Page 43 of The Launch

She proceeds to tell him the entire story of Jude Majors and the fall that resulted in her being submerged in the pool. Jo tells him about the way Jude and Vance’s girls stayed with her while Vance was at the hospital with his wife, and about the trip to the beach with all of the wives and kids. She bites her lip before telling Bill how forlorn Vance had seemed when picking up his daughters. “I think he’s feeling alone in his problems at the moment,” she says, turning the water glass in circles on the tabletop as she watches her own hand. “And truthfully, he’s not alone—is he?”

Bill shakes his head as he hunches over his plate, eating hungrily. All he’s ingested in the past three days is airplane food, diner meals, and coffee. Jo’s roast beef and mashed potatoes are like a warm blanket, and he wants to wrap himself in it. The comfort of home is almost overwhelming.

“I would say that he’s definitely not alone,” Bill agrees. “I don’t think anyone has it totally easy, do they?”

Jo sips her water and then clears Bill’s dishes while he goes to change into a t-shirt and sweat pants. They meet in front of the television after the kids are tucked into bed, and Jo turns off the lights in the living room.

“Come. Sit.” Bill pats the spot on the couch next to him. Jo curls up at his side like a cat, pressing her body against his and then scooting down even more so that she can lay her head in his lap as she faces the television.

In the darkness, the flickering images from the TV screen are the only sources of light, and they fall over Jo’s pale arm and splash across Bill’s white t-shirt. He puts his hand in Jo’s hair gently and rubs her scalp as they sit there together, watching the end ofDr. Kildareon NBC.

When the show ends, Jo finally speaks. “Bill?”

“Mmm?” he says, not really forming a word; rubbing Jo’s head rhythmically has made him tired and relaxed.

“Are you okay?”

Bill’s hand stills and he rests it on the side of Jo’s neck softly. “I’m okay,” he says after a beat. “Are you?”

He can see the length of Jo’s eyelashes fanned out as she faces the television. “I think so. It’s been hard,” she admits with a sigh. “I wanted so badly to hate it here that I think it was even harder to admit to myself that it’s kind of growing on me.”

“Really? So you don’t hate it after all?” Bill smiles triumphantly in the darkened room.

Jo shrugs her shoulder and Bill moves his hand down, cupping her smooth upper arm with reverence; his wife—his lovely, sweet wife. It thrills him to hear that she doesn’t hate it anymore.

“Idostill hate how hot it is,” Jo says. “But the pool is nice. And the beach is pretty.”

“That’s something,” Bill says cautiously.

“I like that we have air-conditioning,” Jo goes on, searching for more positives. “And the other girls are wonderful. Making friends has been so helpful.”

“Of course it has. You and Frankie seem exceptionally close. And, Jojo—I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have doubted her orsaid anything about her watching the kids. She’s a fine woman, and I totally respect your choice of friends. If you like her, then I’m sure she’s wonderful.”

Jo is quiet for a long moment. Bill can feel her breathing as she lays against him. Her warm head is still in his lap. “I just want you to know that I’m doing okay. It’s been a long summer of growing pains for me—and of being homesick—but I’m good at the moment. The kids are doing great, and I love the time I spend at the hospital. I really want to be supportive. I want to be here for you.”

Bill feels a rush of pleasure at these words—not just the bit about Jo supporting him, but also at her admission that she’s finding her own happiness—and he smiles as a new program comes on the television, though he pays no attention to what it is. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says.

“I’m doing my best, Bill. I’m always doing my best—I just need you to know that.”

Bill runs his fingers lightly over Jo’s bare arm as he looks down at her. There’s so much love in his heart for his wife, but he can’t help thinking of Margaret as they sit there, sharing a rare moment of complete marital peace and harmony. In the span of twenty-four hours, he’s spent time with both of the women who have been his wives. He’s put his arms around both of them—around Margaret in apology, and around Jo because he finds comfort in her embrace—and he’s thought of their various attributes. He looks at Jo now and tries to imagine how she must feel: he’s just been to Arizona to see another woman with whom he exchanged sacred vows; another woman who has carried his child in her womb; another woman he’s held in the dark of night in the most intimate ways that a man can hold a woman. And now Jo is expected to welcome him back without rancor or ill-will, and, so far as he can tell, she has. She’s a remarkable woman.

“I do know that you’re doing your best, Jojo,” he whispers now, his words mingling with the canned laughter of the variety show on the television. “We all are. I think that’s the best part of marriage frankly: that we get up every morning, and we try our best every single day. We show up for each other, and we support each other’s dreams. Don’t ever forget that I support your dreams too, Jo. I really do.”

The wetness of her tears seeps through the leg of his sweatpants as she cries. “Thank you,” Jo says, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “That means a lot to me.”

Bill moves his hand back to Jo’s head and runs his fingers through her soft hair. He means it, absolutely—hedoessupport her hopes and dreams. He supports her volunteering at the hospital, even though he’d been skeptical at first. He loves the way she raises their children, and her smile still makes him feel the same way it did the day he’d seen her behind the desk at the dentist’s office. But Jo—like any other woman—is a bit of a mystery. Bill goes about his life and his work and just assumes that she’ll be there, steadfastly cooking and cleaning and welcoming him home every day. But is that fair to a woman whose heart beats and pumps blood to her brain just like his heart does for him? Is it fair to just automatically assume that her wants and wishes might differ so greatly from his own? That she could be completely content with housework and idle gossip with other women and never want anything more for herself? It almost seems wrong to believe that.

Jo is a smart, capable woman. A good mother. An impeccable wife. He looks at her delicate profile there in the flickering light of the television as she stares at the screen. She’s complex and complicated. She’s knowable and yet still unknown. He wants more than anything to believe in her and to push her towards her heart’s greatest desires.

Because ofcoursehe believes in her hopes and dreams…he just has no idea what they are.

EIGHTEEN

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The kids are backin school, and Jo is spending more time at the hospital than she had in the summer, heading over there after she sees the children off, and coming home in time for a late lunch. She and Bill have felt increasingly like two ships passing in the night, and if it weren’t for Jo’s insistence that they all sit down to dinner together each evening, she sometimes worries that she and Bill might end up sharing a bed during the dark hours of night and nothing more.

“So your husband is going into space?” Nurse Edwina asks one day as Jo helps her put away boxes of Dixie cups, packages of paper towels, and sterile syringes still in their plastic wrapping.

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