Part Eight
I.
Joey wanted to plan a visit to Jen and Grams while she was on summer break and before Anders started preschool. But their trips at Thanksgiving and Christmas, combined with Anders' case of pneumonia, had used up all of Pacey's vacation days, so he stayed in Boston while Joey and Anders spent a week in NYC.
The visit was necessary, as Mrs. Ryan was not doing well, and the whole family was in low spirits. Anders did much to raise them, just by being a loud, chaotic, lovable child. He looked liked his mother, but he was definitely his father's son.
Joey was glad to see her friends and pleased with the good effect Anders had on them, but the trip was hard on her. Memories of her mother reinforced her fears for Grams, and she missed Pacey. They had not been apart a night since they first moved in together. Building her life's happiness around a single person was both terrifying and comforting. She thought a lot that week about Mr. and Mrs. Ryan and their bench by the creek.
Joey forgot to bring Andersen's storybook—it was ludicrous how much stuff you had to pack when vacationing with a two-year-old. Rather than buy another one, Joey took lessons from Andersen's namesake and used personification to invent stories about the adventures of a sentient sailboat. They worked just as well for lulling him to sleep, and Joey spent hours in the night—sleepless without Pacey beside her—puzzling out improvements and additions. On impulse, she bought a notebook at the station and spent much of the train ride home putting her stories to paper.
They returned to Pacey's beloved arms and to the news that Dawson and Gretchen were moving. One of Dawson's film school pals was making a movie in Vancouver and had offered Dawson a job as assistant director. It was too good an offer to refuse, and Gretchen was thrilled with the idea of a road trip, followed by living someplace new. They were both so happy Joey couldn't resent their leaving.
But it meant the start of another roommate search. Audrey didn't care who filled the void, but Anders' presence made Joey and Pacey cautious. Their son would begin Head Start in the fall; Pacey was switching to the breakfast and lunch shift, so he would be home in the evenings with Anders, all of which meant babysitting had become a less compulsory trait in a roommate. But they rejected a few of Audrey's party friends flat.
Jack phoned Joey a few weeks after Dawson and Gretchen's departure. After the requisite small talk—no appreciable change in Grams' condition, Anders had said his first curse word and received his first time-out—Jack said, "Pacey mentioned you guys were roommate hunting. I had an idea right away, but I thought I should run it by you first."
"Sure. Who you got?"
"Andie. She's starting her second year of Harvard pre-med, and I'm a little worried about her. You know how focused and driven she can be. I don't think she made one friend or went to one party her entire freshman year. I thought friends she knows, people she feels safe with, might be a good thing. But if it's weird for you, with her being Pacey's ex, the idea dies here."
"That actually sounds perfect. Thanks for the suggestion."
"You're not bothered by her history with Pacey?"
The key point of their history was that Andie had thrown away what Joey valued most, but she didn't make that point to Andie's brother. "Everyone has history. If Pacey survived a year with my ex-soulmate, I imagine I can brave the danger. Andie's our friend, not some random stranger. I'll feel safe with Anders in the house with her, and if, like you said, we could do her some good, all the better."
Pacey supported the plan, but Andie rejected the offer when they made it. She said the house was too far from campus and living with a small child would distract from her studies. Joey was unwilling to press her, but Jack had no such compunction. He spent a week visiting his sister and friends in Boston, at the end of which a blushing Andie asked if that room was still available.
To Joey's surprise, Audrey took an immediate shine to Andie and did more to coax her out of the schoolwork zone than Pacey and Joey could manage with their busy lives. Audrey declared Friday single ladies' night, and every week, without fail, made Andie shut her books and hit the town.
Joey, unlike Andie, was not taking any classes that summer. Between work, chores, and motherhood, it didn't feel like much of a break, but she stole a few hours where she could to work on her story. Pacey had given her an easel and new art supplies for Christmas, and she finally put them to use, painting watercolors for her book.
Joey's original intent was to bind the book and save it for Anders, an idealized, allegorical fairytale about how his parents fell in love. But when she showed the finished project to Pacey, he had other ideas.
"This is beautiful, Jo. You should get it published."
Joey snorted. "Yeah, because the thing I really need to get me through my senior year at Worthington is a series of rejection letters inspiring a debilitating bout of depression."
Pacey put the book aside and pulled Joey into his lap. "There is no way that will happen, but, lucky for you, you have a husband who knows more about rejection than anyone alive, who can help you through if it does."
"Right. Because your coping mechanisms of sullen silence and lashing out were so healthy."
"I could tell you what not to do, anyway. But I'm serious, Jo. The book is good. At least run it by some of your professors and see what they think."
Against her better judgment, Joey made a couple copies of her book. She gave one to her nicest English professor, Wilder, and one to the terror of the department, Hetson. Wilder returned it to her within the week, laden with red marks and the kind of patronizing encouragement which convinced Joey publication was a pipe-dream. Professor Hetson waited so long to get back to her Joey was certain the book had been shoved to the bottom of a pile somewhere.
Late in the semester, Hetson asked her to stay after class one day. "Surprised you haven't been nagging me about that story of yours, Mrs. Witter."
"Oh. I figured it was best forgotten." Joey shifted her bookbag uncomfortably from shoulder to shoulder.
"Why? I liked it. Much more than your classwork, if I'm being honest. Of course, I know nothing about children's lit. so I gave it to a colleague of mine who does. She's a fan, too, and recommended it to a publisher you might know." The professor handed Joey a business card, along with the battered copy of her manuscript. "They're awaiting your call."
Joey's mind spun. "Thank you, Professor. I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just don't let this distract you from turning your work in on time, and we'll be cool."
IV.
Joey wallowed through the rest of her summer, but, with autumn, came classes and her teaching hours for certification. She became too busy and motivated to give her shattered heart any attention.
When Doug stopped by the B&B one day in November, it was too common an event to cause any surprise. Since learning about Andersen, scarcely a week went by without him dropping in for dinner, or bringing Anders a new toy, or driving him out for an adventure in a real police car. The shock came when he bypassed the kids playing in the yard to talk to Joey. She was in the kitchen, making dinner—macaroni and hot dogs, the limit of her culinary skills.
"Hey, Doug, what's up?"
"I finally heard from my brother."
The spoon Joey was stirring with went slack before she recovered and continued to mix in the melting butter. "Oh?"
