Page 21 of Supernova

The whole show is kitschy and entertaining, and Frankie gets the urge as she watches them to dust off her dance shoes and put on a little stage makeup. Sure, showing Jo’s kids her costumes and telling them about what it was like to dance in New York had been a fun reminder of her glamorous past, but with women right in front of her doing the kind of performing that she has always loved to do, Frankie is reminded of how exciting it is to be in front of a crowd. It’s invigorating to see people’s faces light up as you dance, and it’s hard not to love the way little girls lookat you admiringly, wanting an autograph and to tell you that they’re going to grow up to be just like you.

Frankie can’t help but wonder about the women in front of her: are they friends the way she’d been friends with some of her fellow Rockettes? There is a built-in camaraderie that comes with shared experience, and she’d always felt that it was easy to find common ground with the other women backstage, sharing palettes of pancake makeup, checking one another over from head to toe before going out on stage, and sitting around after the show for a few minutes, unwinding and talking about their personal lives: their dating dramas, their other jobs, their children, their loved ones. Frankie is discovering some of that friendship again—that shared experience—with the other astronauts’ wives, but when it’s combined with the giddiness of performing, well, it feels almost like a drug.

“You could do this,” Frankie’s dad says, leaning closer to her on their bench seat and whispering loudly in her ear as he points at the mermaids. “You could be a gorgeous mermaid, Francesca.”

Frankie turns her head to see him looking at the women in the water. Her mother is holding up a camera, snapping photos that Frankie isn’t even sure will turn out when she takes them to be developed. They’re clearly both having a wonderful time, and that makes Frankie even happier.

“And the natural canyon here in Weeki Wachee has one hundred sixty-eight million gallons of water flowing through it each day,” a man’s voice says over a loudspeaker. There is music playing as the women twist and somersault in tandem behind three-inch-thick glass. “And no matter the time of year—winter or summer—the water is exactly seventy-four-point-two degrees.”

The crowd looks at the mermaids with awestruck faces. Frankie smiles; she remembers seeing that same look as aRockette. People watching and wondering how so many women can have legs that look the exact same length (an optical illusion created by the way the women are positioned by height), and how they can kick at the exact same time (practice, practice, practice). It’s so exciting to be a part of something that brings so much joy and entertainment to people, and right then, Frankie wishes she could dive in and be a part of the show. She needs a hit of the kind of adrenaline that you can only get from the rush of performing. The fact that she has no idea how to dance in water or use the breathing apparatus almost seems irrelevant.

“Oh, Francesca,” Allegra says, leaning across Enzo, who is wedged between them. She is holding her camera as she pats her daughter’s thigh. “This is so much fun! It reminds me of seeing you on stage.”

Frankie smiles at her parents; she’s glad they’re having such a good time in Florida, and she knows that in years to come, she’ll look back on this month and realize what a gift it was to have her mom and dad all to herself.

On the drive back across the state, Enzo leaves the top down on the convertible and turns up the radio so that they can hear it over the wind. Sam Cooke sings “(What a) Wonderful World” as all three of them sit quietly with their thoughts, watching as the sky changes to night and the stars come out.

As they pull into Stardust Beach, hair blown everywhere, faces touched by sun and wind, hearts full from a day that has ended up being unexpectedly fun, Frankie realizes that she hasn’t thought about anything that troubles her for the entire day. Not whether Ed will decide he wants to move to rainy Seattle, not the fact that she hasn’t gotten pregnant in three years of marriage, not Whit Evans. Her mind has pushed all of it aside, and for one glorious day, she’s gotten to be the old Frankie.

And now she wants more of it. She wants far more of the old Frankie.

“Let’s go in,” Enzo says to his daughter as he turns off the car in her driveway. He switches the headlamps off and climbs out, holding his hand for her to take so that he can pull her out of the backseat.

Frankie emerges feeling cramped from her tight quarters and the long drive, but happier than she’s been in a while.

“Thanks, Papa,” she says to him, leaning in for a kiss on his weathered cheek as her mother walks up to the front porch and opens the door, turning on the porch light for her husband and daughter. “I had a good time today.”

“Me too,bella,” he says to her with a smile. “Me too.”

TEN

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“I thinkyou girls were onto something,” Frankie says, peering in the window of the empty storefront in downtown Stardust Beach as she and Jo stand there together. Jo is wearing a simple dress and low-heeled shoes, and her hair and lipstick are neat and tidy.

Frankie, on the other hand, has swept her hair up into a haphazard bun, and is out of the house wearing just a swipe of light pink lipstick and a pair of oversized gold hoops with a belted shirtdress. With Ed gone, she’s fallen easily into a less “done” version of herself, and has been entirely enjoying her evening glass of wine with her parents, as well as sleeping in later and waking up to the fresh coffee that her mother has brewed, which they sip out on the back patio together. Everything feels light and easy, and while she misses Ed terribly, it feels like she’s breathing inside her own little pocket of air with him gone and her parents running things. It’s taken a lot off of Frankie’s plate, and she’s soaking up the freedom and letting her mind run free while someone else worries about what’s for dinner or whether the car needs to be gassed up.

“Do you really think I could run a dance studio?” Frankie asks Jo now, turning to face her.

Jo, who is watching Frankie with curiosity, nods and laces her fingers together in front of her stomach, the handle of her purse looped over one wrist. “Sure, Frankie. I think you can do anything,” she says loyally.

But Frankie knows that Jo actually means it. Since the day they’d met, Frankie has understood that Jo looks up to her; that she finds Frankie more glamorous and worldly than she thinks herself to be, and that she believes Frankie’s life has been all glitter and fairy dust. It wasn’t until their walk when Frankie had unboxed just the barest details of her past that Jo had begun to understand her friend—toreallyknow her. She’d been worried that Jo’s opinions of her might change, but, much to Frankie’s surprise, it hasn’t rattled their friendship at all.

“Thanks, Joey-girl,” Frankie says, turning back to the window with stars in her eyes. “I think I’d like to try.”

Just then, Mrs. Chatelaine, the only real estate agent in Stardust Beach, parks her long, yellow convertible Cadillac at the curb and steps out.

“Mrs. Maxwell?” she asks, looking back and forth between Frankie and Jo.

“I’m Francesca Maxwell,” Frankie says, holding up a hand in greeting. “But please, just call me Frankie.”

Mrs. Chatelaine, a plump woman of about fifty, steps onto the curb. She’s wearing white, wrist-length gloves on her hands, and her hair is styled into a firm flip that’s been sprayed to within an inch of its life. “Pleased to meet you.” She turns to Jo and smiles at her.

“This is my friend Josephine,” Frankie says, making the introduction hastily. Her excitement is nearly palpable. “We’d really like to go inside and see the space, if we can.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Chatelaine says, waddling over to the door and pulling out a ring of keys. She tries one in the lock as she mutters to herself and then finds the right one, jiggling ituntil it gives way. “Here we are,” she says, opening the door wide so that they can enter.

The space is stuffy and airless, but Frankie doesn’t even notice. She walks straight into the big, open room and stands in the center, arms outstretched as she turns in circles, surveying the whole area.

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