18. Jude
CHAPTER 18
Jude
Being called into NASA for a sit-down with Arvin North is not Jude’s dream come true. In fact, the Tuesday after her dinner with the Bookers, she’s been summoned along with Jo, Frankie, Barbie, Carrie, and a few other wives she knows only in passing.
“Ladies,” Arvin North says, standing at the head of the long conference table. He looks at them with a serious gaze. “We have a problem.”
The women shift in their seats, eyes catching one another’s in question. Some seem to have no idea what the issue might be, and others shoot each other meaningful looks.
“It seems that one of our very own has begun to spend serious time with the protestors, and this is not a good look for the organization or the program.”
Ah, Jude thinks. We’re here about Maxine .
“Mrs. Trager has been spotted standing outside the entrance to Cape Kennedy with her toddler in a stroller nearby, and she’s helping to spread anti-NASA sentiment. Do any of you know anything about that?”
Jude looks at the table. Of course she knows about this, and she has her own feelings about it, which, frankly, are mixed.
“As the wives of men who are working in a career that’s hugely important, extremely influential, and highly visible, we cannot have you doing anything that misrepresents NASA or shines unwelcome light on the program. Especially now,” he says, putting his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he begins to pace the room. He looks like a man in desperate need of a cigarette and a cup of coffee, and Jude’s eyes follow him as he walks.
“So, I will ask you again,” North says, pausing to take a deep breath. “Does anyone know anything about Maxine Trager joining the group of hoodlums holding signs out on the main road?”
It seems as if none of the wives is going to speak when Frankie Maxwell clears her throat. “Maxine Trager isn’t the wife of an astronaut,” she says in her gravelly voice. “At least, not anymore.”
This causes Arvin North to stop pacing. He looks at her like he can scarcely believe she’s said such a thing. “Mrs. Maxwell,” he says with disbelief, “that hardly seems relevant. The Trager family still lives in our designated neighborhood in Stardust Beach, and moves amongst us as our own. To have Mrs. Trager behaving in a way that’s detrimental to NASA is, in effect, to have her behaving in a way that’s detrimental to your own families. To your husbands. To you . We need to put a stop to this.”
Frankie inhales like she’s considering the situation and then lets her breath out. Rather than crossing her legs daintily at the ankles as the other women have done, she’s turned her chair sideways and crossed her legs at the knee. She swings the top foot, wiggling it around so that the patent leather of her high heel catches the overhead lights.
“I don’t think it’s our business to interfere with a woman’s right to free speech,” Frankie says. There is a challenge in her tone. “I’m pretty sure that’s a First Amendment right.”
Arvin North looks as if steam is about to come from his ears. He’s clearly not used to presiding over a group of women like this, and he appears uncertain for a moment.
“Maxine Trager’s rights stop at the gate to this organization,” Arvin North says.
Frankie opens the clasp on her purse, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and lights one. Jo pushes a heavy glass ashtray in her direction.
“Thanks, Jojo,” Frankie says, exhaling a stream of smoke. She turns back to Arvin North. “Well, fortunately for you, Mr. North, Maxine hasn’t crossed onto the property of this organization. So her rights are still intact.”
Arvin North looks as though he’s been slapped. “Mrs. Maxwell…” He shakes his head, stunned by her impertinence. “Are you trying to tell me that you think it’s fine for these protestors to make light of the work your husbands do? Do you believe in your heart that your men doing a dangerous job is just child’s play? Are you not in favor of being a part of a groundbreaking, game-changing effort to explore space and get to the moon?”
The other women have all turned to stare at Frankie, who has garnered their attention and, Jude can sense, their admiration.
Frankie puts an elbow on the table and leans on it. Her cigarette is in that hand, and she sits there for a moment, letting the smoke waft up towards the ceiling. “Mr. North, I support anything my husband wants to do, and I’m extremely pro-America when it comes to leading the space race. My parents came to this country from Italy as immigrants near the turn of the century, and we have always believed in building our country up.” Frankie’s eyes sweep the table and take in her fellow wives. “But our husbands have all chosen a career that is incredibly dangerous. We could lose them, and every one of us knows it.”