"He's married, Joey. I got his wedding announcement in the mail today. I'm sorry."
Joey forced a laugh, hoped it didn't sound bitter. "Why? Does he...does he look happy?"
"I brought it with me, if you'd care to see it. But you don't have to, if you'd rather not."
Best to get it over with in one devastating swoop, not leave herself a single shred of hope to feed upon. Without a word, Joey held out her hand. Doug handed her a large, colorful print, reminiscent of a Christmas card, except the words announcing the recent marriage of Helene Marie Fournier to Pacey J. Witter.
The picture was of a smiling couple wrapped around each other, standing in front of a picturesque French chateau. Pacey looked good, tanned, lean, eyes bright with happiness Joey could see even in a photograph. His new wife had worked some kind of magic on his wardrobe, since he was dressed in blue and black, not a day-glo color or Hawaiian print to be seen. The woman—Mrs. Witter, Joey corrected herself harshly—was gorgeous and as French as her name. Lustrous, chestnut hair; dark, flashing eyes; pouting lips turned up in a seductive smile.
Joey forced herself to memorize the image, then handed it back to Doug with a quiet, "Thank you."
"I'm sorry, Joey," Doug said again.
Joey added the cheese packet to the macaroni and said nothing.
"In light of this, since it's already happened, I mean, it would be cruel to tell him about Andersen now, don't you agree?"
"Yes," said Joey, cutting up hot dogs to toss in the pasta. "Yes, I agree."
II.
Being back with Pacey did not drastically change Joey's life. They had pretty much been a couple for months, anyway. The main difference was simply being happy. But, as Audrey observed, that was a side effect of copious amounts of sex.
More and more of Joey's belongings migrated to Pacey's room, until it was theirs, and the other resumed its function as storage. But as the year neared its close, Joey took to hiding in that room while she worked on a project. She found a photograph of True Love and painted Pacey a picture for Christmas. True Love how she must have looked as they sailed away into a summer sunset.
Pacey loved it. At least he claimed to. When he told her to hang it in the office, instead of their apartment, Joey had her doubts.
"Trust me," was Pacey's cryptic response.
By week's end, she had three commissions for obscene amounts of money to paint customers' boats.
"Never underestimate the love of a captain for his ship," Pacey told her smugly.
The painting jobs kept coming and made it likely Joey would graduate debt-free in the spring. She was thinking about enrolling in grad school afterwards, as she still hadn't decided what to do with her life.
Pacey's future, on the other hand, was becoming more entrenched in the shipwright business. After Jeff's son declaimed forever any interest in the family heritage, Jeff gave Pacey a five percent share in the company, with the option to buy in more as the years went by. There was some suggestion that Taylor & Sons might one day become Taylor & Witter.
I.
Within the month, Joey had officially sold her first book. The money wasn't much; most of it would depend on royalties from sales. But the publishers had faith enough that it would sell to option first rights on her next three books.
Joey put away Andersen's storybooks and started inventing her own for bedtime. The ones he enjoyed most she wrote down and started sketching.
Sometimes it was hard to remember she had one last year of school to finish. Joey had found her calling.
The day the box arrived with Joey's copies of the book was surreal. She and Pacey opened it together, and there was her name Josephine Witter printed against her painting of a ship in a storm. Reverently, Joey traced the letters with her finger.
"So how high does this rank on your list of perfect days, Potter?"
"Mmm, the day Anders was born, the island picnic I had with Mom and Bessie when I was seven, then this."
"I should be offended, but I'm just too damn proud of you." Pacey grabbed a copy off the stack and flipped through the pages. Joey knew when he found it, because his fingers stilled and tears stood out in his blue eyes.
The one page Pacey hadn't seen before, the dedication.
For Pacey, the star I steer by
and
For Andersen, the reason we found safe harbor
The book did sell. Book signings had to be fitted into Joey's already overloaded schedule. She refused to go on the tour her publishers wanted, but she quit taking weekend shifts at the bar and instead spent her Saturdays at bookstores up and down the eastern seaboard. She saw little eyes grow wide and tiny faces light up as she read the words she had written and knew there could be no more rewarding profession than this.
Jack and Jen came to see her when she was in New York. Pacey came along and brought Anders with him on the rare occasions he had the day off. Bessie and Bodie and their kids made a surprise appearance one day at a signing in Boston.
Bessie bought a whole stack of books and threatened to give one to everyone she knew or had ever met. "My little sis, the authoress," she said with wonder.
To Bessie, wrote Joey, in her sister's personal copy, whatever I am or ever hope to be is because I had your shoulders to stand on.
Joey was studying for the final finals of her life. She had discovered early in the year that Andie's cave in the attic was the ideal study environment. As they both craved quiet and lack of distraction, Andie and Joey's main bonding experience through the year had been hours spent in silence. Probably not what Jack intended in their living arrangement, but Audrey made up for it on the weekends.
The door at the bottom of the steps crashed open, and Anders raced up the stairs so fast he balanced on his hands the last few steps. "Dinner's ready!" he shouted, excited and pleased to be the messenger. "Daddy says he's not bringing it up here, and if you won't come, I should drag you." He followed words with actions, chubby fingers grabbing his mother's slim hands and pulling with all his might.
Joey rose with a laugh. "Yes, sir. Come on, Andie, we've been given our orders."
"Five more minutes." Andie's head remained buried in her textbook.
Joey looked at her son and jerked her head toward the oblivious blonde. With a grin, Anders launched himself onto the bed. He tickled Andie with more enthusiasm than skill. Andie surrendered, dropping the book to flip the little boy on his back and tickle him until he squealed.
"All right, monster, you win." Andie scooted off the bed while Anders hopped down and went barreling ahead of them.
Pacey had dinner on the table set for five. Audrey and Anders were already sitting when Joey and Andie arrived.
Joey wrinkled her nose while sliding into the seat Pacey held out for her. "Fish?"
Pacey chuckled. "Kiddo, what do we tell picky eaters?"
"You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit," Anders sing-songed.
Joey stuck her tongue out at Pacey while he took the seat across from her. "Using my own son against me is almost as mean as promising to cook dinner and then serving my least favorite food."
"First of all, they're salmon croquettes, the least fishy of fish. Secondly, it's a proven fact that fish is brain food, and I thought the scholars of the house would appreciate it."
