But then they leveled out above the clouds and Joan gasped. The beauty of the pale pink puffs—soft blankets against the sky—startled her into focus. The steady hum of the wind drowned out almost everything except the sound of her own voice inside her mind. Which was such a gift. She had always been her greatest friend, her greatest guide.

Up here, all she could hear was that voice. The kindest version of her. Look at the clouds, take a breath, do you see how pale the blue of the sky can be?

Suddenly Hank’s voice crackled in her helmet: “Tell me that’s not the heavens.”

—

“You are never going to believe this, but I was thirty thousand feet into the air!” Joan said that evening, holding Frances’s hand as the two of them and Barbara walked into Joan’s apartment. “And on Monday, we’re going to fly upside down.”

“Upside down?”

“Upside down! And by the way, I almost puked just going right side up! So who knows what’s going to happen.”

“Oh my gosh, you can’t puke, Joanie!”

“I am obviously going to try not to!” Joan said. “But I might not be able to control it. I might just go, ‘Oh no,’ and then blaaach.” Joan mimicked puking right over Frances’s head. Frances laughed so loudly that Barbara asked her to please use a normal tone of voice and then looked at Joan with reproach.

As they settled in, Barbara told Joan how great the apartment looked and Frances immediately gravitated toward all of the portraits Joan had been working on when she couldn’t sleep at night. There were a few of Frances with her big eyes and long eyelashes, one of Barbara, one of their father.

“You have to do Grandma,” Frances said.

“I know, I really do,” Joan said. “For some reason, I find it hard to draw Grandma.”

Barbara looked at the portrait of herself, which was sitting on the nightstand. Joan saw a small smile on her face, even though Barbara tried to hide it. This was Joan’s favorite part. To be able to show someone what they should love about themselves.

Barbara put the picture down, gently. “It’s because you look like Mom.”

“What?” Joan said.

“You look like Mom. I look like Dad. And you can’t draw Mom because you don’t like to draw yourself.”

“I could draw myself.”

“Oh,” Barbara said. “Well, you don’t ever draw yourself, so I just figured you didn’t want to.”

Joan considered this. “I just…don’t find myself all that interesting, I suppose.”

“Joanie, I think your face is very interesting,” Frances said. “I like how you have tiny light freckles all over it and you have three gray hairs on the side of your head.”