Page 4 of The Launch

Jo says nothing, but folds her arms across her chest as she eyes her husband. Rather than speaking up, he is listening intently to the other men, taking mental notes as to what each of them says.

“Did you hear that Bob Dylan refused to play onThe Ed Sullivan Show?” Ed Maxwell says. As he speaks, Frankie sidles up to him and slides beneath the arm that he slings over her narrow shoulders. From the way that Frankie looks at Ed, it’s clear that they’re still newlyweds, or close to. “Said he wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t sing that song that makes fun of the military and segregation.”

This provokes a raucous outburst from the group—military men, all—who boo and shout about Dylan’s politics.

“Traitor,” a short, stocky man with a square jaw says, tipping his beer bottle to the sky as he chugs. “Can’t stand when some famous singer pipes up with his opinion on things he knows nothing about.”

“Hey, I have an idea,” Barbara says, taking Jo by the hand and pulling her away from the men’s discussion. “Let’s get everyone dancing.”

Jo lifts an eyebrow as she looks pointedly at Barbara’s extremely pregnant stomach. “Dancing? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah! Come on, let’s do it!” Barbara leads the way to the turntable and flips through the stack of records there, choosing “Runaround Sue” by Dion. She sets the needle on it with a fuzzy scratch of static.

Giving a little hip-sway, Barbara starts to dance in the middle of the sunken living room. Jo glances around to see if anyone else is as worried by this as she is. “Do you think you should be doing that in your condition?” Jo calls out over the music, pointing at the way Barbara is moving and shaking. Jo remembers doing a lot of sitting around uncomfortably when she was as pregnant as Barbara is now, but there is a look of total glee and abandon on Barbara’s face as she dances.

Barbara laughs merrily. “Absolutely! I hope this knocks the baby loose so she comes out sooner rather than later. I amdonewith being pregnant in this heat. I gotta evict this kid!” She closes her eyes and sways to the music.

Just as Jo is about to insist that Barbara take it easy—maybe sit down and let the other women bring her a cold lemonade—Todd makes his way over to his wife with an appreciative grin on his face.

“Hey, baby,” he says, setting his beer bottle on the coffee table and reaching out his hands to take Barbara’s. They dance together like they’re at a sock hop, and for a moment, Jo blocks out Barbara’s gigantic stomach and she can picture this adorable blonde woman wearing Todd’s letterman’s sweater; she can see them as high school sweethearts in some upscale Connecticut town with green hills, horses, and lots of plaid and leather. As the couple smiles at one another, swinging around (at least as much as they can, considering Barbara’s huge belly), Jo admires the ease with which they both seem to do everything. They’recute, cheerful, easygoing people—that much is obvious. Barbara brought Rice Krispies treats, for heaven’s sake, and their two little boys are wearing matching navy blue shorts and white polo shirts; they seem like a perfectly nice, friendly family, and Jo loves that. It actually brings her some relief to realize that notallthe good people in the world are congregated in Minnesota, and that she might encounter more of them out here in the wild.

“Hi,” Bill says, coming up next to Jo as they watch Barbara and Todd start to sway together to Elvis singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” which someone else has helpfully added to the Zenith. “How are you holding up?” He puts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a swig, and as he does, his silver watch glints in the sunlight that floods through the skylight over the living room.

Jo nods, but her eyes are still on Barbara and Todd. She wishes that Bill would take her out there and dance to Elvis, but she knows that won’t happen. Bill is all business when it comes to meeting his new coworkers and peers, and he’d been nervous all day as they got ready for this party, wanting everything to go well as the families met and mingled for the first time.

“I’m hanging in here,” she finally says. “How are you?”

Bill glances back at the kitchen where the other men are now holding paper plates filled with fried chicken, appetizers, desserts, and side dishes. Laughter comes from their little group, and Jo glances at her husband to see if he feels like he’s missing out on whatever is being said in his absence. But she knows her husband well enough to know that that isn’t what Bill Booker is thinking about at all. In fact, what he’s most likely doing is assessing who his biggest competition is, and determining who might be the weakest links out of the other new hires. That would besolike him to already be thinking strategy.

“Jo,” Bill says, turning his head to look right into her eyes. His face, normally intense and focused, looks oddly relaxed. Shehas no idea what he’s about to say. “You know I’ve always loved our life, right?”

Jo searches his face for clues. She doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “Yes?”

“Well, for the first time in a very long time, I think we’re right where we’re supposed to be. I think this is it.” He puts an arm around Jo’s narrow waist, pulling her to him; this is as close as they’ll get to dancing for the moment.

All around Jo, things are flowing: music, laughter, the sounds of pool water splashing on the concrete outside, the heat of the afternoon. But inside of her, everything has come to a standstill; it’s as if someone has pressed the pause button on her heartbeat. Her husband’s feelings are completely opposite to her own: he feels at home, in the right place, excited for the future. And in spite of all the pep talking she’s been doing in her brain, and all of her attempts to convince herself that she’ll find friends and purpose and a new normal in Florida, all Jo wants is to pack up and move back to Minnesota. She wants to spend the summer at the lake with Sally and Genevieve and their families. She wants to look forward to the change of seasons, which she knows she’ll miss out on entirely in Florida.

But there isn’t time for her to ruminate on the apple cider and fall bonfires and thick blankets of winter snow that she’ll be missing, because just as Jo opens her mouth to say something to Bill, a loud “Oh!” rings out from the living room, and Jo spins around to see Barbara standing there, both hands on her stomach.

Barbara’s blue eyes go wide in surprise as she stares at the puddle of amniotic fluid that’s spreading across the brand-new wood floors, and then she looks right at Jo. “I’m sorry about your floor, Jo,” she says breathlessly. “And I don’t mean to ruin your party here, but I think we’re having a baby.”

TWO

bill

Bill standsat the breakfast bar in the kitchen, both hands splayed wide on the counter as he taps his fingers mindlessly on the Formica countertop.

“Bill,” Jo says gently, pouring a steaming cup of coffee. She’s wearing only her dressing gown and a floor-length robe. “Are you anxious about something?”

Bill’s tapping stops. “Sorry,” he says, pushing himself away from the counter. “I was just thinking.”

Jo opens the glass bottle of milk she’s pulled from the fridge pours some into her coffee cup. “Are you worried about today?” Her slippers patter across the kitchen floor as she returns the milk to the refrigerator.

“No. I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Jo pulls a metal lunch box from the fridge and walks it over to her husband. She stands on tiptoes to kiss him. “Sure you don’t want me to make you breakfast?”

Bill gives a single shake of his head as he accepts the lunch box. “No, thank you.”

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