Page 99 of Jackie

“Jackie here always wanted to be a nun,” he says. “She went to a convent school and planned to take the orders.”

The sisters laugh, we laugh with them, and it all feels so ordinary—human and hallowed and bright, mid-September sunshine bouncing off the curb, and the nuns laughing, and Jack with his collar loose, his hand on the leather-wrapped wheel while passersby dressed in Sunday clothes stroll on the sidewalk, peering into closed shop windows.

“I like Newport,” he says that afternoon when we’re at the beach with the children. Running back and forth in the shallows, they jump the little waves. “I like how we can drive around, come to this beach and swim, and even if people notice, they don’t seem to care. Maybe we’ll spend next summer here.”

A seagull passes overhead, its shadow across the sand.

“You’re leaving tonight,” I say.

“I’ll be back next weekend.”

I nod.

“Golf later this afternoon?” he says.

I smile. “Sure.”

“Good for my back.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It loosens it up.”

“Until it doesn’t.”

“Golf’s better than football.”

“Yes, Jack, I’ll give you that.”

John’s toy plane and sneakers are at the edge of the blanket. He’s in the shallows up to his knees, while Caroline splashes in the bigger waves out toward the break.

“They want to pick more tomatoes when we go back to the house,” I say.

“You said they picked them all yesterday.”

“John thinks more have grown overnight.”

He tells me about a speech he’s been asked to give in Octoberin memory of Robert Frost. He asks what I think he should focuson.

“The artist in society,” I say. “The artist is the one who has a lover’s quarrel with the world—talk about how important it is to say what you believe, then let the chips fall.”

“Easier said for the artist than the politician.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“And I’ve got the UN General Assembly next week. I’m going to propose a joint expedition to the moon.”

“Joint?”

“United States and Russia. Countries should work together in the conquest of space.”

“Because of the exorbitant cost?”

“That, and why not?”

“Khrushchev’s too wary.”

“So be it,” Jack says. “We’re moving ahead. I’ll put the offer on the table.”

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