"I appreciate it, Pacey," said Andie, before practically inhaling her food in her rush to return to her books.
Joey looked down at the elegant salmon, seasoned rice and summer squash. She looked at her son, consuming with gusto a meal which would send most three-year-olds into fits. She looked at her friends, at her home, and finally at her husband. She smiled and ran her toes over his foot and up his calf, a silent confirmation that she appreciated it, too. Even if she hated fish.
After dinner, Pacey assigned Audrey clean-up duty, over her strong objections. He took charge of Anders' bath and bed routine, so Joey could have a few more hours to study.
Joey assumed Andie would lose herself to the work as soon as they entered the room, but her shorter friend sat on the edge of the bed, worrying her hands, making no attempt to open a book.
"Everything all right?" Joey asked as she grabbed her women's lit. notes off the floor.
"I want to tell you something, but I don't know if it's appropriate." Andie sounded nervous, but not the teary devastation which marked her down times.
"Appropriate has never really been a hallmark of any of the conversations our little gang has. If something's on your mind, share it."
"It's about Pacey," Andie blurted out.
Joey had suspected it was, so her expression did not change. "Okay. What about Pacey?"
"I spent years blaming myself for ruining things with him. I was sure he was 'the one,' and if I hadn't messed up, he and I would have been together forever. I have sabotaged every single relationship I've had since then, because I couldn't let go of him. I watched him with you and thought, that could have been us. It's why I didn't want to live with you guys."
Joey wasn't exactly shocked by Andie's revelations, but she was filled with pity for her friend. "Andie, I—"
"Wait, Joey. Let me finish. Living with you both has turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me. I see your life, how happy it makes you both, but I've realized this is not the kind of life I want. Call it ambition or selfishness, but I want to do more, become someone important, change the world." She gave a self-deprecating little laugh. "I used to think I could turn Pacey into a person who wanted that, too, but the truth is all he ever wanted is what he has with you—a family who loves him. So now I finally know it wasn't all my fault, I can quit blaming myself. Things worked out exactly the way they should." Andie shot Joey one last, anxious look. "Please, don't hate me."
Joey sat next to Andie on the bed and wrapped an arm around her in a sideways hug. "I think I love you more than ever."
IV.
Joey graduated in the spring. She lined up a job at Capeside Elementary, teaching second grade, not out of some deep calling, but because it was the opening they had.
She took Andersen to New York for an extended visit with Mrs. Ryan and Jen. Mrs. Ryan wasn't doing well. Every time they thought she had the cancer licked, it was discovered in some new, worse place. The doctors weren't discussing a complete recovery anymore.
Mrs. Ryan was in good spirits, all things considered. "No one lives forever, Josephine," she said one day, as they sat in the park and watched Andersen play. "I'm old, and I'm tired, and I'm ready to go home and see my Jesus." Mrs. Ryan always talked about Jesus as though he were some far away but much-loved friend. "I worry for Jennifer. I don't want to see her embittered by this."
Jen didn't strike Joey as angry. In fact, sorrow about Grams aside, Jen had never seemed happier. She had graduated NYU with a psych major and been accepted into the masters program there. She and her mother had mended fences, and she had a new boyfriend, one she thought hung the moon. Joey didn't care much for him, but she had always found Jen's taste in men—Dawson excepted—somewhat suspect.
Jack didn't like Jen's boyfriend, either, but he had his own news to impart. He was returning to Capeside to teach English at the high school. "I always hoped my life's career would smack of irony," he said with a laugh.
Joey was just happy he was coming home.
After her month in New York, Joey returned to Capeside to find Dawson's long-anticipated trip home had been postponed yet again. His pilot, loosely based on his own adolescence—Joey couldn't wait to see how terribly he depicted her this time—had been picked up, and he was already filming. She was sad not to see him, but happy his dreams were coming true.
She heard no more about Pacey. If others heard, they didn't tell her. The silence was kind.
III.
The people who insisted high school was the best years of your life were flat-out wrong as far as Joey was concerned. College was infinitely better. Pacey was right when he said Joey thrived at Worthington. Her love of literature long-outlasted her fleeting crush on Professor Wilder and even survived the douchiness of her next year's professor. So, in spite of its impracticality and unlikelihood to ever make her a fortune, or even a living, Joey became a lit. major.
Pacey spent three years learning in other restaurant kitchens, through part-time jobs, and in classes at Boston's culinary institute. Joey had never been prouder of him, though she teased that they were going to end up a fat old couple if he kept feeding her pasta and sweets.
During Joey's senior year, they bowed to the inevitable and moved in together. It was a tiny rathole of a place, and both their tempers flared sometimes as they settled into their new situation. But when Joey fell asleep in Pacey's arms every night, she could not imagine another life for herself. At least not one she'd want.
Joey graduated magna cum laude, and Pacey rewarded her with two tickets to Paris. They didn't have much money; it was youth hostels and bag lunches all the way, but it felt like the summer on True Love, like the world had paused to give them a magic moment.
Maybe that magical feeling was why Joey didn't hesitate to say yes when Pacey looked at her bathed in the light of the stained glass windows of Sainte-Chapelle and asked, "Jo, will you marry me?"
They got the crazy idea to marry in France before they went home and spare themselves the fuss and bother of a wedding. A brief experience of the bureaucracy and red tape of trying to wed on foreign soil convinced them international waters were easier. More fitting for them, anyway. They booked the cheapest cruise on the Riviera and were married in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.
IV.
Joey met Greg Lawhead at her first faculty meeting. He was one of the fifth grade teachers, a kind-faced, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties. He would have made no more impression on her than the score of staff she was introduced to that night if he hadn't approached her during the coffee break with a warm smile and a friendly offering.
"I'm still new enough to remember how hard the first year or two can be. If you need anything—be it advice, someone to listen to a rant, or art supplies—my door is always open. Unless it's closed, of course."
Joey laughed at his unfunny joke and thanked him.
But his offer was genuine, and his classroom became a refuge for Joey in the difficult, early weeks of teaching.
Greg's eyes, behind his glasses, were the gray of a midwinter storm. Slate gray was also the color of his favorite sweater and the prematurely changed swath of hair by his left temple. His jokes weren't funny, but he had a nice laugh. He had an authoritarian manner that must come in handy corralling thirty preteens, but Joey never once heard him raise his voice. He was divorced, with joint custody of his eight-year-old daughter and five-year-old son. When Joey told him about Andersen, he suggested they get the boys together for a playdate.
