Page 25 of The Space Between

His heart leaped in terror in the dark. Bill turned his head to face Margaret. It wasn’t the first time she’d threatened to kill herself, but the other times had been over stupid things: girls she’d thought were interested in Bill; fears she had about the way people looked at her. He’d never truly believed that she would, but in her voice now he heard a steely resolve and he believed her—if anything went wrong with this baby, Margaret would kill herself.

Rather than debate it with her, he put one arm over her and rolled so that his naked body was pressed up against hers beneath the sheets. “Nothing will go wrong,” he said, puttinghis lips to her neck and kissing her there. “Nothing can go wrong.”

Famous last words, Bill thinks to himself now. Because things had gone wrong; things had gone very wrong. At six months of pregnancy, Margaret’s body had stopped nurturing the baby they’d both wanted so badly, and she’d given birth to a little girl they’d named Violet. Margaret was catatonic, and he’d buried Violet alone because she wouldn’t get out of bed. Or maybe it was that she couldn’t get out of bed; the distinction had been lost on Bill at that point, as he was living in a hell of his own. Margaret had never really come out of it, and after a year or so and two vague suicide attempts, Bill had decided—along with Margaret’s parents—that she needed more help than they could give.

Out in the kitchen, the children are going about their breakfast routine in relative peace and quiet, but Bill is restless. He gets up, showers, dresses, and goes out to the front room, where he sits on the couch quietly. Jo sees him and brings him a fresh cup of coffee. She’s still in her robe over a nightgown, which is uncharacteristic for Jo at this hour.

“Sit with me?” Bill says, patting the couch next to him. Jo sits. “Kids?” Bill calls. Jimmy, Nancy, and Kate come into the room hesitantly. Kate has a smear of strawberry jam on one cheek. “I’ve got something I’d like to tell you.”

Next to him, Jo’s body stiffens. He can tell she’s on alert, but ready. The children sit on the shaggy throw rug in front of the couch. Nancy puts her elbows on the coffee table and rests her chin in her hands. She looks curious and a little afraid. None of the kids have ever seen their father in the state they’d seen him in the night before, because whenever he has one of the episodes that have plagued him since returning from Korea, he makes sure to hide himself in a quiet, safe place until it passes. The storm of the news about Margaret had been impossible to keepcaged, and they’d heard him rasping as he cried at the kitchen table. They’d seen Jo help him back to the bedroom and close the door tightly behind him. For once, they’d gotten ready for bed with very little oversight from Jo, and none of them had complained about being put to bed without a story or an extra hug.

“Your mom and I have been married for thirteen years now,” Bill begins, “but before I met her?—“

“At the dentist’s office!” Kate interrupts gleefully, glad to be able to interject some bit of knowledge.

“Yes, at the dentist’s office,” Bill confirms. “Before that, I was married to another woman.” He stops, watching the kids’ faces. They look intrigued, but not shell-shocked by the news. “I was married to the girl I fell in love with in high school. Her name was Margaret.” Bill puts an arm around Jo and pulls her closer, not because he needs to feel her there, but more because he knows she needs it.

Over the next half hour, Bill tells them as much as he thinks they need to know, including the baby girl who hadn’t lived, and then he ends with a cleaned-up version of the way Margaret had chosen to end her own life. It’s a lot for three young children to process, but for the first time in their lives, Bill can see that the things that affect him will also be things that feature largely in their own lives. Parents in crisis can inadvertently thrust their children into crisis, and Bill doesn’t want that for them. As he’d lain awake for parts of the night, he’d realized that by being more open and honest with them, Bill can essentially ensure that they’ll be less confused about who they are and where they come from. It’s hard to be open and to share these personal stories, but in the end, he wants his children to know where they come from. He wants them to understand their parents so that someday, God willing, they can be better parents themselves.

“Are there any questions I can answer for you?” Bill asks. This is hard for him; he wasn’t raised in a family where the kids were invited to ask questions or to understand grown-up issues, but he can feel Jo’s approval, and he senses it in the way she’s turned herself so that she’s leaning into him.

Kate raises a hand like she’s at school. Her eyes are wide.

“Yes, Katie-bug?” Bill says tiredly, trying not to sound as exhausted as he feels.

“Can I give you a hug, Daddy?”

That’s all it takes for Bill to break. Tears flood his eyes and stream down his cheeks as he nods, one hand over his eyes to shield them. His baby girl gets up and comes to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear: “I’m sorry about the baby, Daddy. And I’m sorry about Margaret. You loved her.”

Bill can’t say anything, but fortunately he doesn’t need to. He just sits there and lets his wife and children hug him, and somehow they get through the day just like that—together.

CHAPTER 11

Jeanie

Take file to Arvin North.

Work on complex equation that may or may not have different outcome on the projected trajectory from Earth to the moon.

Answer a phone call from a fellow engineer in a different department.

Eat egg salad sandwich that Vicki packed.

Jeanie’s morning is busy all the way through lunch on the Monday after the Fourth of July holiday, and she keeps her head down and her mind focused. Bill is at work, but he looks distracted and preoccupied, and they never even make eye contact.

“Jeanie?” Vance Majors approaches as she stands at a tall, gunmetal gray filing cabinet, searching through the stacks for something very specific. “Can I talk to you?”

Jeanie closes the filing cabinet drawer and turns to him. She frowns slightly. “Sure. What’s up, Vance?”

“I’m worried about Bill.”

Jeanie folds her arms across her body and nods, wondering why Vance has chosen her to talk to and not, say, one of the other guys. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Vance takes a deep breath. “Well, as you know, he’s been chosen for the three-man orbital test mission,” Vance says, “and I don’t think his head is in the game.”

A secretary holding a pile of file folders swishes by, head held high. Jeanie eyes the folders—maybe the one she wants is in that stack? She turns her attention back to Vance grudgingly.

“He just lost someone important in his life a couple of days ago, Vance. Of course his head isn’t in the game.”

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