Atmosphere(64)

Frances jumped on top of Joan and startled her, Frances’s knees hitting her in the ribs. Who cared? Who cared what hurt when Frances was this happy?

“Thank you, Joanie! Thank you!”


That Monday, Joan dropped Frances off at school and then headed straight to the all-astronauts meeting. After that, she worked with one of the investigators on Spacelab through lunch. She’d need to get to the airfield by three—Hank had offered to let her fly with him that afternoon, and Joan was behind on her hours.

She went home to change and then head to the airfield, but just as she was about to leave—with her bomber jacket on, her aviator sunglasses in her pocket, her keys in her hand—the phone rang.

Joan almost ignored it. But she looked at the time and instantly knew exactly who it must be on the other end of that line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Rhonda, the secretary at Olive Elementary. Is this Joan Goodwin? Frances Goodwin’s aunt?”

“This is she.”

“Are you able to come pick up Frances?” the woman asked. “School let out forty minutes ago and, unfortunately, her mother is not here. I tried the home phone but there was no answer.”

Joan inhaled sharply. “Absolutely, give me twenty minutes.”

“She’s here in the principal’s office with me,” Rhonda said.

“Is there somewhere else she can go?” Joan asked. “Maybe I can grab her from the library? I don’t want her to feel like she’s in trouble.”

“I understand, ma’am. But Frances and I have a good time when she’s here. She helps me with my crossword puzzles, and she’s really good.”

Joan closed her eyes and took a breath. “Okay, please tell her I’ll be right there and I’m excited to spend the afternoon with her.”

Joan called over to the airfield and let Hank know she had to bail.

“All right, well, I’ll see if Donna or Griff wants to join me.”

“I appreciate it, Hank, I’m sorry.”

“No, ma’am, nothing to worry about. Just don’t have time later this week, and I know you’re running into the end of the month.”

“It’s okay, I will figure it out. Thank you.”

When Joan walked into the principal’s office not long after that, Frances somehow looked older to her. She was wearing the same Wrangler jeans and baseball tee that Joan had sent her to school in. But her hair had been redone at some point in the day—Joan suspected by Rhonda—and was now in a low ponytail. She was cheering because she had just beaten Rhonda at tic-tac-toe.

“All right, come on, babe,” Joan said. “We have a fun afternoon planned.”

Frances said goodbye to Rhonda, and they walked to Joan’s car. When Joan got in the driver’s seat next to Frances and the two of them put on their seatbelts, Frances looked at Joan as if seeing her for the first time and said, “Wow, cool jacket.”

Joan leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. “How are you doing?”

“Stop that,” Frances said. “I’m seven and a half now.”

Joan nodded. “Noted.”

Joan brought Frances to Barbara’s house, and they headed into the kitchen, where Frances sat at the counter to finish her homework.

“Will you make Rice Krispies treats?” Frances asked. “Mom promised me last week she’d do it this afternoon. I was thinking about it all day.”

Joan looked through the cupboards. There was a box of cereal right next to a bag of marshmallows in the baking cabinet, among the chocolate chips and sprinkles.

“Sure thing,” Joan said.

She read the back of the box and then melted the butter and marshmallows. As she mixed the cereal in, she tried to piece together how, exactly, she was making dessert right now instead of doing an aerial flip in a jet.

When the treats had cooled, Joan cut them up and gave one to Frances as she finished her homework.

Frances looked at them. “Mom puts chocolate chips in them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.”

“Can you put them in now?”

“Um . . .” Joan looked at the treats, considering. “I can try to put some on top, or sort of push a few in?”

“No!” Frances said, growing angry. “I don’t want them on top. I want them all throughout, like my mom makes.”

“Franny, I can’t put the chocolate chips in now,” Joan said. “They’ve already set.”

“Why did you do that?” Frances yelled. “Why would you ruin them?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Joan said. “You know that.”

“You just don’t want me to have them!”

“I do want you to have them, babe. But there’s nothing I can do.”

“Make them again, then!”

“Frances, please calm down.”

“I can’t calm down! I don’t want to calm down! I want you to put the chocolate chips in them!”

And then Frances swung her foot from the stool she was on at the kitchen counter, directly into Joan’s shin.

“Frances!”

Frances did it again.

Joan stared at her, completely shocked. Frances burst into tears.