The boys hit it off, and it became a standing arrangement. Every other Saturday, on the weekend Greg had his kids, they met at the park. The kids played. Greg brought Joey coffee, black, the way she liked it. They sat on a bench and chatted about their lives.
It was nice.
After the initial weeks of terror, Joey grew to like teaching. Her students were old enough to know the routine of school, yet young enough to mostly like it. She had only a few problem pupils, one a smartass class clown who reminded her far too much of Pacey at his age. It made her indulgent with his antics.
Joey and Jack met for drinks after work most Fridays. Hearing horror stories of trying to teach poetry to freshmen made Joey ever more grateful for Shel Silverstein and second grade. Greg joined them sometimes, and Joey extended invitations to Doug Witter as well. She wasn't trying to matchmake, but she thought Jack might be able to help Doug with those painful first steps out of the closet.
"So are all your friends men?" Greg asked, while walking her home one night. His hand rested behind her elbow, not quite supporting her but there if she should happen to need it.
Joey snorted. "Pretty much. There's Bessie, my sister. And Jen, but she's in New York. Everyone else...even when I was kid, my best friends were guys." She hadn't told Greg about Dawson and Pacey yet; it was a lot to dump on a man she wasn't even dating.
"Thus, Joey." At her blank look, he clarified, "Instead of Josephine."
"Oh. Right."
Joey stumbled. Greg grabbed her arm to right her, and she turned and kissed him. It was nice.
He smiled when he broke the kiss, tucked her arm through his and walked her the rest of the way home. On the front stoop, he kissed her again, but didn't suggest she invite him in. He merely said, "Good night, Josephine," and left her there.
After that, with no further discussion, Joey and Greg were dating. He took her out on weeks when he didn't have his kids. Sometimes, she slept over; more often, she went home after, unwilling to spend the night away from her son. When Greg did have the kids, it was family-friendly outings for all.
It was Joey's first official relationship since Pacey and couldn't have been more different. While her time with Pacey had been mercurial, extraordinary highs and devastating lows, Greg was steadiness and comfort. It was the kind of relationship Joey imagined she and Dawson might have had if they'd waited until their hormones were in check.
"Boring," Jen said, when Joey tried to explain it to her.
"Maybe a little. But after the last four years, it's amazing how good boring can feel."
I.
Life changed after graduation. Joey had her second children's book published, this one about an alien who came to earth and witnessed terrible things but could not understand them and kept putting beautiful interpretations on them, until they became beautiful. She dedicated it to Dawson.
Her publishers also hired her to do illustrations for some other authors' books. The work was unlikely to make her rich, but the pay was enough to let Joey quit working as a waitress. Audrey moved back to California; instead of taking on another roommate, Pacey and Joey converted the empty room into a studio/office for Joey.
Joey loved working from home. She wrote and painted while Anders was at preschool and had her entire afternoons and evenings to devote to her son. For the first time since he was born, she felt she was spending enough time with him.
Pacey was promoted to executive chef at his restaurant. The extra pay was appreciated; the extra hours were not. They talked about his opening his own place someday, but for now the financial risk was not worth the distant promise of more flexibility in his schedule.
They made the most of the time they did have. Wednesday, Pacey's day off, was family day. Sometimes, they kept Anders with them and went on outings to the zoo or the children's museum, to Capeside or New York, even fishing or sailing. Sometimes, Pacey and Joey spent the hours Anders was in preschool on a date. They would go to a matinee movie, or ice skating, or just to a lunch Pacey didn't have to cook. Occasionally, they spent the whole day in bed.
But those were the highlights. The everyday was bills to pay, a house to clean, doctors' appointments, teaching Anders not to scream in the house, not to jump off the stairs, not to climb on the furniture, not to play with Mommy's paints. Mornings when Pacey was so frustrated with Anders' dawdling that he yelled at his son—and hated himself for it for hours if not days after. Days when Joey was so exhausted by the time Pacey came home, she bit his head off just for walking in the door.
Good days and bad, Joey had no regrets.
IV.
Joey's Christmas gift to herself and her son was a two-bedroom apartment of their own halfway between the B&B and the school. It was also walking distance from Greg's. That was incidental; Capeside was a small town.
"Mommy, what's this?"
Joey looked up from the box she was unpacking to see her son with a spilling shoebox of postcards in his hands. She sighed. Andersen, now four, had started to notice that most of his friends had daddies and he did not. Joey had been wondering how to begin the conversation and knew this was as good a sign as any.
She abandoned her packing to sit cross-legged on the floor beside the fallen postcards. As if sensing the import of the moment, Andersen mimicked her position on the other side of the mess.
"These are postcards your daddy sent me."
Andersen's blue eyes were as huge and round as she had ever seen them. "I have a daddy?"
"You do. His name is Pacey. He's Uncle Doug's brother."
"I like Uncle Doug. Is my daddy like him?"
"Not much," Joey admitted with a laugh. "But he's wonderful in his own way."
"How come I never seen him?"
"Because he's a sailor. He sails all around the world, and that's where these postcards come from." Joey didn't add that she hadn't received one in over a year. Time enough to answer that question when he was older.
Andersen viewed the postcards with greedy eyes. "Can I have them, Mommy?"
"Of course. I saved them for you." She helped him gather the pictures and put them back in their box. It was given a place of honor by Andersen's bed.
Joey hoped that would be the end of it.
Naturally, it was only the beginning. Every day, Andersen came to her with some new question about his father.
"Is my daddy a pirate?"
"Lord, I hope not."
"Is my daddy stronger than Lily's daddy?"
"I have no idea. Probably not. Mr. Leery is really strong."
"Did you like my daddy, Mommy?"
"Very much."
"Do you think Daddy would like the snow tunnel Alex and I made?"
"I think he'd slide through and wreck it."
"Is my daddy ever coming home?"
"I don't know, sweetie."
When he asked what his dad looked like, Joey went to Bessie's and dug out the photo albums. She found every picture of Pacey from age five to eighteen in their possession and transferred them to a new album she'd bought for her son.
Joey thought no one was home until Bodie laid gentle hands on her back. "Interesting project."