“You knew that when they signed on to NASA,” North argues.
“Of course we did. We’re not dummies.” Frankie frowns. “But one of our own actually lost her husband, and it’s driven home to all of us, I would imagine, what the real stakes are. So forgive us if we side with Maxine just a little. She’s angry. She’s scared. She’s hurting. And, for God’s sake, she’s about to have another baby. Can you imagine how she feels?” Frankie stubs out the cigarette and leans back in her chair, brushing her hands over her skirt to smooth it. “She wants someone to blame, and I’m sorry if that feels like it’s you.”
The other women stay conspicuously quiet. In truth, they do see how Maxine is feeling, and they worry about her and want her to be well. Jude knows this because they’re all in the same position. With a mere fluke or twist of fate, any one of them could be in Maxine’s shoes right now. There is a distinct “There but for the grace of God” feeling amongst them, and they all know it.
“I’m fairly close to Maxine,” Jude says, speaking up for the first time. Every set of eyes at the table swings in her direction. “We’re next door neighbors.”
Arvin North gives her a look of encouragement, urging her to go on.
“I’ve been checking in on her, and I think I had some inkling that she felt unsettled and dissatisfied with what the future holds for her. I don’t believe that any part of Maxine has malicious intent; I think she just needs to belong to something. She needs to believe in something again.”
Wisely, North pulls out a chair and sits at the table so that he’s at eye-level with the women. He puts his elbows on the smooth table and then buries his head in his hands for a moment. As the women watch and wait, he massages his temples, takes off his glasses and rubs his whole forehead and the bridge of his nose before putting his glasses back on.
“Okay,” Arvin North says. He sounds like he’s trying to begin again and take this conversation in a different direction, and Jude watches him carefully. “Let’s think of some ways we can all help Maxine. I appreciate your friendship with her, Mrs. Majors, and your caring. I’m sure she’s been the beneficiary of some of your casseroles and perhaps your babysitting services, but we really need to dig in and find a way to pull her back to reality.”
It’s crystal clear to Jude that by “reality,” North actually means “our side,” but she doesn’t entirely disagree. While Maxine has every right to express her discontent over her current lot in life, and she certainly does have the First Amendment right to gather and protest peacefully, Jude knows that this is not the way for Maxine to heal her heart. Her baby could come at any point—seriously, any day now—and standing out on the sidewalk with a bunch of scruffy protestors trying to stir up drama with the country’s space program isn’t the way forward.
Jo finally speaks up. “Mr. North,” she says, placing both hands on the table carefully. She looks right at him. “Maxine Trager is a woman in an extreme amount of pain. Nothing will bring her husband back, but for the moment, she feels like doing something bold will take away a little of the hurt. That may or may not be true, but I think we can all agree that there are things we do to mask our own painful spots and to help us navigate the things that feel bad.” To her credit, Jo keeps her eyes from straying to Jude, but Jude knows that this message encompasses everything they’d discussed at the Bookers’ house the Friday before.
“I can relate,” Arvin North says. He leans to the side in his chair, putting one elbow on the arm rest as he levels his gaze at Jo. “And I agree, we all try to drown our own sorrows and find something that’s bigger than what ails us. I get that. But this isn’t the right way. You all see that, don’t you?” He looks around the table imploringly, and there are slight, begrudging nods from nearly every wife in the room. “The negative publicity we’re getting from having her out there is going to impact all of us—either directly or indirectly. And I heard she’s agreed to an interview with CBS this week.” He looks frazzled as he says this. “We need to get to her before that happens.”
“So, what you’re saying is that without her husband here to reel her in,” Frankie says, reaching for her cigarettes like she might light another, “you’re turning to us. You need us.”
North appears loathe to admit this, and he’s eyeing Frankie’s cigarettes lustily. “I need you,” he agrees. “Yes. I need your expertise as wives, as women who know Maxine, and as a unit of ladies who has agreed—even tacitly—to support our organization. Can you help me?” he begs.
Frankie looks at each woman around the table for confirmation before looking back at Arvin North. She taps a cigarette from the pack and puts it between her lips, leg swinging again as she flicks her lighter with red-painted nails. “Sure,” Frankie says, almost as if it’s an afterthought. “We’ll help you.”
