2
Joanna hung her damp towel on the rack in the bathroom and combed her wet hair. Studying her face in the mirror, she sighed. She was gaining weight. No one had mentioned it this weekend, but Joanna had been keeping a careful eye on her own figure in comparison to Jill’s for years. Jill was definitely thinner.
But the problem lay deeper than expanding cellulose. It lay in unfulfilled ambition. On her fifteenth birthday, Joanna had promised herself that she would have her first novel written and published by the time she turned twenty-five. S.E. Hinton and Mary Shelley had experienced literary success before the age of twenty, but Joanna knew not everyone who wrote found fame as quickly, which was why she had allowed herself five additional years. Her birthday loomed before her as yet another missed deadline. She cringed, remembering the bragging she had done in front of her fellow college students who were now published while Joanna’s portfolio included not novels or short stories but photos from the weddings she had planned. If she had pursued her writing with the same tenacity she pursued men, would she be published by now? Would she have found fulfillment? Would she feel any less lonely?
The one thing she wanted to do more than anything was write books, but she had abandoned eight attempted novels before finishing them. Stacked in her closet were enough false starts to wallpaper her townhouse.
If only she and Mark had worked out. The security of a husband and second income would have allowed her to produce literary greatness. But no man wanted her. Every morning she looked in the mirror and recognized the great failure staring back at her. If only she could curl up in her old bedroom and hide for the rest of her life!
The money from her parents was a nice surprise, but Joanna had weddings booked through June, so the trip would have to wait a few months. When she got back to the office on Monday, maybe she could work a deal with one of the other wedding planners to get a weekend free in July.
Pulling her robe around her, she walked to the living room where Jill sat in Dad’s chair, watching television with the sound low as their parents had already gone to bed. Joanna curled up in her mother’s chair and pulled a blanket around her.
“What are we watching?”
Jill’s eyes didn’t leave the television. “I started with this cheesy sci-fi movie about time travel, but it was so unrealistic I couldn’t stomach it. Now I’m watching Prince of Thieves. It’s half over.”
Joanna tucked her legs underneath her. “I think we read or watched everything we could about Robin Hood when we were kids.”
“Was that before our western craze?”
“Yes, and before the World War II obsession.” Joanna smiled at the memories of all the twins’ make-believe games. “Didn’t the 1940s thing start after you watched The Great Escape and fell in love with Steve McQueen?”
Jill chuckled.
“It always starts with a good looking guy,” Joanna commented, thinking of her writing group.
Jill didn’t reply.
The movie came back on. Joanna had seen the film multiple times so felt free to comment over the dialogue. “Robin Hood comes off a little bland.”
She checked Jill’s expression to see how she received the critique. Jill had always been protective of any actor’s portrayal of the famous outlaw.
“Here’s hoping he was much more dynamic in person,” Jill conceded. “Have you ever wondered if he was real or not?”
“Sure I have.” Joanna thought of the shelf of books on Robin Hood, castles, and medieval history in her home office. “Do you think he was?”
“I want to think so. But my engineering brain gets me into trouble. He seems a little too good to be true. Could one guy really be noble, self-sacrificing, heroic, intelligent, clever, an excellent shot, charming, and good looking? I doubt it.”
Joanna shrugged. “I guess the legend could be a conglomeration of the best traits of several different men that meshed together over time.”
“I guess. Or maybe it was something more calculated.”
Joanna noticed the thoughtful expression on Jill’s face and asked what she meant.
“Maybe he was good looking, charming, and noble, but some of the other stuff he had help with. Like, maybe he had a savvy advisor who helped him build his image. The guy’s a medieval superhero. You don’t get an image like that from being a decent person.”
“And you think I’m cynical!”
Jill frowned. “Something as genius as a righteous outlaw doesn’t happen by accident. There’s got to be somebody behind the scenes shaping things.”
Joanna knew her sister didn’t reveal her opinions or speak this passionately about anything unless she had spent a lot of time in consideration.
“Anything in particular get you going on this idea?” Joanna asked.
Jill paused before replying. “Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”
Now this was unusual. Jill rarely got philosophical.
“Are we talking religion?”
“I’m talking our purpose in life. There has to be more to our existence than getting up, going to work, and coming home to watch TV.”
“Agreed.”
“So what is it?”
Joanna grimaced. “The two things I’ve always wanted more than anything are to write books and be in love with the right guy. But since neither one of those has happened, I’m not sure I’m serving any purpose at all. What about you? What do you think your purpose is?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are we talking about your job, true love…what?”
“Falling in love isn’t the complete answer. I’ve seen enough bad relationships to know I want more than that.”
Joanna immediately thought of Mark and felt defensive. Jill had never approved of any of her boyfriends. “I’m guessing my life has been a cautionary tale for you since day one.”
“That’s what you get for being older.”
Joanna waited to see if Jill would bring up Brian, Jill’s boyfriend in college, but Jill had made it clear several years ago the subject was off-limits.
Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Joanna leaned back in the chair and allowed her thoughts to turn to Mark since Jill didn’t seem interested in further discussion. Joanna should have seen his betrayal coming. He read from the same script most of her other boyfriends had: he flattered her, lied to her, cheated on her, and she was surprised every time. She knew she’d had a good guy or two in the mix, but somehow the relationships never seemed to work out. Apparently, she couldn’t inspire commitment in the opposite sex. Certainly she had initiated some of the breakups, but being dumped this time was particularly painful since Mark did it via text message. Classy.
No one in the family knew that when Joanna joined her writing group, she had done so out of attraction rather than a desire for constructive criticism. Joanna had met Gordon at a downtown coffee shop when he posted signs about a writing group. With his dark-rimmed glasses, spiky hair, and soul patch, she imagined him a Romeo and literary genius, her ticket to romantic and publishing success all wrapped up in one brooding-but-attractive package. She had joined the group to catch his attention, but after the first meeting, Mark, a fellow attendee, was why she stayed. Mark’s sandy blond hair, blue eyes, square jaw, and genial nature were infinitely superior to anything Gordon had to offer.
The chemistry between Joanna and Mark sparked immediately. After the first meeting, they arranged to meet privately to read each other’s manuscripts. The experience fulfilled every fantasy she had treasured while reading Walden in her college library and checking out good-looking guys who walked by. She and Mark drank coffee, read pages fresh from the computer printer, discussed writing techniques and famous authors until late into the night—yes, Mark had been the one. But he skipped writing group the night her stories had been critiqued—the coward—and broke up with her the next day.
Retreating to her home to lick her wounds after the writer’s group kicked her out, Joanna burned all the manuscripts with the snide
comments in red, blue, and black ink. She could still see the flames leaping from her barbecue as she dropped page after page into the fire.
“Mark sold a book,” Joanna said, not worrying if Jill would follow the new discussion thread. “Some gritty drama that was all style and no plot. I even proofed it for him before the breakup.”
“Ouch.”
“What hurts,” Joanna continued, “is that I’m a better writer than he is. At least, I think I am. But the rest of the world doesn’t agree.”
“Forget the rest of the world. You’re still writing, aren’t you?”
Joanna shrugged. “Writer’s block.”
Muting the television volume, Jill inhaled as though she was about to speak, then closed her mouth.
“What?”
Jill pursed her lips. “You don’t need a man to write.”
“But every breakup kills my confidence, and trust me, you’ve got to have a lot of confidence to fill a blank page with words.”
“Doesn’t it also take a lot of confidence to start a new relationship after a break up?”
“Sure.”
Jill raised her eyebrows and spread her hands as if to say, There you have it.
“I get what you’re saying,” Joanna admitted. “I’ve been trying to have both the brilliant writing career and torrid love affair. But I can’t have everything—or any of it, for that matter.”
“No,” Jill said, “because then you wouldn’t be tortured like all writers are supposed to be.”
Joanna turned back to the television. She felt Jill’s eyes on her but did not look her way. They watched the movie on mute for several seconds before Jill spoke.
“Dad took the news about England pretty well, didn’t he?”
“Especially since he thought we’d choose Disney World. Poor Dad! He can’t see us as adults yet, much less exploring the streets of London.”
“We’re going to see more than London, I hope.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Jill grinned almost devilishly. “A little adventure in Sherwood Forest.”
The word adventure had caused Joanna a great deal of trouble throughout the twins’ childhood—the zip line they built in the backyard that snapped the minute Joanna got on it, the bike ramp that collapsed and resulted in seven stitches in Joanna’s scalp, the riding lawn mower that got out of control and knocked down a section of fence. Jill’s propensity for adventure always leaned toward acts of physical danger. Joanna preferred to get her own adrenaline rush pursuing adventures of the heart.
“What exactly do you mean by little adventure?” Joanna queried, warning bells going off in her head.
“There’s this place I found on the Internet that specializes in horse tours of Sherwood Forest, complete with running commentary on the Robin Hood legend.”
“Sounds cheesy.” Joanna did not want to admit that the idea of riding a horse made her extremely nervous. She still had nightmares about the Bartoski-Olson wedding fiasco. “Plus, you know Sherwood Forest isn’t really that big.”
“If I’m going to stand for three hours at the Globe to watch Shakespeare with you, you can handle a little pony ride through a park.”
“Fair enough.” Joanna knew further arguing was hopeless. “I’m going to bed. You staying up?”
“No. I’m turning in, too.” Jill used the remote to shut off the TV.
“Sleep well then,” Joanna said, folding the blanket and hanging it on the back of the chair. “May you have pleasant dreams of the handsome men you’ll meet in England.”
“Men you’ll meet, you mean.”
“You never know,” Joanna replied, already fantasizing about a dark, handsome stranger who spoke the Queen’s English. “You never know.”