Joey swiped the tears off her face. "It's for Andersen."
"Ah. Good idea." Bodie squeezed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
The album, while thrilling to Anders, led to even more questions. He wanted an explanation behind every single photograph. The ones where they were kids were easy, telling him stories of their games, making their adventures sound more exciting than they actually were.
But things got complicated with the high school pictures. Much like they had in life.
"Who's that girl with Daddy?"
"That's Andie, Uncle Jack's sister."
"Why are they holding hands? You're only s'posed to hold hands with a girl if you are in love, like Alex does with Lily, but I don't, 'cause Lily is a gross girl."
"Well, Daddy and Andie were in love."
"Did they get married?"
"No, they didn't."
Andersen frowned as his worldview was challenged. "But if you're in love, you're s'posed to get married. Bella says so." Bella was Greg's daughter and considered herself the source of all wisdom.
"Sometimes people in love get married, like Lily's parents. Sometimes they don't, like Uncle Bodie and Aunt Bessie. And sometimes they fall out of love, which is what happened with Andie and your daddy."
"Is that why he's holding your hand in this picture? Did Daddy fall in love with you?"
Joey dried dishes and didn't look at the photograph. "Yes, he did. We did."
"And you kissed." The words were hurled as an accusation. Andersen pointed at the incriminating photo from the album opened on the kitchen table. "That's 'scusting."
Joey laughed. "Sorry, sweetie. Kissing is something mommies and daddies do."
This made Anders wrinkle his tiny brow in thought. "Is Mr. Lawhead my new daddy? You let him kiss you."
"No, he's not your daddy. He's just a nice man I'm dating. Sometimes you kiss people you're dating."
"I like my old daddy," Andersen announced with a child's lack of logic. He'd never met Pacey and adored Greg.
"Good for you. Time for bed."
But the discussion was only delayed, because when baths were taken, teeth were brushed, jammies were donned, and Joey was tucking him in, Anders asked, "Did you and daddy get 'vorced? Bella and Brandon's mommy and daddy got 'vorced, and that's why they don't live together no more."
"No, Anders, your daddy and I were never married, like Aunt Bessie and Uncle Bodie."
"Then why'd he go away? Uncle Bodie never goes away."
"Uncle Bodie is a chef, not a sailor. Chefs stay; sailors have to leave."
Andersen was dissatisfied with her answer. "I wish my daddy were a chef."
"Good night, Anders." Joey turned off the light before he could ask another question.
The interrogation continued at a rate Joey's answers couldn't match. She told him to ask Uncle Jack and Auntie Jen some of them. She thought of directing him to Doug, as well, but Joey had never subscribed to the Witter view of Pacey. She wanted her son to have a kind vision of his father. Pacey had done nothing to forfeit that right, and Andersen deserved at least that much.
But Joey found rehashing her relationship with Pacey—even the child-friendly version of it—exhausting. It made her turn with more gratitude than ever to Greg's stability.
"If you don't mind my asking," Greg said one evening as they nursed a bottle of wine on his couch, "what did happen to Anders' father? I wouldn't have brought it up, except he's even asking me now."
Joey took a large drink and refilled her glass. "Sorry. He's become obsessed."
"All boys want to know their father. It's natural; it doesn't mean you're not a wonderful mother." He slipped a comforting arm along the back of the sofa, behind her head. "Has his father ever been part of his life?"
"His father doesn't know." And then, because she wanted to avoid a lecture, because she was tired of thinking about it, and because she was more than a little drunk, Joey added a lie. "He had already left when I found out I was pregnant."
"I'm sorry, Josephine." Greg put down his wine and covered her hand with his. "Did you love him a great deal?"
Joey thought about reading fairy tales in the cramped hold of True Love. She thought about her son's name. "Once upon a time," she said with a biting laugh. She drained her glass.
Even the deepest obsession of a four-year-old is a passing phase. By springtime, Andersen's questions about his father were only as common as questions about airplanes, and less frequent than inquiries about dinosaurs.
Joey's brilliant plan to get Doug out of the closet had only resulted in Jack being shoved halfway in it, once they started dating each other. She spent many evenings listening to Jack, at varying levels of intoxication, express the misery of dating someone so uncomfortable with who he was.
"If it's so awful, why don't you stop seeing him?"
Jack laughed bitterly. "You, of all people, should recognize how hard it is to stop loving a Witter."
"But I, of all people, am proof that it can be done," she returned with a cheery smile.
Jack rolled his eyes. Or tried to. He was pretty drunk. "You're a better liar than you used to be. That's the only difference I can see."
"Your vision is a bit blurry at the moment, old friend. I happen to be one hundred percent in love with Greg."
"Greg," Jack scoffed. "Who falls in love with a guy named Greg?"
"Who falls in love with a guy named Doug?"
That shut him up.
Joey and Andersen spent a month that summer sharing a cabin in Maine with Greg and his kids. Joey was not by any means ready to have a conversation about sleeping arrangements with her precocious son, so she had one room, the kids had the other, and Greg slept on the fold-out couch. She volunteered to switch off nights for the bed, but he wouldn't hear of it.
Andersen loved the trees and the trails, disappearing for hours with Bella and Brandon, coming home filthy and glowing with joy. Joey reveled in her son's happiness and in a whole month with nothing to do.
She thought about taking up a sketchpad and drawing, but no sight held her interest long enough. She thought about getting out her notebook, but once she learned that stories which began with Once upon a time didn't end with happily ever after, there was nothing more to say.
She basked in the motionless calm.
I.
Joey's third book was for Jen and Grams. The story of a princess who ran away from her cruel king father and lost herself in a dark wood until she was found by a witch, who turned out to be a fairy godmother in disguise. The witch taught the princess how to save herself, and the princess lifted the curse which hid the fairy's beauty.
The publishers expected it to sell better than Joey's first two books combined. Her name was becoming recognizable, and the feminist take on a princess tale had critics and moms' groups salivating. Joey's agent insisted on a nationwide tour this time.
Six weeks away from Pacey sounded unendurable, but six weeks away from Anders was not an option. So Joey called in a favor from Gretchen—she and Dawson were in L.A. now—and her sister-in-law agreed to be temporary nanny. Truth be told, Gretchen didn't take much convincing; a cross-country road trip with her favorite nephew was speaking her language.