* * *
The women have agreed that Jude will be their point of contact with Maxine, which is fine with her. Jude knows she’s not ballsy like Frankie, not universally adored for her gumption like Jo, and not as cute and likable as Barbie or Carrie, and so her way of pitching in and showing that she truly does support NASA and the space program is to step up and do what she can do—which, in this case, is to get through to Maxine.
“So, you need to basically use psychology on her to get her to do what you want?” Vance asks that night at dinner. “You need to play a mind game with her?”
Jude stops in the middle of the kitchen with the salt and pepper shakers in hand. “No,” she says, amused. “Not really. I believe that Maxine has a right to feel how she feels, but I need to understand why this is the thing she’s choosing to focus on. To help NASA, I first need to help her.”
Vance nods in understanding. “Okay, I see that.” He’s sipping a beer and standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room with his necktie loosened, watching his wife move roasted chicken and potatoes from stove to table. “I think it’s really caring of you to step in and work with Maxine—both as her friend, and as my wife.”
Jude smiles at him; things have been far easier between them lately, and the only thing she can really attribute it to is the fact that she’s now moving through her days entirely sober and just indulging in one drink before turning in for the night. The evening that she’d nearly drunk from the bottle of vodka while sitting on the kitchen floor is still fresh in her mind, but Jude doesn’t feel the immediate pull to find the kind of numbing relief that she normally feels when she gets anxious or stressed about something.
“You know,” Vance says, pushing away from the wall and walking over to where Jude is standing. She’s got her back to him as she turns off the burners on the stove. Vance loops one arm around her waist and nuzzles his face into the back of her neck. He smells like beer and Jude smiles. “I feel like things have been going well lately. Don’t you? Hmm?”
Vance kisses the back of her neck and a chill runs down Jude’s spine—it’s a good, warm tingling feeling, and it’s been a while since she’s felt relaxed and present enough to melt into her husband’s embrace.
Jude nods her head. “Things have been going well.” She swallows. “I’ve been drinking less.”
“I know,” Vance says in a voice so low that it’s almost a whisper. “I’ve noticed. And I’m proud of you. It’s not easy to overcome something that’s begun to take over your life.”
Jude stills in his arms. “You think it was taking over my life?” He’s not wrong, but she’s bothered by the fact that her husband most likely felt as though she was so lost in the drink that she couldn’t function in her most important roles as wife and mother. “You thought I was becoming a drunk?”
“Oh, baby,” Vance says. He turns her around gently and takes the oven mitt from her hands, tossing it onto the counter and setting his bottle of beer beside it. He puts his hands to the sides of her face and looks into her eyes. “No. I’m not saying that at all.” A look passes over his face that is concern mixed with love and compassion. “I understand the things you carry around with you, and I know that they bother you a lot. There are so many people who find ways to keep their head above water through a drink or two, and I think that a lot of times it gets to where two drinks become three or four, and before you know it, you’re in a place you never imagined. It feels shameful and bad, but Judith, I’ve never stopped loving you. I only want to help you.”
For what feels like the millionth time recently, Jude wants to cry. This goes so entirely against her nature and her inclinations to give into open displays of emotion that she simply clears her throat and looks at the wall while her eyes dry out. Does she even deserve Vance’s love and support? Has she been enough of a wife and a mother to him and the girls to have earned the love of a man who believes in her through thick and thin? She isn’t sure, but starting now, she wants to be that woman. She’s going to be that woman.
“Thank you,” Jude says, looking back at her husband as he holds the sides of her face between his big, slightly roughened hands. He touches her so gently, and with so much reverence, that Jude is almost ashamed of how she’s put her own addictions ahead of everything else. How silly—how foolish—to believe that her own husband wouldn’t understand how she feels about the things that have happened in her life. How ridiculous to take his suggestion to find Catherine and then not tell him that she was actually doing it.
Jude clears her throat. “Remember when you told me to look for Catherine?”
