Page 18 of The Launch

“The other wives,” Ed says with a shrug.

Bill glances at the men gathered around their table: Vance, Jay, and Todd all have wives and children, and the chance that their wives have gotten babysitters to go out for drinks at dinnertime with Francesca seems low. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Ed’s easygoing smile slips a little. “Hey,” he says, nudging Bill with his elbow. “Why are you so worried about my wife? Yours doesn’t give you enough grief so you gotta start looking for some to borrow?”

Bill holds up a hand. “No, sorry. Not my business. You’re right.”

Ed visibly relaxes and takes another drink of his beer. “It’s fine. I’m just stressed. It’s like I need to stop off and have a beer on my way home if I’m going to handle whatever Frankie throws at me—you know what I mean?”

Bill nods to keep the peace, but in truth, he doesn’t know what Ed means. He and Jo rarely fight; in a dozen years of marriage, they’ve not always seen eye-to-eye, but there are no tantrums with Jo. Sure, he usually knows where he stands when it comes to her opinions, but she’s the kind of girl who rolls up her sleeves and gets things done. It’s one of the things he’s always loved most about his wife.

As the guys are sitting around the table dissecting the work day and discussing the intricacies of the backpack they’d spent the afternoon piecing together, a woman in a pastel pink dress walks across the bar and stops in front of the jukebox. She runs a bright red fingernail down the list of songs, finally dropping a dime in the slot and choosing “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons. Almost instantly, two other girls in cute, floral dresses join her in the little space in front of the jukebox, where they all start to do a loose, jiggly version of the Watusi. They are clearly at least one round of piña coladas into the evening.

“I think they’re looking for dance partners,” Vance Majors says, leaning over and slapping Ed on the thigh. “Get your tail out there and be a gentleman, Maxwell.”

Ed laughs and shakes his head, putting his beer bottle to his lips. “Nah,” he says. “Frankie will have my hide if word gets around that I’m hanging out at the Black Hole after work and getting seduced by Cape Cookies. No sir.”

Vance laughs at this. “I think I’ll have one quick dance. No harm, no foul with that. Nobody is getting seduced—it’s just dancing.”

“Famous last words,” Ed says with a smirk.

Vance stands up and sets his empty beer bottle on the table, then joins the three women by the jukebox. They part with cheerful surprise in their eyes, letting Vance dance his way into the center of their group.

“And on that note,” Bill says, finishing his Carlsberg and setting the pint glass on the table firmly. “I think I’ll say my goodbyes here. See you gents tomorrow.” Bill stands and drops a dollar bill on the table for whoever ends up bussing the empties. The other guys are laughing heartily about something Arvin North said that morning, but Bill is ready to separate himself from all of it for the evening. Too many drinks loosen tongues, and they’re essentially on NASA grounds; Bill wants no part in getting caught talking about the big boss behind his back.

Out in the parking lot Bill heaves a sigh of relief that the day is behind him. The knots in his shoulders have melted somewhat with the lubrication of the Carlsberg, and he knows that a dinner kept warm in the oven, and an evening with his family await him just a short drive away.

As he slides into the car with its top down, Bill can hear a whoop of laughter from inside the bar, and then the song changes to “Lovers Who Wander” by Dion. He shakes his head.

Bill guns his engine and lets it rev for a second before roaring out of the parking lot and onto A1A.

With the sun sunk low in a marigold sky, he pushes the pedal down hard and races towards home.

EIGHT

jo

The master bedroomis carpeted in a thick, gold shag, and the huge globe lamps on the walnut nightstands are made from a textured yellow glass. Jo sits beneath the covers on her side of the bed in her sleeveless nightgown, smoothing lotion on her hands and up her arms as Bill sets his watch down on the dresser, its face propped up so that he can see it as he passes by.

“You want to do what?” Bill turns to look at her. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and boxer shorts to bed, as he normally does, and for a moment Jo is distracted by how good-looking he is. From the first time she saw her husband, she’d found him incredibly attractive, and now, in their thirties, she can see what a solid, distinguished man he’s becoming. The lightest dusting of gray is starting to form at his temples, and there are lines at the corners of his eyes that can only be described ashandsome.

“I want to volunteer at the Stardust Beach Hospital,” Jo says, capping the lotion and setting it on her nightstand next to a copy ofThe Feminine Mystique, a new book by Betty Friedan that she’d stopped by the library that afternoon to check out at Carrie’s insistence. It’s been nearly two weeks since the day at Barbie’s house when Jude had laid bare Jo’s deepest fears—that the core reason for her existence is simply to benefit others; thatshe exists to be a wife and mother, but nothing more—and she’s thought of little else since.

Bill frowns as he slides under the covers next to her. He looks tired. “Why do you want to give away your time for free when you have so much on your plate already? Help me understand.”

Jo wiggles so that she’s flat on her back, her soft brown hair fanned out across the crisp white pillow case. She takes a deep breath. “I want to do something that’s just for me, Bill.”

“But volunteering isn’t for you—it’s for the people you’re volunteering to help, Jojo. That’s the whole idea of volunteerism.”

She shakes her head emphatically then turns her face back towards the ceiling so that she isn’t looking at Bill. “No, it’s not. You’re missing the point. If I work at the hospital?—“

“For free,” Bill interjects, holding up a hand that she can see in her peripheral vision, “don’t forget that part—you’re working for free.”

Annoyed, Jo presses on. “Anyway, if I’m volunteering at the hospital, I’m broadening my circle. I’m doing good works, but I’m also making myself a part of this community. I thought that’s what you wanted me to do,” she adds, reaching over to touch his hand. This part is somewhat calculated, but she knows that convincing Bill she’s volunteering for the optics of it will be the tipping point for him. “To integrate myself. To meet people. To do things that will look good on our family resume.”

Bill gives a little snort and Jo can feel him staring at her profile in the light of the bedside lamps. “Ourfamily resume? What is that?”

Jo gives in and turns her head so that they’re looking at one another from their respective pillows. “You know,” she says with a slight roll of her eyes. “Ourdossier.The way we’re presenting ourselves to NASA and to the world as a family.”

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