Pacey joined them for three days in Arizona. By then, Joey had been on the road for a month, more than enough time to convince her of two things.
"One, I am never spending so long away from home again, I don't care what anyone says."
Pacey smiled lazily at her from across their motel bed. "I approve." He ran his knuckles from the bottom of her spine to the nape of her neck. Joey shivered. "And two?"
Joey traced his eye crinkles with light fingers. His five o'clock shadow tickled the palm of her hand. "I want another baby, Pace."
Pacey's expression stretched into an enthusiastic, joy-filled grin. "Yeah?"
Joey nodded against her pillow, a shy smile growing to match his. "Yeah."
"I think we should probably get to work on that." Pacey closed the distance between them, rolling on top of her. "Right now."
"That was cheesy and cliché, even for you," Joey scoffed.
But Pacey brushed the hair off her forehead and looked at her in the way that turned her body liquid, and she forgot to care.
IV.
"I'm pregnant," Jen blurted out as soon as Joey answered the phone.
"Uh, congratulations?" Joey couldn't tell from Jen's tone whether that was in order or not.
"Thanks. I'm both excited and terrified, so I thought I'd make the first of many, many calls to the most competent single mother I know."
"Sorry, Bessie's not here right now. You're stuck with me."
"Har, har. Anyway, Bessie's not a single mother, Bodie's there."
"Have you told Oscar?" Oscar was the atrocious name of the atrocious boyfriend. Jack and Joey were united in their belief in the idiocy of falling in love with men named Oscar.
"Not yet. Tomorrow night, he's taking me out to dinner. I hope he'll be happy, but even if he's not, I'm keeping the baby. I think about how much I love Anders, and I know this is the right choice for me."
"Well, definitely congratulations then. I wish I could be there to hold back your hair while you acquire the radiant glow that results from puking your guts out for three solid months."
Jen laughed. "I'm surprised by how little morning sickness I've had so far. But the desperate desire to top my bagels with ketchup and bacon is kinda weirding me out."
They compared food cravings and other early pregnancy woes for a while before hanging up. Joey prayed she wouldn't get a call from a heartbroken Jen the next night, that the atrocious Oscar would prove better than his name.
The phone call didn't come the next night, or the night after that. Joey began to feel her fears were misplaced, when it finally arrived.
"He left. He said he was excited. Even though I knew he was lying, I thought his trying to be meant he would get there. Then I dropped by his apartment today, and he was just...gone. All his stuff vanished, no forwarding address."
"Rat bastard."
Jen's laugh had tears in it. "Totally. He could have told me he wanted nothing to do with it or me. I'm not the stalking type, and what kind of child support would I expect from a penniless artist?"
"Screw him, Jen. He's not worth a moment's regret. You have to focus on you now, you and your baby."
"Yeah." Jen's voice sounded distant, uncertain. "You know what, Joey? For the first time, I think maybe you were right not to tell Pacey."
Joey watched her son sort through the pile of postcards on his bed and knew, not for the first time, that she had been wrong.
II.
Pacey entered the office, staring at his phone, a puzzled look on his face.
"What's wrong?"
He snapped his head up and smiled at Joey. She had opted to continue working at Taylor's, though most of her income came from her paintings. Grad school was shelved for the moment, under the heading, Maybe Someday.
"Not wrong, exactly. Just weird. I was talking to Lindley. She's pregnant." Pacey had done a much better job keeping in touch with Jen and Jack since they moved to New York than Joey had.
"Pregnant? Wow. Is the father involved?"
Pacey shook his head. "She says no, but she's keeping it. She sounds excited."
"Well, good for her." Joey gathered up her easel and art supplies. "I'm off to paint another boat. I swear, some days I'd kill to paint literally anything else." She gave Pacey a swift kiss. "See you later."
Painting boats no longer swallowed Joey's whole attention. The sea breeze and the lapping of the waves gave her mind freedom to wander. That day, her thoughts on Jen's pregnancy led her back by degrees to thoughts of her own. That short-lived time felt ages ago, almost like an event from someone else's life. Jen seemed young to be having a baby now, but she was five years older than Joey was then. She was about the same age as Bessie was when she found out she was pregnant with Alexander.
Then Joey was thinking not of other people's pregnancies, nor of her own past, but of the future. A child with her pointed chin and Pacey's unruly hair. The poor thing would have a double dose of tall and would probably find klutziness inescapable. It would love the sea.
Joey daydreamed the afternoon away, then shoved the idea of a baby onto the shelf labeled Maybe Someday.
IV.
Joey's second year of teaching went better than her first. She knew what to expect now, and she had Greg in her corner.
Andersen's November birthday missed the cutoff for kindergarten, so he was spending one more year in preschool. Joey thought this a good thing; she worried his hyperactivity would get him in trouble at school, and she didn't want him labeled a bad seed from the start, the way his father had been.
He had so much of his father in him. This filled Joey with the desire to protect her son from any of the harsh negativity Pacey had suffered in his youth, as if she could somehow undo the effects of the wrongs done Pacey through his son.
Jen's pregnancy knit them even closer together, Joey being put in the unfamiliar role of wise sage to Jen's eager listener. But when Jen told Joey about her heart condition, Joey had nothing she could say.
When she got off the phone, though, Joey called Andie in med school, apologized for popping up out of the blue, and begged her to pull every string she knew to help Jen. Then she called Dawson in L.A. and did the same. She was even desperate enough to ask Greg to speak to his doctor ex-wife about it.
Unable to believe any of it would help, Joey took a page out of Mrs. Ryan's book. She started praying.
I.
Joey's was not a solitary pregnancy this time. Within three months of her doctor's confirmation, she received phone calls from both Jen and Gretchen. They formed a sort of bi-coastal support group.
Joey was grateful for her healthy, relatively easy pregnancy. Jen was vague about her problems, but she was in and out of the hospital several times. Gretchen started spotting in her first trimester and spent the rest of her pregnancy on doctor-mandated bedrest. Every time Joey started to complain about backaches or morning sickness, she thought of her friends and shut her mouth.
Miraculously, all three babies were safely delivered. Joey and Jen made a pact that Elisa Joy Witter and Amy Evelyn Lindley were going to grow up best friends if their mothers had to bend time and space to make it happen, while Gretchen proved she really was the perfect woman for Dawson when she agreed to name their son Steven.