Vance frowns slightly at this quick change of topic. “Yeah, I recall that conversation. I think you should absolutely connect with an old friend. Remind yourself of who you used to be and build up the relationships in your life.” He’s nodding at her. “Of course, I remember saying that.”
“I went to Daytona Beach and met with a private investigator,” Jude says. “I used the money I got when my dad died to pay for his services,” she adds quickly, wanting him to not worry that she’s out spending money with no regards for their family budget.
“Okay,” Vance says. He’s visibly calculating the things she’s saying. “That’s fine. And how is it going?”
“He called with some follow-up questions, but I’m not sure if he’s had any luck yet.”
Vance reaches for his beer on the counter and takes another sip. “Wow. What do you think you’ll do if he finds her?”
Jude hasn’t really decided that. “I’m not sure. Maybe call and say hello? But I’ve been thinking…what if he could find my mother?”
Vance’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s an even bigger wow.” He drains his beer and sets the empty bottle back on the counter. “I wasn’t sure that was something that you wanted to do. I would have suggested it, but that’s a touchy subject. At least in my opinion.” Vance puts both hands to his chest and looks at Jude seriously. “I know your feelings run deep on that one.”
“They do.” Jude reaches for the discarded pot holder and twists it between her hands. “I think for a long time I felt as though she abandoned me. I felt like she put me on a ship bound for something totally unknown, and then I never heard from her again. And that hurt. That felt like a betrayal.”
“Of course,” Vance says empathetically. “Of course it did, sweetheart.”
“But now I’m not so sure.” Jude smacks the pot holder against her hand as she thinks about her feelings with regards to her mother. “I was so young. So many different factors could have been at play there, right?”
“A multitude,” Vance agrees. The twins can be heard in the front room, chatting in their high-pitched little girl voices. It’s nearly dinnertime, and they’ll be storming in soon to ask when it’s time to sit down and eat.
“What if she simply lost track of me? What if something happened to her? What if my dad refused to let her talk to me?”
“Do you think that’s a real possibility? Did you ever hear him say anything negative about her?”
Jude shakes her head. “No. I did overhear my dad and Bea having a conversation late at night on a few occasions, and she had plenty of choice things to say about my mother, but my father held his tongue.”
The girls choose this moment to come in, and Faith is wearing an overly dramatic pout. “Mama?” she says. “Can I have the big piece of chicken tonight?”
This nearly makes Jude laugh out loud; what eight-year-old girl needs a giant hunk of chicken? But instead of laughing, she holds out both hands and her girls come to her, letting her hug them to her body.
“You both get equal pieces of chicken,” she says, kissing each girl on top of the head in turn. “Daddy gets the biggest one because he worked hard all day.”
“Ha!” Hope says to her sister. “Told you.”
Vance chuckles. “You two go wash your hands and faces and come back to the table, okay?”
The girls never disobey Vance, so they run off to do as he’s asked, and Jude is alone with her husband again.
“Listen,” Vance says, turning to wash his own hands at the kitchen sink. “No matter what happened to your mom, I know she loved you—and she still does. If you want to find her too, then find her. Ask this guy to search for her, and go all out to make it happen.”
The girls come rushing in and take their places at the table, putting their napkins in their laps as they’ve been taught to do.
“Are you sure?” Jude asks. “I mean, I can use my own money for that as well, but do you think it’s too much change all at once?”
Vance blows out a breath, letting his cheeks puff out. He puts his hands on his hips as he considers this. “Sure, it’s a lot of change. Yeah. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned lately,” he says, shooting a glance at his daughters as if they might pick up on the fact that he’s referring to a major tragedy. “It’s that life is short. Too short, sometimes. And you have to grab ahold of the things that bring you joy where you can.”
Jude nods vigorously. He’s right. Of course he’s right. Vance, her voice of reason, her rock, her beloved husband. She’d loved him from the first time they spoke, and it was never an option for her to do anything but love him. Whatever feelings she’d had for Catherine had been shelved and mostly forgotten as Jude had chosen the path she knew was right for her.
In fact, she’s still sure it’s the right one for her, but she’s got some loops to close. There are just a few things that she needs to put to rest, and with Vance’s encouragement, she’s going to do just that.