Page 12 of Starlight & Dark Nights

Vance sucks in some air through his teeth and it sounds like a sympathetic whistle. “Hopefully nothing serious.”

Bill’s eyes travel over the entire floor as he sits there. He doesn’t want to admit it—even to himself—but he’s always hoping that his eyes will snag on Jeanie Florence. To his absolute misfortune, he and Jeanie had shared a clandestine and completely forbidden kiss the night of the fire, and since then, their interactions have been scarce. Actually, Jeanie has (probably intentionally), kept their interactions close to zero.

“Hey,” Vance is saying, leaning closer to Bill’s desk. “Weird to see Bob’s desk cleared off.” He nods at the spot that Bob Young, the other astronaut who’d died in the fire, had occupied up until December thirteenth. Just recently, someone has come in and completely cleared away everything, even the cup of pencils and the ink blotter. It’s been wiped so clean that the faux wood shines.

Bob Young, late twenties, and largely considered one of the most handsome astronauts, had perished alongside Derek Trager that evening. But given that Bob was the only astronaut who was single and without kids when he died, it’s almost as if he’s simply vanished. There is no widow to attend to, and there are no children to step in and care for. There is no reminder that he was ever in Stardust Beach at all, except for the empty house in the neighborhood that his parents have already come down from Pennsylvania to empty out.

“Yeah, it is weird,” Bill agrees, still looking at Bob Young’s empty desk. The chair is pushed all the way up and under it. Even the cord to the desk phone has been untangled, recoiled, and rests neatly next to the handset. For a moment, Bill wonders who will sit there next, and if it will feel like moving into the house of someone who has recently died. And then of course there is hisactualhouse…

“Anyway,” Vance says. He taps Bill’s desk with the tips of his fingers and glances around. “Keep us posted if North says anything interesting, will you?”

Bill puts on a smile that has no wattage to it. “Sure. Will do.”

After Vance is gone, he stands. He stretches. He surveys the floor again. It’s mostly men, with a few female engineers scattered about, brightening up the sea of white shirtsleeves, charcoal gray pants, and tastefully patterned ties.The women are like the frosting on the cake, Bill thinks, admiring a secretary named Helen as she saunters by, her blue floral skirt swishing behind her. In her wake, she leaves a trail of powdery lilac perfume.

He contemplates calling home quickly just to hear Jo’s voice, but then dismisses the idea. Things have been somewhat touchy with her since the night of the fire, and Bill thinks that maybe it’s affected her more than he would have expected. After all, a fire that killed two men is bad enough, but the notion that Bill had been set to lead that mission himself and thathecould have died must be messing with her head.

Not only that, but 1964 had been a tough year all around. Jo had found her footing with her writing, and he was sure proud of her for that. But between her late nights with the typewriter, and her long afternoons volunteering at the hospital, sometimes it seemed to him like she came home and put together a slapdash dinner for him and the kids and then counted the minutes until they were all asleep so that she could go back to her imaginary world.

Bill is punching the buttons for the elevator as he considers this. It’s entirely possible that he feels envious of Jo’s writing and the way that it allows her to escape, at least a bit, and that this has kept him from settling in to read her stories. He hasn’t read them yet, and that’s something that feels like it’s coming between them. Maybe not a lot, but he can pick up on a frisson of displeasure every time someone mentions Jo’s stories in his presence.

The elevator doors slide open and Bill steps into the car to find two of the women from the Human Resources department. They’re hugging file folders to their chests and talking in low voices.

“Mr. Booker,” one of them says, nodding at him.

“Ladies.” Bill pushes the button for Arvin’s floor and the doors close.

One of the women clears her throat. “Um, I read your wife’s stories, and they’refantastic. You must be so proud.”

Bill, who is standing in front of them with his back to the women, turns slightly. “Thank you, I am,” he says with a smile and a nod. “She’s a stellar wife and mother, and I’m incredibly proud of her writing and the way she’s putting herself out there.”

The other woman makes a sound that’s almost like a giggle and Bill can see them exchange a look between them before turning their gazes to the ground. “She’s putting everything out there,” the woman who has said nothing so far mutters.

Bill hears it, but isn’t sure he’s heard it correctly. However, before he has a chance to clarify, the elevator dings and the doors open. He gives them a perfunctory nod and walks off, turning in the direction of North’s office.

This can’t be good—this meeting. They’ve been briefed and debriefed on the ill-fated Gemini orbital mission, and there can’t possibly be new ground to cover. The one thing that hasn’t happened yet is for North to pull Bill aside and to parse the discussion they’d had that evening in mission control for meaning.

“Booker,” Arvin North says from behind his desk. His office door is open. “Come in.” He waves at Bill to enter and gestures broadly for him to sit. “Close the door behind you.”

Bill does as he’s told, but he does not sit comfortably in the silent office. For all the times he’s been in here, he’s never before felt as if there wasn’t enough air to breathe.

Arvin puts his elbows on the desk and presses his fingertips together, making a steeple as he watches Bill’s face. “I’d like to have a discussion with you before we undergo any sort of formal inquisition by the legal department or anyone outside of our daily sphere.”

Bill nods, though the words “legal department” have given his heart a bit of an electric jolt.

“We had an interaction in the moments before I pulled you from the mission,” North starts, then pauses. “Rather, you brought to my attention some concerns you were having, and I want to address those now.”

Bill feels a storm of emotions start to boil inside him.Now?! he wants to shout.Now you want to address my concerns?Instead, he waits. He has to wait. Saying too much is never a good idea, and saying too much when your career and your future are on the line is an even bigger mistake. Not to mention the fact that, by nature, Bill is a man of few words. Stoicism was instilled in him from a young age, and he will maintain a stiff upper lip in front of his boss no matter what happens.

“First of all,” North says, “you mentioned to me that you felt we had an issue with the technology of the capsule about twenty minutes before liftoff, did you not?”

Bill pretends to recall the evening in a leisurely fashion—as if he isn’t constantly playing and replaying the events of December thirteenth in his mind when he’s awake—and then he nods. “Yes, that sounds right. About twenty minutes prior to countdown.”

“I see.” North waits and stares at him, apparently waiting for Bill to say more. When he doesn’t, North gives a small cough and then reaches for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on his desk. He taps out a cigarette, and, at length, puts it to his lips, flicks the lighter, touches the flame to the filter, and inhales. Once he’s taken a full drag and exhaled, he lets the lighter snap shut and sets it back on the desk. “Bill,” he says, “I’m going to level with you. We have some real trouble on our hands.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill says, agreeing, but also encouraging North to go on. It’s not his place to do the telling here, and so he won’t.

“This is a PR nightmare, as you can probably imagine.” North lets a wry smile play at his lips. “Our PR department—mostly comprised of attractive ladies who like to put on carnivals and luncheons, or readings by local authors,” he says, tilting his head at Bill to indicate that he’s talking about Jo, “is in a tizzy. We’ve lost two astronauts a year after JFK’s assassination. Sure, President Johnson is a huge proponent of the space program, but these are big hits to NASA. With a fiery explosion killing two men in the prime of their lives, people are going to look at us and wonder what the hell kind of dog and pony show we’re running here.”

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