Page 27 of The Launch

“Call them,” Frankie says. “Or send a letter. Don’t lose your old friends, but don’t discount your new ones. In each stage of life, we need people who understand where we are. And right now, you and I are in the same place.”

This makes perfect sense to Jo and she locks eyes with Frankie. “You are so right. This is a new and different stage. None of my old friends would understand this at all, but you do. You’re here, and you get it.”

Frankie shrugs and goes back to smoking in the dark. In the distance, a woman’s voice shouts for Daniel and Paul, and Jo guesses that these are the boys on the bikes, because they do not ride by again.

“We both have husbands who want to travel into the unknown. They have a dangerous passion, and we’re on the world’s stage watching them try to achieve their dreams. I get all of that—all five of us wives are in that same boat together. But beyond that, our lives are different, and that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Jo says, nodding slowly. “That is okay.” She slings an arm around Frankie’s shoulders and touches her head against her friend’s for a moment. “I appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you too, Joey-girl.”

“So, how much is it? The increase?” Jo is back from her walk with Frankie, the kids are all in bed asleep (save for Nancy, who is most likely reading a mystery book under her blankets with a flashlight, something Jo pretends to ignore in the summertime when no one has to get up early for school), and Bill is flossing his teeth next to her in the master bathroom.

“I need to call tomorrow,” Bill says. “You saw the same letter I did—there were no concrete details.” He tugs his dental floss through his molars and leans in closer to the mirror to look at his teeth.

Jo smears cold cream over her entire face as she stands there in a pair of pink satin tap shorts and a matching tank top. They are both facing the mirror, and when they make eye contact with one another, it’s through their reflections. “How much does it cost each month right now?” Jo is careful not to phrase it likeHow much is it costing us, because she knows that Bill earns the money and that Margaret is solely his responsibility, but certainly there is the feeling that the money comes out of their family budget.

Bill is running the floss between his lower front teeth when he glances at Jo in the mirror. “About thirteen hundred dollars.”

Jo stops smearing the cream on her face and turns her whole body to face Bill. “Thirteen hundreddollars?”

Bill spits into the sink and reaches for his toothbrush. “I’m in charge of the funds her parents left her when they died, so between that and her welfare payment for being disabled, I only send a check for about five hundred dollars a month out of our account.”

Jo is still breathless. “Five hundred dollars.A month.” She feels as if her chest is heaving. “That’s…so much money, Bill.”

“Well, it’s about to be more.” He squeezes toothpaste onto his brush and runs it under the tap. “Right now she’s overseen by nurses and they bring her meals to her room. A higher level of care will entail full-time oversight. I’ll know more after I call Desert Sage tomorrow, Jo. There’s no point worrying about it now.”

Jo reaches for a washcloth and runs it under the warm water, looking into her own eyes in the mirror. She’s been blithely volunteering and making dinner and taking her children to the library while her husband spends a good portion of his paycheck to support a woman in another state who will never again be able to support herself. A woman of thirty-five. A woman who might live another forty or fifty years. This thought actuallydoesmake Jo’s heart palpitate. God forbid anything should happen to Bill; if he died, would she be responsible for Margaret’s care? And if not her, then who?

Bill comes up behind her then, having brushed and rinsed and wiped his face on a hand towel. He puts his hands on her bare shoulders and leans down, pressing his lips to the warm crook of Jo’s neck and kissing her there. She shrugs her shoulder to push him away—not because she dislikes his kisses, but because it tickles.

“I don’t want you to worry about this, Jo. This is my problem, not yours.”

“Bill,” Jo says incredulously, wiping away the cold cream with her washcloth. “How can you say that? Anything that affects our family is definitelyourproblem. We’re a team.” She swallows hard and Bill remains where he is, hands on her shoulders. “Do you think I should get a job? I mean, one that pays? I could look for something that starts when the kids goback to school. Maybe the school needs a secretary—I could do that. Something to help out financially.”

Bill’s hands fall from her shoulders and he takes a step back. “Jo,” he says, his face serious. “No. Margaret’s care is not for you to worry about. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want you to even consider that option. Aside from the fact that the kids are young, how would that look? I’m working for NASA, making plenty of money, and my wife takes a job answering telephones?” He shakes his head. “How would we even explain that to the kids?”

Jo scrubs at her face roughly with the washcloth. “They should know the truth anyway. Do you think it’s reasonable for them to never know that their father was married to someone before their mother?”

Bill’s jaw drops. He is aghast. “Jo. There is no reason for them to know that. It is not relevant, it does not apply to their lives, and frankly, I don’t think it’s any of their business.” Without another word, Bill turns and walks out of the bathroom.

Jo tosses her washcloth into the laundry basket, flips off the bathroom light, and trails after him. “How can you say that?” She throws back the covers of their bed and climbs in next to her husband. “Our lives—who we are—is what makes them whotheyare.”

Bill shakes his head firmly. “Wrong.” He flops back onto his pillow angrily. “Theirchoices make them who they are.”

Jo reaches for the hand cream on her nightstand and begins to rub it into her hands and elbows with vigor. “I disagree, Bill. I think they watch and learn from us. I think knowing who their parents are will help them become fully-formed people.”

Bill huffs and reaches for the switch on his bedside lamp, clicking it off abruptly. “This discussion is over for now,” he says, turning his back to Jo.

She sets the lotion on her nightstand and turns out her own light with resignation. Jo’s frustration has given way to sadness as she lays there in the dark yet again, trying to fall asleep with an unresolved issue wedged in between her and Bill there in their bed. Since moving to Florida, they’ve spent more time at odds than they have in all the years of their marriage combined, and all Jo wants is for it to end.

Jo wants her husband back, and she wants to squelch the thought that he still belongs to someone else—some phantom woman who lives in Arizona—before the idea takes up residence in her heart.

TWELVE

bill

Bill movesthrough his day with thoughts of Jo in his mind. Well, of Jo and of Margaret, who he no longer thinks of as his wife, but he does think of as his responsibility. Their relationship—while a youthful one—had been passionate, and their bond was real. They’d come of age together in a small Arizona town, driving around the desert at night under a bright moon as they talked about seeing the world. When Margaret had agreed to be his wife, Bill was ecstatic. He’d wondered how one guy could get so lucky, how one simple eighteen-year-old kid with designs on a career in the Air Force could ever find a girl so pretty and so adventurous and so willing to be his. In Bill’s eyes, Margaret was the total package.

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