Page 31 of The Launch

A wave of something rises inside of Jo; it’s not anger, and it’s not frustration, but it’s something that is almost tangible. “Mr. Booker arrives home at six o’clock,” Jo says formally. “You may try to call him again then.”

Because they have plans that night, Jo knows that Bill will actually walk in at six o’clock rather than stopping at the Black Hole for a beer, and sure enough, the garage door opens and closes just when she expects it to. Bill walks in and sets down his briefcase, just as he does every day, and the kids come rushing in to greet him.

“You should have a phone call coming here soon,” Jo says. The smell of fried chicken fills the kitchen and she tosses a green salad with a wooden spoon and fork.

Bill gives her a puzzled look. “From whom?”

Kate and Nancy have been arguing all afternoon about a dress that Nancy has outgrown and that Kate wants to wear, and Jo has very little patience left in her at the moment. They’ve got a babysitter arriving in an hour to watch the kids, and she really needs to get everyone seated and started on dinner. Jo blows her hair off her forehead impatiently. “May Ogilvy from Desert Sage.”

It’s almost as if her words summon the ringing of the phone, and Bill reaches for it, plucking the receiver off the wall.

“Yes,” he says. “This is Bill Booker. I see. Yes. Thank you. I can handle that tomorrow. Thank you for letting me know. Ofcourse. I’ll do that. Thank you.” He hangs up after this short exchange.

Jo busies herself with setting the table. She is quite literally biting the tip of her tongue to keep from asking questions, though she certainly has them.

The topic of Margaret’s more expensive care has not come up again since the night they’d gone to bed in silence, and Jo is not eager to go into the evening ahead with this sitting between them. She sighs as she washes her hands at the kitchen sink. “Is everything okay?”

Bill pulls out his chair distractedly and sits. He doesn’t even take off his tie or unbutton his short-sleeved shirt. Bill sets a napkin in his lap as the kids sit down gloomily, the residue of their day-long battle over the stupid yellow dress still hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. Without looking at Jo, he clears his throat. “I need to make a trip to Arizona,” he says brusquely. And then, without further comment: “Jimmy, please pass the corn on the cob.”

They eat dinner in relative silence, and Jo’s mood is further aggravated by the fact that she’s been battling menstrual cramps and moodiness all afternoon. She stabs her fork into her pile of salad and glowers first at Bill, and then at the girls. Jimmy is the only one of them with whom she has no quibble at the moment, and he eats his fried chicken lustily, seemingly oblivious to his sisters’ drama, his father’s dark frown, and his mother’s raging hormonal storm.

The evening ahead promises to be a fun one.

“Can we get through this as a team?” Bill asks as he swings the Corvette into the lot of the bowling alley, where a bright neonsign advertises twenty-five cent games on Thursday nights. The sun has almost set, and the palm trees outside the bowling alley stand against the watercolor painting of a sky. Jo puts her hand on the door and stares out the windshield. In the parking spot next to theirs, Carrie and Jay close the doors of their car and interlace their fingers as they walk towards the building. Jo can only dream of being that in tune with Bill again; at one point, every day felt that easy between them, with stolen kisses, hand-holding, and being on the same page about things.

Jo turns her head and looks at him directly. “Of course we can. We’re a team, Bill. Always. But I need to know why you’re going to Arizona.”

He lets out a loud, impatient exhale and bangs his palms against the steering wheel. “Dammit, Jo. Isn’t it obvious? Margaret. Things are a mess out there, and I need to get it sorted out so that she can stay on at Desert Sage. If I don’t, they’re going to ask for her to be moved.”

A lump forms in Jo’s throat as a pair of headlights swing into the lot and illuminate her and Bill in the front seat. His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, and her fingers are knotted together in her lap. “You mentioned once that she has an aunt in Phoenix.” Jo stabs wildly at this notion, hoping for another solution. “Maybe she could handle Margaret’s care? I mean, this isn’t really your job anymore, Bill.”

Bill closes his eyes and keeps them that way as someone parks on the other side of their car. He waits for the couple to close their doors and walk away before he speaks. When he does, his words are measured and careful. “Margaret’s aunt is elderly and has no money. She cannot handle this.” He pauses. “And as much as you don’t want to think about it, I was once married to Margaret. I loved her. I vowed to love her ‘in sickness and in health,’ and then I broke that vow by divorcing her and marrying you.”

Jo lowers her chin as she watches his profile. “Is that honestly how you feel? As if you shirked yourrealresponsibility to marry me? Do you see me as the cause of your broken vow?”

“No. Jojo. Of course not. But you know who I am. You know I’m a man of my word, and that was a promise I didn’t keep. A part of me will feel that way forever. But what Icanstill do is look after her from a distance. I can do that, and I will do that.”

Even through the fog of her hormonal rollercoaster, and in spite of the way his words land in her heart, Jo has to admire this about her husband. He is a good man. He has never accepted a responsibility that he hasn’t taken seriously, and he gives his all to everything he does. She just wishes that Margaret had never existed. Or, rather, that Margaret had been someoneelse’swife and not Bill’s.

It’s her turn to sigh in exasperation, but only because she can’t find the right words to say to make things better. “Look, we can’t solve this tonight, and there’s no point in sitting out here and discussing it when we could be inside blowing off some steam.” Jo opens her car door. “Let’s go in and play a few games with everybody and see if we can relax, yeah?”

Bill opens his door and gets out, slamming it more forcefully than is necessary, in Jo’s opinion. They walk in side by side, but neither reaches for the other’s hand.

Inside the bowling alley, Carrie and Jay are just putting on their rented shoes, and Jude and Vance are already claiming a lane for their group.

“Hi!” Frankie calls out, standing up from her seat at the end of the lane. She waves at Jo. “Over here!”

Jo lifts her hand half-heartedly. She’s mentally preparing herself for socializing and bowling—neither of which she’s entirely in the mood for.

“Hi, you two.” Frankie stands up and gives Jo a relaxed kiss on the cheek. Frankie is wearing a pair of capri pants in a pinkand white checkered pattern, with a tight pink top and a pair of white bowling shoes.

“Do they rent those here?” Jo points at the clean white shoes. “Because I want those ones.” Jo, never one to fuss over such things, suddenly wants the glamour of the white shoes as opposed to the regulation bowling alley ones with the inevitably broken laces.

Frankie hands Jo a glass of beer that she’s poured from a pitcher. “Nope. These are mine. One of my many secrets and surprising talents: I was once in a bowling league, and I have my own shoes and my own ball.” Frankie nods at the line of bowling balls, and Jo guesses immediately that the marbleized pink one is Frankie’s.

“Okay,” Jo says, accepting the glass of beer. “I am surprised. And impressed. I never imagined you as a bowling alley babe.”

“Alright, alright. Go get your shoes.” Frankie gives Jo a playful little shove. “I’m ready to clean up this entire alley with our high scores. We’re teaming up.”

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