Page 13 of The Launch

Nancy sits up straighter; this is her area of expertise. “Well,” she says, tilting her head to one side as though she’s preparing to give an important speech. “I spent some timefamiliarizingmyself with the children’s section,” she says, looking at Jo for praise as she stresses the word “familiarizing” (Jo is big on the children using what she calls “five-dollar words” to expand their vocabularies). “But in the end, I think I’ll find more to read in the young adult section,” Nancy decides. She pushes her mashed potatoes around with her fork. “Even Jimmy got a book,” she says, looking at her older brother.

Jimmy, who prefers to eat fast and get outside to maximize his play time with the other neighborhood kids before dark, merely rolls his eyes.

“What did you get, champ?” Bill asks his son.

Since the evening when he locked himself in the bedroom and skipped dinner, Jo has been watching Bill for signs that anything might be wrong. He seems fine at the moment, but she’s wary of missing something and she pays attention closely as he talks to the children over dinner.

“A book about Joe DiMaggio,” Jimmy says. “Mom made me get it.”

“I think summer reading is important.” Jo looks at her son as he pushes his peas aside and tries to hide them beneath the edge of his meatloaf. “And getting to choose a book about something you’re interested in isn’t exactly torture, Jimmy.”

Bill sighs. “I wish I had time to read for fun. It’s been nothing but work since we moved here, and frankly, I’m envious of you all getting to play in the sprinkler and go to the library.”

“Let’s go swimming tonight, Daddy!” Kate says. She swings her short legs under the table, kicking the legs of her chair with her heels. “Can we?”

Bill glances out the sliding door that divides the dining area from the pool deck. “We could. It’s certainly warm enough.”

This is Jo’s opportunity, and without thinking, she takes it. “If you all go swimming, would you mind if I went on a walkwith Frankie this evening? She called before dinner and asked if I wanted to get some exercise with her.”

Bill glances up from his plate and his eyes fix on Jo. “You two are going out walking?”

Jo shrugs. “It sounded nice. She thought maybe after the kids were asleep, but if you’re going to swim with them, perhaps you could oversee showers and bedtime?”

Bill looks at Jo with a surprised smile. “Sure. I’d love to put these monsters to bed. What do you say, guys? Think we can manage it?”

The kids all make excited noises about swimming and breaking the normal routine of Jo supervising the brushing of teeth and story time, and Jo feels an unexpected sense of relief at the idea of getting out of the house on her own. Most days it never occurs to her to escape from the expectations and chores of her life, but every so often, the idea of just opening the front door and leaving it all behind for an hour or twodoesseem appealing. She’s never considered going out walking with a girlfriend, and it’s refreshing to savor just a touch of independence.

Once dinner is done and the dishes are washed and put away, Jo wipes down the counters and picks up the phone to dial Frankie.

“It’s Jo,” she says as soon as she has Frankie on the line. “I just need to change my clothes, but I’m up for that walk if you are.” She’s giddy like a young girl whose mother has just agreed to let her go outside with a friend.

“Meet you in front of your house in ten minutes.”

The sun has fallen behind the palm trees, leaving the sky a watery blue. There are pinpricks of starlight all over the evening sky as Jo emerges from the front door of her house in a pair of culottes and a sleeveless shirt. She’s got her Keds on, and she’s ready to stroll.

“Glad you could join me,” Frankie says. She’s wearing a pair of high-waisted shorts and a man’s white t-shirt with sandals. “Let’s check out our new neighborhood, shall we?”

The women walk in companionable silence for a block, looking at the cars in the driveways, and at the families living their lives inside of lit-up homes.

“Think they’re all here for the same reason?” Frankie asks, nodding at a family sitting in the front room of their house with the television on.

“Essentially,” Jo says. “Aren’t we all living in this community because our husbands are working for NASA in some capacity?”

“Do you think everyone here is trying to be chosen for a mission?”

Jo lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I think some of the men are probably working at mission control or in some other capacity. I haven’t asked Bill many questions yet. I feel…” She trails off here as they walk.

“You feel?” Frankie prompts.

“I feel like I’m in this new place without a husband sometimes,” she says, surprising herself at the words that come out of her own mouth. “I mean, not really, but sometimes. You know?” Jo looks over at Frankie’s profile.

“I get it.” Frankie looks straight ahead as she nods. “Ed is gone a lot, and I don’t even have kids to distract me from the silence of the house. It feels different than life before because everything is new to me here, and I don’t quite have my bearings yet.” Frankie stops walking in front of a house that’s completely dark. There are no cars in the driveway, and the porch light is off. She picks a bright red hibiscus flower from a bush in front of the house and tucks it behind her ear, then leans over to pick another one. “But meeting you has really helped me to feel more grounded.” Frankie reaches out gently and puts the hibiscusbehind Jo’s ear so that they’re matching. “And the other ladies, too. But mostly you.”

“Me?” Jo asks. They start walking again and Jo reaches up to touch the flower. She feels exotic as she breathes in the humid evening air, and she imagines her husband and children cannonballing into the pool while she explores the neighborhood.

“Yes, you. You’re a real breath of fresh air, Josephine,” Frankie says. “Can’t you see that?”

Jo definitely cannot see that. She thinks of herself as not terribly interesting, and it surprises her that Frankie thinks there’s something appealing about her—at least more than the other women in their little group. “I’m just a girl from Minnesota,” Jo protests, shaking her head. “Not anything worth writing home about.”

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