Page 10 of The Space Between

"Bit different from a wife wanting to hand out cookies to new moms at the hospital, isn't it?" Vance says, glancing in Bill's direction.

"But Jo is also a writer now," Ed adds. "Frankie tells me her work is being published on a monthly basis." The men all look right at Bill. "How do you feel about her doing all these other things?"

It's a big question, and to Bill, it's also indicative of the fact that, while the men are supportive of progress and change, they tap the brakes just slightly when that progress hits too close to home.

"At first I had questions," Bill admits regretfully. "When she told me she wanted to volunteer at the hospital, I was kind of an ass about it."

"That's hard to imagine," Ed says.

Bill shrugs. "Be that as it may, I assumed that it might be too much on her plate with raising the kids and keeping the house, and—yeah, it sounds horrible to say out loud now, but I selfishly worried that she'd be out of the house and that the things we all count on her for might fall by the wayside."

"And how has it gone?" Todd asks curiously.

"Things have been good on that front." Bill pulls the two pieces of bread apart to see if he's accidentally eaten all the cheese before he's finished the meat and mustard in his sandwich. He has. He puts the bread back together and bites into it anyway. "And she does her writing at night after the kidsare asleep--usually after I am, too. So I don't mind any of it too much."

"But that story," Ed says, shaking his head. "Frankie read it out loud to me one night after we finished eating dinner." He gives a low whistle. "Lots of details in it that could only come from one place, right?"

Bill chuckles along with Ed like he knows what Ed is referring to, but he's ashamed to admit that he hasn't actually read any of Jo's stories. It was something she wanted to do for herself and for fun, and while he's proud of her minor successes, it's not like the genre or the topic are really in his wheelhouse. And at ten dollars per short story, she's not exactly raking in the money or knocking his socks off with her financial windfall.

Rather than tell the other guys that he hasn't read Jo's stories, Bill gathers his lunch remnants in his pail and snaps it shut. "I should get back to my desk here, gents," he says, pushing in his chair with a perfunctory smile and walking away.

After putting his lunch pail away, Bill heads into the men's room and is standing at the sink, washing his hands, when he catches sight of himself in the mirror beneath the fluorescent lighting. Bill shuts off the water and pulls two paper towels from the dispenser, drying his hands as he looks deeply into his own eyes.

And what does he see there? He sees a man who is on the far side of the mountain and sliding towards forty. He sees someone who has put in what seems like a lifetime with the Air Force, someone who is now pursuing his dreams and making strides towards the moon. He sees a husband, a father, a son, an ex-husband...thinking of Margaret, Bill pauses, his hands going still as he holds the now balled-up paper towels between his palms. His ex-wife: lovely, troubled, flame-haired Margaret. Not being able to help her or fix her will undoubtedly be his life's greatest failure--actually, divorcing her while she was in a mental healthfacility might qualify as his biggest failure and regret--but having a first marriage that didn't stand the test of time isn't something that feels good to him.

Still, if not for the fact that he’d realized he couldn't help or stay married to Margaret any longer, he wouldn't have met Jo. And if he hadn't met Jo, then his three children wouldn't exist, and they wouldn't be living the life they're living now, so...as with so many things, he has to simply chalk it up to things that were meant to be. This had to happen in order for that to happen, he had to cross over the same speed bumps to get to the place he is now, and would he do it all over again?

Yes, he would. Always yes. A resounding yes.

Bill throws the paper towels in the trash and walks back out to the third floor.

CHAPTER 4

Jeanie

Kathryn Michelin’sbaby shower is like being inside of a cone of cotton candy. There are pink and blue confections everywhere: tissue paper poofs hanging from the ceiling; fuzzy pillows in sweet pastel hues; miniature cupcakes frosted in both pink and blue; even two different kinds of cocktails—one pink, and one blue.

“Pink Lady, or sapphire martini?” asks a woman wearing a Pucci dress in swirls of—yep, you guessed it—pink and blue. She is clearly the grandmother-to-be, and with her clutch of pearls and matching pearl drop earrings, she is classy, refined, and as excited as a child on Christmas morning. “We’re drinking the cocktail that indicates our guess for the gender,” she explains breathlessly, reaching forward to clutch Jeanie’s forearm with a manicured hand.

“Oh,” Jeanie says. “Um, okay. Pink Lady, please.” She accepts the drink and then trails into the living room, where all the other women are gathered on couches and chairs, facing Kathryn and her enormous belly. Actually, she isn’t that gigantic yet, and Jeanie tries to assess her furtively as she sips her drink. She’s obviously known plenty of pregnant women, but in general,women stop working before they get too big, and so other than her mother when she was pregnant with the twins, Jeanie hasn’t really spent much time around a woman who is close to giving birth.

On second thought, Kathryn is most likely still a couple of months away, but she looks big to Jeanie’s eyes. How does the human bodydothat? How can it expand and grow a whole new person? Or two? Or three? It’s both magical and horrifying to Jeanie to consider as she listens to the other women laugh and tell stories about their own pregnancies and deliveries. All she can do is nod and smile politely.

“How about you, darling?” the grandmother-to-be says, taking a seat on the couch right next to Jeanie. “Children?” She glances at Jeanie’s bare ring finger and frowns. “Or not yet?”

“Not yet,” Jeanie says with a small smile.

“Mom,” Kathryn says, both hands absentmindedly rubbing her belly. “Jeanie is one of our female engineers at work. She doesn’t have time for men and babies!”

The women’s chatter quiets a few notches. All eyes turn to Jeanie.

“Oh, an engineer!” says a woman with a blonde bouffant and gold earrings. She blinks her eyes a few times like she’s interested, but her blue eyes are slightly vacant. “I bet you had to go to college for a long time to get a job like that.”

Jeanie nods and crosses her feet at the ankles. She smooths her skirt across her lap. “I did,” she agrees. “And I’m fairly new at NASA. I’m honored to be there.” She desperately wants the conversation to move on, but isn’t sure how to make that happen now that everyone is focused on her. “But, you know, maybe someday I’ll have kids,” she adds in a tone that is supposed to sound firm, but instead comes out as wistful.

The other women are nodding with interest and sympathy. “You’re so young,” Kathryn says. Kathryn has clearly realizedthat the attention of the room has shifted to Jeanie and that it’s making her uncomfortable. “There’s plenty of time for all that.” Her eyes move to the doorway. “Oh, here’s Rebecca, one of our other female engineers!”

Every eye in the room now swings towards Rebecca, a woman Jeanie knows and likes. Rebecca pauses where she is with her sapphire martini in hand, looking like a deer in headlights. Jeanie meets her eye and gives an apologetic shrug.

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