Jo felt like the floor was dissolving under her feet. “So you’re saying you want to leave Mattauk. What about Furious Fitness? What about my career?”
“What about Lucy, Jo?” he demanded.
“Don’t go there,” Jo warned her husband darkly. He’d hit her weak spot. “You know I always put Lucy first.”
Art nodded. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Look, you don’t need to close down the gym for good. Let’s rent a place in the city for a few months while I work on the play. Put your self-defense club on hold and let Heather run Furious Fitness in the meantime. You can pop in and check on her whenever you like. But I’d feel a lot better if you and Lucy were in the city with me.”
“What would I do all day while you’re at work?” Jo asked.
“Same thing I’ve been doing for the past couple of years,” Art told her.
Jo tried her best to hide how much the idea horrified her.
Two hours later, she was pounding a treadmill, fleeing from a gaping void that was opening underneath her. Lucy sat in one of the windows that lined the street-facing side of Furious Fitness’s second floor, reading a battered copy of Carrie. Several concerned citizens had already informed Jo that the content of the book wasn’t suitable for an eleven-year-old. But Jo went by the rule her father had imposed when she was a child of Lucy’s age. If you’re old enough to understand all the words, he always said, you’re old enough to read it. The rule had driven her mother completely insane, and yet she’d never once challenged it.
As Jo recalled, her parents’ relationship had been a Venn diagram with a thin sliver of overlap. Each had their own distinct spheres of influence. Her father ruled the family finances, the kids’ education, the television schedule, and the yard. Her mother, meanwhile, was the undisputed queen of all social events, children’s attire, meals, and manners. In the house they’d shared for fifty years, her parents’ only common ground had been the dining-room table and the master bed. In her younger years, Jo had found the arrangement old-fashioned and inflexible. She had sworn her marriage would be different. But it hadn’t been. Not really. Now Art was asking to swap spheres for a while. It was a reasonable request. Sensible. Logical. The truth was, she just didn’t want to.
She was running from the thought when she saw Lucy wave to someone who’d just walked up the stairs. Then Claude’s frantic face appeared beside her, and Jo pulled out her headphones.
“Jo! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Claude cried. “People are dropping like flies around here! It’s not a good time to stop answering your phone!”
“Sorry.” Jo hit the cooldown button, and the treadmill slowed to a crawl. As soon as she’d gotten to the gym, she’d shoved her phone into one of the drawers at the front desk. She knew Art would be texting about his plan, and she wasn’t ready to talk. “You heard about Josh Gibbon?”
“It’s all over the news! They say your friend found him—the lady I met here the other day?”
“Nessa.”
“Such a terrible tragedy. And what an awful thing for your friend to see. Didn’t Nessa find the girl down by Danskammer Beach, too?” Claude asked. “Does she have some kind of secret power for finding dead bodies or something?”
“It was my fault that Nessa found Josh,” Jo said, sidestepping the question. “I was the one who asked her to go talk to him.”
“I know. I was there when you asked,” Claude said. “I still don’t understand it. Didn’t he throw you under the bus when he apologized for having you guys on the show?”
“Yeah, but we discovered something new about the murders and we couldn’t go to the cops or the newspapers with it. We were hoping Josh could help.”
“Oh my God. What did you find?”