“This is how they used to launch astronauts into space,” Joan said as she pointed to the Mercury-Redstone on display. “This was the rocket that launched the very first American in space. And this one”—she pointed to the Saturn V—“launched the first astronaut to the moon.”

“Neil Armstrong,” Frances said.

“That’s right.”

“Are you going to the moon?”

Barbara cut in: “Joan is doing something even more important.”

Joan looked at her.

“One day, she is going to go into low-Earth orbit and put up a satellite or a telescope—or something else that is going to help everyone learn about our universe better.”

Joan was taken aback. She had not told Barbara any of that.

“We’re very proud of Auntie Joan,” Barbara said.

“Of course we are!” Frances said.

For a moment, Joan couldn’t speak.

“We should get going,” she finally said. And then: “Thank you both. That means a lot.”

The grass was packed, but Joan found them a spot a ways back, far from the action, so they could relax and talk. There had been heavy rain for weeks, but tonight was clear and dry.

Joan put a blanket out on the lawn. She rolled up a sweatshirt and used it as a pillow for Frances. Barbara sat down with her legs to the side and covered herself with the skirt of her dress. They watched the sun begin to set.

“Two hundred years ago, in France, the first man flew. He went up in a hot air balloon, invented by the Montgolfier brothers. It was made out of paper, but it was pretty similar to the ones they have on the ground over there.”

“Wow,” Frances said.

Joan told neither of them that some of the balloon teams had asked members of the astronaut corps to accompany them in the air, and that Vanessa had eagerly raised her hand. So only Joan knew that Vanessa was just off in the distance, preparing to go up.

“And here is something else,” Joan said to them. “This is commemorating twenty-five years of spaceflight, too.”

“Like what you do?”

“Like what I’m trying to do. But there are a lot of us astronauts, and we all want to go. There’s only so many spots at a time.”

“You will get picked one day,” Barbara said. “I bet it’s soon.”

Joan had long known that if you’re unhappy, it’s hard to watch other people be happy. So it stood to reason that the opposite was true, too. That if you were happy, you wanted others to be happy alongside you. This was the only reason Joan could think of for why Barbara suddenly seemed so immensely proud of her.

If that was the case, then maybe Barbara had been right. She had needed to set up her future with Daniel in order to take care of the people around her. In order to be her best self for Frances.