“Well, it’s not my fault you weren’t here on time. I assumed she’d only be there for a few minutes. And anyway, she’s fine, isn’t she?”

“Barbara, she’s seven years old.”

“I know how old my daughter is, thank you very much.”

“I’m just saying, maybe don’t lock her out. What if I hadn’t shown up?”

“I’d have been back in an hour. I just went to pick up Scott,” she said. “She’s a smart kid. She would have gone around to the backyard and played until we got here.”

“Barbara—”

“You consistently underestimate how smart and capable she is. You baby her.”

“I don’t baby her. I watch out for her.”

“Oh, screw you, Joan. Screw you. And don’t look at me like that.”

Joan was not sure how she was looking at her, but already the confusion was settling in.

Barbara often accused Joan of thinking things, claiming that Joan didn’t even have to speak, because of how clear her disdain was from her body language.

And the fact was that yes, sometimes Joan worried that Barbara was careless. Sometimes Joan was concerned about Barbara’s inability to consider other people, to think things through from any perspective other than her own.

But Joan worked so hard to stay on Barbara’s side.

Still, Joan was often snapped at for things she’d never said, accused of taking positions she had not yet even committed to within her own mind.

Was Barbara being unfair? Or was Joan indeed judgmental? And maybe her sister was the only person close enough to confront her about it? Joan wasn’t sure, knew that she might not ever be sure.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Joan said finally.

“Yes, you are—you think I’m a bad mother.”

“No, I don’t.”

“But you don’t know the first thing about being someone’s mother, Joan.”

“I know that.”

“And certainly not how hard it is to do it by myself. With no one helping me.”

Joan nodded, unsure what to say to that.

“So mind your own business.”

Joan looked past Barbara to where Frances was watching TV and playing with two of her dolls. She was laughing. She was completely fine. Right?

“I’m sorry,” Joan said. “You’re right.”

“Thank you,” Barbara said. “That’s very big of you. Thank you.”

Joan kissed Frances’s forehead on the way out. “I’ll see you soon. Okay, sweetheart?”

Frances nodded and said, “Yep. Bye, Joanie.”

July 1981

At the one-year mark of the ASCANs’ training, there was a camping trip at the lake. Astronauts, instructors, and the ASCANs and their families were all invited.

Joan had invited Frances to join her. When Joan arrived to pick her up, Frances was standing in the front yard with Barbara. She was wearing a fisherman’s vest and an adult-sized camping backpack.