my life starts, too. Yes, I am. But you seem to want to be her mother, so go right ahead.”

Part of Joan felt like she could not give Barbara the satisfaction. She was going to abandon her child and flit off to Europe, leaving Joan to handle all of the responsibilities. Joan shouldn’t participate in that.

But Frances deserved better than anything she could make Barbara begrudgingly give her. Frances needed someone to truly care and to show it. Someone to be there.

In that moment, all Joan could think of was the joy of having Frances back. Of getting to spend each evening helping her with her homework. Of taking her to the movies each weekend. Of seizing those rare times when Frances would still let Joan kiss the top of her head.

Joan would do anything to get more of those moments. They were already slipping away so fast.

She would never let that go—never let Frances down—just to teach Barbara a lesson.

“Write a letter to the school giving me the power to make decisions for her and take her from the school,” Joan said. “Do it now.”

“You think I don’t mean it? Because I will do it.”

“Do it, Barbara! Now!”

Barbara went into the kitchen and scribbled on a piece of stationery with Daniel’s name at the top. Then she handed it to Joan. “I don’t want to see either of you before I go,” she said. “She threw a tantrum. And you played right into it.”

“You will call her tomorrow to wish her a happy Thanksgiving from the airport. If you don’t, I will call your hotel every hour on the hour until you get on the phone. Do you hear me? I think we both know Daniel won’t be happy with you if this gets messy. So if I were you, I’d call before noon and I’d stay on the phone for ten minutes and I’d make it count.”

“Thanks, Joan. Thanks for treating me like I wouldn’t call my own daughter on Thanksgiving. Wow, I’m such a monster.”

“I think that maybe you are a monster,” Joan said. And then she slammed the door so hard that it bounced back open. She did not look back.

When Joan got to the school, Frances was sitting in the lobby of her dormitory with a woman who looked to be in her late twenties.

“Hi,” Joan said as Frances stood up and smiled.

“You must be Joan,” the woman said. “We are all very big fans of you and everything you do. I suspect our physics teacher, Marlon Ryan, will be sad to have missed the chance to make your acquaintance. It is a true pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, thank you. I appreciate that. I’m assuming you’re Ms. Green?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I would love to take Frances home,” Joan said as she handed over the note.

Ms. Green looked it over. “Okay,” she said and then she turned to Frances. “Happy Thanksgiving, Frances. We will see you Monday.”

“Um,” Joan said. “No, you won’t.”

“What?” Frances said.

“We will talk about it in the car,” Joan said to Frances. “But for now, let’s pack up your things. Not just for the weekend.”

They went to Frances’s room. Joan was taken with how neat everything was on Frances’s side. She’d made her bed with sharp corners, and her books were lined up on her desk at right angles.

Joan looked at Frances. “Do you have any duffel bags we can use?”

Frances nodded and grabbed three bags and a box from under her bed.

“Great, you pack your clothes. I’ll get your pillow and blankets.”

When they were done, Frances asked if she should bring her books and Joan said no. “But your mom said you won an essay contest.”

“Yeah,” Frances said. “I did.”

“Do you have the essay? Is it here?”

“Um, yeah,” Frances said.

“Well, we can’t leave that behind. Grab it.”

“Okay . . .” Frances pulled a drawer open and took a few pages out and tucked them into the open bag in her hand.

“All right, kiddo,” Joan said. “T minus zero. We’re outta here.”

And Frances laughed. It felt so good to make her smile.

“That was so cheesy, Joanie.”

On the way home, Joan and Frances stopped at a diner and split a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a strawberry milkshake.

It was almost nine at night by that point. Frances looked tired. Her eyes were red, the skin around them puffy. Her lips were chapped. Joan wanted to hug her but worried that if she did, she herself might fall apart. Returning to Earth was exhausting.

There was an ache in Joan’s chest looking at Frances.

But there was also a sadness that Joan could not name. A disappointment, perhaps. Maybe a reckoning. Certainly a recognition. She had tried so hard to have faith in Barbara. Now it was clear that Barbara was never going to put in much effort to be worthy of her faith.

Barbara had shown who she was. If Joan continued to not see it, well, that would be Joan’s fault.

“Listen, babe,” Joan said, over a plate of french fries that neither of them were eating. “Some stuff has happened.”

“I figured, since you said I’m not going back to school.”

“Your mom and I talked, and I finally got her to come around,” Joan said. “On something that I think could be very exciting.”

“What is it?”

“What do you think about coming to live with me?”

“For the weekend?”

“Permanently.”

“Live in your house?”

“Yeah. I’ll have to get a two-bedroom, obviously. So at first you’ll be on the sofa or we will get a mattress. I’m not sure. But I’ll figure that out quickly.”

“I don’t care where I sleep,” Frances said. Her face started to bubble up, the tears coming to the surface quickly. “You’d . . . want me there?”

“Oh, honey,” Joan said. She reached across to hold her hand. “I want you with me more than anything.”

Frances put her face down into the crook of her own arm and her body started to shake. Joan moved to her side of the booth and held her. Eventually, when Frances’s crying did not stop, Joan put cash on the table, stole the silver tin holding the strawberry milkshake, and led Frances to the car.

“I’m going to re-enroll you in public school, okay?” Joan said once they got to the car.

Frances nodded.

“And I don’t know exactly how it’s all going to work, but you and I, we will figure it out.”

Frances nodded at that, too. “Joanie,” Frances said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, babe. I should be thanking you, for the gift it is to be around you.”

Frances leaned toward Joan and Joan pulled her in, across the gearshift. If Frances had spent the first ten years of her life unsure of where she belonged, Joan knew she would spend the next ten knowing she firmly belonged to her.

“Listen, Frances Emerson Goodwin,” Joan said, holding Frances by the chin and making her look at her. “I will love you until the day I die, do you hear me? There is nothing you could do or say or think or feel that would change that. I am yours to fall back on, forever.

“You make my life worth something. And I can promise you with my entire body that you will never be alone. Every day, you can wake up and go to bed knowing there is someone whose heart is bursting, barely able to contain how much they love you. I know you’re my niece, Frances. But you have always, too, been mine. ”

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