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“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. Toyou. 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 actuallylosther 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.”