Page 47 of The Space Between

Starting first thing in the morning, Jeanie is ready to look at everything with fresh eyes.

CHAPTER 22

Bill

Bill has had enoughof seeing Jeanie and Peter Abernathy together. They’ve been eating at the same table during the lunch hour nearly every day since shortly after Peter’s thirtieth birthday party in the office back in September, and he’s seen them together at The Black Hole on more than one occasion, which frays his nerves in a way that he can’t—or refuses to—define. It’s been nearly two months of watching them sit near one another at meetings and conferences, of overhearing them talk about plans to golf or play tennis on the weekends, and of having the other guys elbow Peter and say something jokey about the fact that a female engineer is a real catch because she must know how everything works—wink, wink.

Bill has had more than his fair share of these kinds of comments, thank you very much.

“You got plans for Thanksgiving?” Todd Roman asks him a few days before the holiday as Bill snaps his briefcase shut and heads for the stairwell. He’s hoping to avoid the elevator and get out of the building without running into Peter and Jeanie discussing their dinner plans or making eyes at one another that they think no one else can see.

“Jo and I considered taking the kids home to Minnesota for a long week, but in the end, her mom and dad wanted to come down here and get a break from the winter weather. So they’ll be here tomorrow and stay for a week. How about you guys?”

“Barb wants to stay here,” Todd says with a shrug. “Connecticut feels more like the holidays to me, but she’s gotten on board pretty quickly with the tropical winter months. I’m fine with it, to be perfectly honest. Traveling with three little boys is a lot of work.”

“Sure, sure,” Bill says as he bangs the handle of the door that leads them to the stairwell. It opens and the men take the steps down in rapid succession, the sound of their shoes echoing all around them.

With just as much gusto, Bill yanks the handle to open the door on the ground floor, and in the blink of an eye, he and Todd cross the lobby and end up out in the bright November sun.

“You headed to The Black Hole?” Todd asks him, swinging his own briefcase as he cuts a path to his convertible Corvette.

Bill stops in his tracks. He’s tempted to just head home and start the weekend on this sunny Friday evening, maybe jump in the pool with the kids, or sit down and have a drink with Jo before dinner—something they rarely get the time to do—but a part of him wants to take the edge off before he hits the door of his own house.

“Yeah,” Bill says. “I’ll stop by for one beer.”

The Black Hole is jumping with the excitement of an upcoming holiday, and someone has put Bing Crosby on the jukebox in spite of the fact that it’s only November 20th. Bill has left his briefcase on the passenger seat of his Corvette, and he’s taken off his necktie and loosened the top button of his collared shirt. A beer is just what he needs to start the weekend, and he orders one on his way in, carrying the bottle over to the usualtable on the side of the bar where he and the other guys always congregate.

“Booker,” Jay Reed says, looking up at Bill as he points a finger in his direction. “Settle this bet for us: Packers and Browns, or Packers and Chiefs in the next Super Bowl?”

Bill, who loves sports as much as the next guy, immediately starts running stats and figures and scores in his head as he pulls out a chair and takes a long pull on his beer.

“Packers and Browns,” he says decisively, setting his bottle on the scarred wooden tabletop. “No question. And I have Packers for the win.”

“Bold assertion, given that we’ve still got months to go,” Ed Maxwell interjects. He launches into a detailed description of the last three games, which Bill easily joins in on. This is the kind of mindless talk he needs on a Friday—sports, games, predictions on who will throw the ball farthest. “But I like your conviction.”

The talk meanders to the week behind them, the week ahead, and the fact that it’s already been a year since JFK was shot.

“Goes too fast,” Bill says. He has his elbows on the table, and he shakes his head at the memory of that day. “I really thought things would change after that. For us, I mean. I wasn’t sure that LBJ would be as pro-NASA as he is.”

“He never hid that he was,” Todd counters. “He always came out on our side.”

“Sure,” Bill agrees with a shrug. “But politicians lie. All the time. It just wouldn’t have surprised me to find that he forgot about the things that Kennedy cared about.”

“I guess we’re lucky on that front,” Ed says. “But he’s kind of taking his time with jumping in on the Vietnam front. We need stronger action there.”

“Now, Ed,” Jay says, ever the peacemaker of the group. He goes on to counter every argument Ed poses, and theirdiscussion of the U.S.’s potential role in Vietnam takes some twists and turns that Bill isn’t interested in following.

He drains his beer and stands. “Alright, gents. Time for me to get home and see what the missus has in store for me this weekend.”

“See you Monday, Booker!” comes the chorus from the table, and then the men turn back to their beers and discussions.

Bill slides on his aviator sunglasses halfway through the bar, ready to step out into the golden light of early evening. But his smile falters as he has to step aside to let Jeanie and Peter enter the bar. Rather than take off his sunglasses, Bill moves out of the way with a nod and a close-lipped smile, and once Jeanie and Peter are inside, he walks around them and right out of the bar without another word.

“So this is…”

Bill can hear his mother-in-law’s hushed question coming from the front room on Thanksgiving morning. Jo rushes in to change the topic.

“Yes. Mmhmm. This is the urn,” Jo says in low tones, undoubtedly turning her mother away from the vase that holds Margaret’s ashes.

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