Page 7 of The Launch

Arvin North slides a fresh cigarette out of the pack he’s taken from his breast pocket and puts the end into his mouth. He flicks his lighter and the paper ignites with a hiss. “Let’s talk about the mission you led in Korea in December of 1951.” His lighter snaps shut. “I want to hear about the casualties.”

Bill sighs internally. Putting himself back in Korea exacts an emotional toll on him every time, and occasionally leads to days or weeks of repetitive nightmares. He buckles up mentally, sitting straighter in his chair.

“Okay,” Bill says. “The casualties.”

THREE

jo

“Oh, isn’t he gorgeous,”Jo says, leaning over the hospital bed to peer at the tiny, pink-faced bundle in Barbara’s arms.

“His name is Huck,” Barbara says.

“Well, isn’t that adorable,” Jo coos, still admiring the newborn.

Frankie is leaning against the windowsill, her strong, tanned arms visible from beneath a fitted Pucci sheath dress that’s a swirl of green, turquoise, black and white. With it, Frankie wears a pair of white wrist-length gloves and matching white heels. Barbara lifts an eyebrow at her shoes.

“It’s only a week until Memorial Day,” Frankie says to Barbara as the new mother stares at her shoes from her hospital bed, face aghast. “I promise the earth won’t tilt on its axis if I wear white shoes a little early.” At this, Frankie pointedly sets a potted frangipani plant with blooms of yellow and pink on the table at the foot of Barbara’s bed. “Congrats on this little pup, by the way.”

“I thought you were having a girl,” Jo says, reaching out gingerly to caress the little swirl of silky hair at the baby’s crown.

Barbara’s smile fades just slightly. “Me too. Well, I’d hoped for one,” she says, looking wistfully at her baby. “But I guess I already know all about little boys, so what’s one more, right?”

Frankie huffs as she slides her manicured hands from her gloves, unsnapping her purse and dropping the gloves inside. “I don’t know about that,” she says. “The world is already lousy with men.”

“Frankie!” Jo says, turning around quickly to shoot daggers with her eyes. She’s still gripping the metal side rail of the bed when two other women enter the room tentatively, arms laden with flowers and presents.

“Hi, girls,” Barbara says. “Come in and meet Huck.”

The new women cluck over the baby as Barbara holds out a hand. “You also have to meet Jo Booker and Frankie Maxwell,” she says, pointing at them in turn. “Jo and Frankie, this is Caroline and Judith.”

“Oh!” Caroline says, holding her arms open and pulling Jo into a warm, familiar embrace that is completely disarming. “I amso sorrywe missed the barbecue at your house the other day! Judith’s kids got my kids sick, and then we each had one throwing up that day, so we figured it was better not to come over and take down the entire neighborhood in one fell swoop, you know?”

When she finally lets go, Jo is nearly breathless from surprise at her ebullient greeting. “Well,” she says, trying to collect herself from this dizzying onslaught of friendliness. Jo puts a hand to her chest. “Of course—please, don’t give it another thought. I’m so happy to meet you both now, and I hope the kids are all better.”

“They’re healthy as horses and tearing through our houses like a pack of wild bulls raging through a china shop,” Judith confirms, holding out a hand to shake Jo’s in a more traditionalgreeting. “Pleasure to meet you both.” She turns to Frankie with a small smile and a quick nod.

Frankie is still leaning artfully against the windowsill, watching the entire scene. “Kids, babies, babies, kids,” she says, waving a hand in the air. “I have none of them. But what I do have is a husband. Have any of your men done their psychological evaluations yet?” Frankie lifts one perfectly drawn brow as she glances at the other women to gauge their responses.

“Jay’s is this afternoon,” Caroline says, looking down at the baby. Her eyes flick up and meet Frankie’s.

“So is Ed’s.” Frankie inspects her manicure; her face is neutral.

“Good,” Caroline says with just a hint of reservation. “Hopefully they’ll get this out of the way and move on. I don’t think any of them look forward to sitting down and having a group of strangers grill them about personal details for two hours, do they?”

“I would think not,” Frankie says.

Jo knows that Bill had done his evaluation first thing that morning, and she’s eager for him to come home so she can hear how it went. But that’s for later—right now there’s a baby in the room, and their husbands’ jobs are rendered momentarily irrelevant. Jo turns back to Barbara. “So, how are you feeling? This is your third time, so it’s old hat by now, I’m sure.”

Barbara sighs. “I wish. I think every time I’m in the throes of labor is about when I remember how painful the whole thing is. But then, the minute they whisk the baby away to clean him, you just forget, don’t you? You forget all the horrible stuff.”

“You’d have to,” Judith interjects, “or no one would do it more than once, and then the entire species would die out.”

The other women laugh appreciatively.

“I remember after finding out about giving birth—I must have been fourteen at the time—I asked my mother, ‘Mom, why would anyone do this in the first place? And once they have, why would they do itagain?’” Jo laughs at this memory as she tells the story. “And she said to me, ‘You do it once for love, and then you do it again for love.’ It was that simple.”

The other women nod, their eyes returning to Barbara, who is the picture of maternal love as she holds little Huck there in her hospital bed, gazing at his tiny nose and his squished-up face.

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