Joan stayed on the phone with her for three hours, talking it through. She gleaned a lot of surprising information from that conversation. Namely, that there was more than one possible father, that Barbara was unwilling to suffer the indignity of trying to figure out which it was, that she was intent on hiding this as long as possible from their parents, and that she’d stopped going to classes weeks ago.

Joan was trying to find the words for how to respond to the last bit of information when Barbara’s roommate came in and Barbara rushed off the phone.

Then Barbara called again two days later, this time with a clarity of purpose.

She had realized this was a great thing! This pregnancy was the answer to a question Barbara had been asking herself for years. What was she meant to do with her life? This! The reason she had yet to find a passion was because she’d been waiting for this child to give her life a shape.

Joan knew that Barbara did not understand the full weight of the task. But there was little to be done about it now.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?” Barbara asked Joan.

Joan had a hard time imagining Barbara as someone’s mother, but the simplest way of looking at it seemed true. “You’ve always been incredible at anything you’ve put effort into, Barb.”

“Thank you, Joan. That means a lot.”

After that, Barbara kept calling. Barbara needed money for an apartment. Barbara needed help finding out if she could get her tuition money refunded now that she was officially dropping out. Barbara needed Joan there when she finally told Mom and Dad. Barbara needed Barbara needed Barbara needed.

When their parents were upset that Barbara was single, pregnant, and dropping out of college, Barbara called on Joan to defend her.

When their mother offered to be with her when the baby was born, Barbara asked for Joan instead.

When Frances was born that May, this gorgeous gangly thing, it was Joan who held her first. It was Joan who handed her over to their mother to hold, Joan who filled out Frances’s birth certificate.

Frances Emerson Goodwin.

Joan spent months sleeping on the sofa in Barbara’s new one-bedroom apartment in Houston. She had to. Frances needed someone to arrange her checkups. Frances needed someone to rock her. Frances needed someone to feed her when Barbara was too tired to wake up. Frances needed Frances needed Frances needed.

It felt weird to Joan—holding a baby. She always felt as if she was going to break her, always worried she wasn’t supporting her head enough. Frances was colicky the first few months; there were times when she would not stop crying, no matter how much Joan held her. Joan sometimes could not hear her own thoughts above the screaming.