Atmosphere(21)

“Vanessa!” Steve called from the side yard. “We need you! Antonio’s Dodge is stalled.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrows. “Come on, boy,” she said. And then she smiled at Joan. “Bye, Jo.”

Joan laughed as they walked away. She could leave now. But instead, she sat on the rough concrete, pulled her long skirt up to her knees, and put her feet in the pool. It was so warm, it felt like stepping into a bath.

She watched as Lydia floated by her with her eyes closed, hogging the only pool float. Lydia had refused to share with anyone enough times that no one asked anymore.

Griff swam up to Joan. “I have obtained very important, very confidential insider information,” he said as he pushed his hair back off his face. “And if you play your cards right, I will read you in.”

Joan looked at him. She’d long ago noticed he was objectively handsome. But she could see now that he’d probably had to grow into his features. And she wondered if that had made him an ugly duckling. She loved ugly ducklings.

“Lay it on me,” Joan said. Maybe she had a bit of a buzz. She must have.

“Do you know Duke’s real name?”

“I did suspect it wasn’t Duke.”

“It’s Chris,” Griff said. The pool lights had kicked on a few moments ago, just as the sun was setting. Griff’s smile was lit from below.

“Oh, wow,” Joan said.

“Yeah, so they are Chris and Kris,” Griff said, pulling closer to the pool’s edge, hovering close to her.

“So he let her be Kris,” Joan said. “And he took on a nickname. That is . . . that is very touching.” She looked up at Duke and Kris, standing by the sliding glass doors with Steve’s wife, Helene.

It was obvious how well Duke and Kris fit together. Duke was quiet and strong. Kris was small and spirited, with big hair. Duke told the stories and Kris hit the punch lines.

“No, she knew what she was doing,” Duke was saying, with a smile.

“Oh, I absolutely did!” Kris added.

Helene laughed.

Joan was always curious what it was like on the inside of a marriage. What happened when it was just the two of them at home, Duke and Kris? Did she have to ask him for permission to buy new clothes? Did he sometimes tell her he didn’t like what she made for dinner? Joan tried to ward off the sadness that always came when she pictured a marriage—any marriage.

Her parents’ marriage seemed fine to her. Good, even. They still loved each other. Her mother, basically a vegetarian, made her father’s favorite meatloaf most weekends with a joy that Joan had scrutinized for years but found completely sincere. Still, when she thought about it, a gloom dared to take over. You could develop your personality your entire life—pursue the things you wanted to learn, discover the most interesting parts of yourself, hold yourself to a certain standard—and then you marry a man and suddenly his personality, his wants, his standards subsume your own?

Joan knew that society was changing and some men were changing with it. Some of them now understood that a woman’s career, her life, her passions were just as important as their own. But still, all Joan could think was that it was now just two people cutting off parts of themselves to make themselves fit together. A world of vegetarians cooking meatloaf.

“Goodwin, do you read me?” Griff said.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, I’m going to head out in a minute. Do you want a ride?”

Joan had come with Donna, but any second now Donna was going to ditch her for Hank.

“Sure,” she said, standing up.

Griff dried off and they said their goodbyes, including to Antonio and his wife, Jeanie.

When they got to the driveway, Vanessa had her head underneath the car’s engine, next to Steve. Ted and Harrison were watching. Apollo was now at Steve’s feet.

“How’s it going on the Dodge?” Griff said.

The path to get by the car was narrow, and there was a hose on the ground. Joan saw where to step, but Griff put his hand on the small of her back to guide her. When Joan turned to look at him, he smiled sweetly at her.

She had been here before—not often, but enough to recognize it for what it was. The glances that lasted just a bit too long, the softer tone of voice directed only at her. It almost never ended easily. There was always a thrash or two, when she tried to kill it.

Joan moved forward quickly, away from his touch.

“Looks like Steve’s got it,” Harrison said. “I certainly couldn’t figure it out.”

“Actually, Vanessa spotted it,” Steve said. “It was the vacuum pull-off on the choke.”

Vanessa stood up slowly and wiped her hands on a rag. “A team effort.”

Steve laughed, and then Vanessa saw Joan there, with Griff. “Off to read your book?”

“Caught red-handed.”

“Well, good night, Brando.”

Joan shook her head, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good night, Newman.”


December 29, 1984


First Griff’s voice gone.

Then Hank’s.

Then Steve’s.

Now Lydia’s.

“Ford, we read you,” Joan says.

Joan is now all Vanessa can hear, all that lies between her and isolation.

With the hand that’s not pressed to Griff’s suit, Vanessa bangs on the side of the airlock, trying to get someone’s attention and wake them up. The force of it pushes her backward. She rights herself.