Page 16 of Supernova

“How are the folks?” Ed asked. Frankie sighed deeply and he could hear the flick of her lighter. “Wait—are you smoking again?”

She exhaled on her end of the line. “Yep. I needed an excuse to go outside every half hour.” Frankie laughed softly. “They’re good though. I took Enzo golfing today.”

“Golfing? I didn’t picture your dad on the links.”

“Well, be that as it may, he thinks he’s going to be an Italian golf champ. He could be up to worse things, I guess.”

“True. And how’s Allegra holding up in the Florida sun?”

“She’s mostly been cooking and trying to keep me away from open windows.”

“Why, have you threatened to jump?” Ed teased.

Frankie laughed. “No, it’s an old Italian wives’ tale about pregnancy. Oh, and she makes me thirteen of everything.”

“Another wives’ tale?”

“Indeed. Thirteen is the number of fertility, so this evening I got thirteen ravioli and thirteen green peas on my plate.”

“If you eat all thirteen peas, can you get thirteen more? Will that make you twice as fertile?”

“I would laugh,” Frankie said, clearly laughing, “but it’s driving me bananas.”

Ed had closed his eyes, picturing his wife’s face. “She’d have better luck getting a grandbaby if we actually tried to give her one.” He knew the words were the wrong ones the minute they were out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

There’d been the night of the NASA Christmas party and it had been wonderful, but those moments together came all too infrequently for Ed’s taste. Of course, before they’deven married, Frankie had told him something that he always reminds himself of when he feels impatient with her inability to truly be intimate with him, but even still, yeah, okay, a guy can get frustrated. And every so often that frustration boils over and comes out at the wrong moment.

“It’s fine. I should get going anyway.” The laughter had left Frankie’s voice, and she’d grown terse. “Have a good day tomorrow. I’ll wait to hear from you in the evening.”

Now, as he stands at the window of the Space Needle, looking out at Mount Rainier and the Puget Sound, Ed realizes that it had been cruel to goad her. He hadn’t meant to upset his wife, but he himself feels a certain amount of pressure when it comes to having children. His parents ask about it less often than hers do, but other people nudge him gently, wondering about when he and Frankie are going to start bringing babies into the world. And it bothers him becauseof coursehe wants to be a father—it’s the natural order of things, after all. But it also nags at him because their continued childlessness is a symbol of dysfunction. It tells the world that something is wrong—maybe with him--and Ed can't stand that thought.

He presses one hand to the cold glass in front of him as January rain speckles the other side of it, and he wonders if maybe it is him after all. Maybe there's something wrong with him--either physically, god forbid, or emotionally--and Frankie doesn't want to have his children. It hurts him to think that maybe he's not living up to her expectations as a husband, but he isn't sure what else to do. He doesn't pressure her, he tries not to make her feel bad about the fact that she hasn't gotten pregnant, and he attempts to understand even the things she has not told him.

All he knows is that something bad happened to his wife before he met her, and he wants to do everything in his power to make sure she knows that it's not her fault. Ed will be there ather side, protecting her, loving her, and waiting patiently for her to feel okay again.

EIGHT

jo

The hospital is buzzing.Dr. Chavez has received an award for his surgical work, and there is cake and punch in the break room, which Jo partakes of along with the other nurses, doctors, and volunteers.

"Congratulations, Dr. Chavez!" she says when he sidles up to her with a piece of cake on a plate. He doesn't appear to have taken a bite of the thick white frosting or the yellow cake.

"Thanks, Jo," he says, smiling at her. His hair is swept back from his face in a manner that makes her think of a man standing at the bow of a sailboat as it cuts through the water and right into the wind. "It's nice to be honored, but it's even nicer to save patients."

He's so like that, Dr. Chavez: always thinking of his patients before himself. Jo deeply admires that about him. "Your wife must be so proud," she adds, trying not to look at his ringless hand. She has noticed before that many of the married doctors don't wear their rings, given the fact that they're constantly washing their hands and using them for medical procedures. Jo figures it's just easier to leave the ring on the dresser than to take it on and off a million times a day.

"Oh, there is no Mrs. Chavez," he says, his face breaking into a wide grin. "I was engaged once, but, well..." He shrugs and presses his lips together in a resigned smile. "I think she felt like I was already married to my career."

"I'm sorry," Jo says, mortification sweeping through her. She hadn't meant to dig into his personal life and make the man admit that he'd had a failed engagement--especially as they stand there celebrating his success. "I didn't mean to pry."

Dr. Chavez looks confused. "You didn't. I offered that information."

They stand there for a moment not speaking as people pass by them, bumping elbows and laughing as they reach for more cake or say their goodbyes before heading back to their patients.

"Tell me, Josephine," Dr. Chavez says, finally picking up his fork and slicing into the moist cake. He spears a bite and holds it over his plate. "What do you do when you're not at the hospital? Other than feeding children and managing a household?”

Jo isn’t quite sure what he’s getting at and she tilts her head to one side. “Such as?”

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