Joey devoted every minute to enjoying her daughter's infancy, the way she was unable to do with Anders. Her firstborn was not thrilled about this tiny, soft disruption to his life, especially since she didn't even have the decency to be a boy, but he would come around with time.
Pacey, on the other hand, was over the moon. Joey thought she had seen the full measure of his gentleness with her and with their son, but that was nothing to how he was with Elisa. He treated his daughter as though she were made of fine china, something fragile and precious beyond measure. Joey fell in love with him all over again.
IV.
It was after one on a Friday in mid-April when an office aid brought in the sticky note. Jack McPhee called. Jen in labor. He'll pick you up after school.
Joey barely kept focus through the afternoon lessons. During recess, she called Bessie, let her know what was going on, and arranged for her to pick up Andersen from preschool.
The elementary school let out half-an-hour earlier than the high school, so when Jack pulled up outside, Joey didn't even let him park before jumping into the car.
It was a three hour drive from Capeside to New York, more with traffic. Jack must have broken every law on the books, because he got them to the hospital door in two and a half hours.
Mrs. Ryan, looking frailer and older than at New Year's, the last time Joey had seen her, rose to greet them as they ran into the waiting room. Mrs. Lindley was in the delivery room with Jen. Mrs. Ryan wanted to be there, too, but her daughter thought she didn't have the strength for the long ordeal.
"Stuff and nonsense," Mrs. Ryan huffed. But she looked tired. "They have everything prepared for an emergency C-section, if it looks like Jennifer's heart can't handle the labor. But there are risks with the surgery, too."
Jack and Joey went to check on her progress with the ward administrator. There were strict limits on who was allowed in the delivery room. Jack got in by pretending to be the father, but Joey returned to wait out the long night by Grams' side, holding her hand.
Joey's entire focus was on Jen and her baby. Perhaps it was because her mind had never been further from the idea that this was the moment Pacey Witter walked back into her life.
Or, rather, ran. He saw Mrs. Ryan as he hurried off the elevator. "I got here as fast—"
Joey's head popped up in shock. Pacey's words and steps both ceased instantly.
"Joey," he breathed.
Pacey was oddly dressed in a red baseball cap and what looked like one of Bodie's chef outfits, also red. Both were emblazoned with the name of some Manhattan eatery Joey remembered Jen praising. Apart from the bizarre costume, he looked good, a little leaner, standing a tad straighter than the Pacey in memory. His eyes, however, were the same deep blue she saw every day in the face of her son. Two brow lines had started to form at the bridge of his nose, and his five o'clock shadow was at least a day overdue for a shave. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but not all men did.
"Pacey," she managed to choke out. For the life of her, Joey had no idea what to say next.
Pacey shook himself out of an equally absorbed inspection of her and turned back to Mrs. Ryan. "How is she? I came straight from work."
Mrs. Ryan consulted her watch. "Hour fourteen of labor. It could be over any moment, or it could stretch on twice this long. Perhaps you two would like to fetch us some coffee? I'm sure you have much to say to one another." She gave Joey a pointed stare which froze the refusal on Joey's lips.
Joey stood without a word, stretching out muscles cramped from hours sitting in an uncomfortable chair. She followed Pacey back toward the elevator; he was headed downstairs to the cafeteria. Joey could have told him there was a coffeepot near the nurses' station, but that would require the ability to form words, something she felt incapable of doing.
There were several other people on the elevator, validating her temporary muteness. Joey suspected she and Pacey were taking turns glancing at each other, but she never caught his eye. Three floors down, more people got on, and Joey was forced to step closer to him. Their arms brushed. Joey jumped like she'd put her finger in a light socket.
This can't be happening. Not now, not after all these years. It was probably nervous tension. She was wound tighter than a bowstring, and any touch—from anyone at all—would have sent her reeling.
The main lobby was on the floor above the cafeteria. A mass exodus there made Joey's logical reasoning fall apart. Being shoved by the crowd caused her neurons nothing but irritation; being caught by Pacey's big hands on her forearms sent them firing alarms to every part of her body.
Why is it him? Why is it always him? Joey thought, looking up at his carefully expressionless face. She was irritated with her body, with the biological chemistry trying to convince her she felt something she had long ago decided not to feel.
Joey pushed herself away from him, to the other side of the much emptier elevator. The cafeteria was bustling, crowded and noisy, like every part of New York. Pacey's tall frame carved a path to the coffee machine which Joey trailed after. At one point, he started to reach a hand back for her, thought better of it, and let it drop back to his side.
There was what Joey judged to be a five to ten minute line for coffee. Once they'd reached it, Pacey turned to her with a large, almost genuine smile. "It's good to see you again, Potter."
"You too, Pace." The soft words escaped without her volition. She hoped he couldn't hear them in the crowd.
"So how's life been treating you? It's funny, Jen's told me the life history of almost everyone I ever met in high school. But not you. You are the proverbial lost gospel."
Joey hoped her expression gave away as little as his. "That's probably because there's not much to tell. I teach at the elementary school in Capeside."
"Capeside? I thought you'd be outta there for good before the ink on your diploma dried."
"Yeah, well, life happens. Plans change." Joey didn't know if she had the courage to tell him about Andersen, but she knew, if she did, it wouldn't be here, like this. So she cut him off with a question of her own. "What about you? Last I heard, you were the happy newlywed in France; now, you're working in New York?"
"Life happens. Plans change," Pacey shot back at her. They'd reached the front of the line. Pacey grabbed a black coffee for himself, and another—cream, no sugar—for Grams, while Joey filled a cup of her own.
They forced their way back through the mob to the elevator. Joey wasn't unwilling to resume their conversation; her mind buzzed with a hundred questions, a thousand things she wanted to tell him. But once again, the elevator was packed. She stood in his protective shadow, looking down at where his sturdy black boots barely brushed the toe of her blue work flats.
"Maybe, when this is over, we could go somewhere and talk." Pacey's deep voice seemed to issue from a great distance above her.
Joey lifted her head and smiled, heart pounding at his matching grin. "I'd like that."
When they reached maternity, Mrs. Ryan had changed places with Jack. He hurried toward them, with only a swift, searching glance at the long-parted pair. "She's had the baby. Come see." He grabbed Joey's wrist and pulled her down the hall to Jen's room, with Pacey trailing behind.
Jen glanced up with an exhausted, slightly drugged smile. "There's the other half of my Mommy & Me Club. Come meet Amy."
Joey approached the new mother and child, not risking a glance back at Pacey, whose steps fumbled in the doorway.
"Potter? You have a kid?"
"She's beautiful," Joey crooned at Jen, touching the almost translucent newborn skin.
"Thanks, Joey." Jen's eyes rocketed between Joey and Pacey, realizing her mistake.
"Like her mother," Mrs. Ryan added. She looked almost as fatigued as Jen, but blissfully content as she sat by her granddaughter's side.
"You have a kid, Jo?" Pacey repeated.
Joey stiffened. "I do." She didn't turn away from Jen and her little miracle.
"That's fantastic! How old?" Pacey asked in utter innocence. When not a voice answered him, and no one met his eye, he asked again, in a different tone completely. "How old, Joey?"
"He's five." Joey tried to sound indifferent, but she still couldn't look at him.
"He's...five..." Pacey took an audible breath in the silent room, then stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around Joey's bicep with just short of bruising force. "Congratulations, Jen, she is beautiful. Joey, we need to talk."
Part of her wanted to resist his dominance, but she knew she'd find no support in that room. This was the fitting harvest of the lies she'd sown six years ago. Joey allowed Pacey to drag her out of Jen's room and down the hallway, wondering vaguely when and where they'd set down their untouched coffees.
Showing astonishingly lucid thinking, Pacey pushed open the door to the stairway. The sixteenth floor stairwell was likely one of the only places in this whole ammonia-reeking nightmare of a building empty of people. He pulled Joey in with him, then spun around to face her. For a long time, he did nothing but stare at her face, while Joey made a mental record of the chips in the walls' whitewash.
Joey could bear it no longer. "Pacey, you're hurting me." She made a futile effort to free her arm from his grip.
Pacey loosened his hold but did not let go. "Is he mine, Jo?" His voice crackled with barely restrained emotion.
"Yes," Joey whispered.
"Fuck!" Pacey released her so suddenly she fell back a step. He kicked the railing, which rang with a hollow echo. "Goddammit, Potter, why didn't you tell me?"
"I, I didn't...I don't..."
"Did you know before I left? The first time. Did you know then?"
Joey felt like the sinner on the Day of Judgment, compelled to honesty by his blazing eyes. "Yes."
"And Boston? You knew I was in Boston, right?"
"Yes." Joey wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to stop shaking.
Pacey turned away from her completely. He grabbed the rail with both hands, squeezed hard enough to make it clang, to make Joey fear it would go tumbling over and take Pacey with it. "You hate me that much?"
"What!? I don't hate you."
"You must. You must because no one who felt even a shred of love, even the memory of love in her soul could do this to me."
"Pacey—"
"What's his name?" Pacey cut her off, twisting back to face her.
"Andersen. Andersen Obadiah Potter. We call him Anders, for short."
"Andersen. Do you have a picture?"
"They're in my purse." Her purse which was somewhere with her missing coffee. She hoped in Jen's room.
"Doesn't matter. I'll be seeing him soon enough." Pacey stepped closer to her. The air between them vibrated with a different energy than the tension in the elevator. "I'm going to Capeside, and I'm meeting my son, and, if you try to stop me, I will drag you through every court in the land to get the rights you tried to deny me."
Joey stood her ground. On this charge, at least, she was innocent. "I won't stop you, Pacey." She could have said more, could have said how Andersen was dying to meet him, how she'd never told their son anything but the best about his father, could have begged him not to steal her child from her.
But with a sound of disgust, Pacey turned on his heel and raced down the steps, as though sixteen stories wasn't space enough to put between them.
Jack decided to stay the weekend with Jen and her new daughter, but Joey had a panicked need to return to her son as fast as possible. She didn't really believe Pacey would be so stupid or cruel as to steal Andersen away, but she wouldn't feel right until he was back in her arms.
"So that could have gone better," Jack remarked, as he drove her to the train station. The subway would have been faster, but he'd insisted. Joey imagined he was acting on Jen's orders to find out what had happened.
"It could have gone worse. He could have strangled me, instead of the banister."
Jack whistled. "That bad, huh?"
"I've never in my life seen Pacey that angry,"
"What did you expect, Joey? You kept the truth about his kid from him for six years! That's a third of Anders' childhood he'll never get to experience."
Joey winced. She'd never considered it in such bald terms before. "I don't know how to fix it."
"You can't fix it. All you can do is live with it."
"He hates me," she whispered into the dark car.
"Yeah, well, you'll have to live with that, too."
Bessie took one look at Joey's face when she opened the door and gasped. "Oh, no! Is it Jen? What happened?"
"Jen's fine. The baby's fine. A little girl, Amy. Is Andersen sleeping?" She pushed into the B&B, shrugging off her coat.
"Of course he's sleeping. It's the middle of the night. Joey, what—" Bessie shut the door and padded after Joey as she made a beeline for Alex's room.
Joey paused in the doorway, breathing freely again at the sight of her son resting on his small trundle bed. The moon shone on him through Alex's open blinds, lighting the roundness of his face, the errant curl of hair across his forehead.
"Joey, what's going on?" Bessie whispered. She closed the door on the sleeping boys and led Joey by the hand to the kitchen.
"He's back." Joey stood in the middle of the dark room, at a loss what to do with herself.
Bessie didn't pretend not to understand. She drew a sharp breath. "Pacey? You saw him? Does he know?"
"He does now. And he's coming here to see him, and I don't know what to do." Joey found herself doubled over, gasping for air in a room full of it.
Bessie led Joey to a seat and made her breathe into a paper bag, rubbing her back and making soothing noises until she calmed. "It's okay, Joey. It's going to be all right. So Andersen is going to meet his father. That's not the end of the world. Most children do, you know."
"What if he tries to take him from me?"
"Even if he does—and you have no way of knowing that—no court in the state would give him full custody. You're a great mother, Joey; plenty of witnesses would testify to that. And Pacey is a will-o'-the-wisp, the very definition of a flight risk."
"You're right," Joey mumbled. "Of course, you're right."
"Right. And if I know that, and you're the smart one, surely you figured that out already. So want to tell me what the panic attack was all about?"
Joey struggled to find words. "He makes me feel so...Bessie, he makes me feel."