Page 10 of The Light Year

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The flashbulbs popas Bill and Todd sit behind a small, two-man table under the hot lights. They are flanked from behind by the rest of the crew, and Arvin North stands at a podium to the right of the table. The room is filled to the gills with members of the press, and this time, the wives have been asked to stay away. There simply isn't room for extra bodies in the space, and the thought that the wives might add another layer of drama to what is already a dramatic situation had forced Arvin North to declare that this press conference was for astronauts only.

"Question one," North says now, pointing at a reporter from theMiami Herald. The man stands, pen and notepad in hand. "Commander Booker, my question is for you."

Bill gives him a serious look and a single nod as he waits.

"When you realized that Gemini was in a spin, what was your first thought?"

Bill clenches and unclenches his jaw; he wants to keep his words measured and not give away too much of himself here.

"I thought about my family, of course," he says, keeping his eyes on the reporter. "I knew my wife was here at Cape Kennedy,listening to the transmission between Gemini and mission control, and I thought of her."

There is a loud rush of voices as the room breaks into shouts and reporters angle to ask the next question. North points at a severe-looking woman with a tight bun.

"Elizabeth Prue,New York Times," she says. "This is for both astronauts." She consults the notepad in her hand. "Were you specifically trained in protocol for an uncontrolled roll, and, if so, did that training result in the reversal of your situation? Essentially, did NASA provide training that saved this mission and both your lives, or do you feel this was the work of divine providence?"

Bill frowns; he isn't accustomed to reporters bringing God into the equation, though he is used to both pilots and astronauts calling on a higher power to ask for or show gratitude for a safe landing. Perhaps Ms. Prue is looking for a religious quote and is fishing, but he's still skeptical of the question, and he turns to look at Todd.

"We were trained for almost any eventuality you can think of," Todd says, speaking firmly and clearly as he leans into the microphone on the table in front of him. He looks at Elizabeth Prue through his eyelashes as he lowers his chin. "I think we can all thank the higher power to whom we answer," Todd says, "but we can also absolutely thank NASA for giving us thorough and clear training on how to handle various situations."

"Thank you." Elizabeth Prue sits as everyone else stands and shouts again.

"One more question," Arvin North says, pointing at a man to the right of the room.

"Jack Levy,Orlando Sentinel," he announces. "At any point, did either or both of you lose consciousness?"

Flashbulbs pop again. Bill knows that he himself did not entirely lose consciousness, though he recalls some out-of-bodytype of thoughts and sensations. He does, however, feel strongly that Todd lost consciousness, though this hasn't been widely reported. He leans into his microphone and takes this question.

"Mr. Levy," Bill says firmly. "Neither of us lost consciousness during the mission. We were able to remain clearheaded and focused on stopping the spacecraft from its continued roll. There are studies underway to determine the lasting effects of space travel on the body, but at this time, we're both right as rain, and we thank you for the great question."

North sees an opportunity here to wrap things up and he knocks on his small podium the way a judge might bang a gavel. Bill and Todd stand, and as they do, the cameras explode in a dazzling show of flashbulbs and twinkling lights. Later, Todd will blame the flashing for his slight stumble, but in the moment, as he lurches toward Bill, grabbing onto his arm for support, he laughs it off and leans into the microphone on the table.

"Right as rain, folks," Todd says, holding up a hand to the crowd to let them know he's fine.

But as they walk down the center aisle together, with Bill leading the way, Bill notices that Todd keeps his left hand planted on his right shoulder the entire way.

There is a note on Bill's desk when he gets back after the press conference. It's folded in half and tucked beneath his phone.

I need to talk to you. Meet me along the fence line that overlooks the launch pad at 11.

-J.

This is from Jeanie Florence--Bill has no doubt. He reads it again, glances around the office, and then folds the paper into fourths and tucks it into his pants pocket. It's nearly 11:00 now, so he picks up a pencil and scratches something on a notepad self-consciously, then stands and walks to the exit.

Outside, the September sun is hot and nearly at its apex. Bill squints at the parking lot, the buildings in the distance, the launch pad, and the tree line. Far down the fence, to the right, he sees a lone figure of a woman in an orange dress with a big yellow daisy print, long, auburn hair falling down her back. It's Jeanie.

Bill approaches, hands in the pockets of his pants. He has had little time to process the idea that she needs to talk to him, so he has no idea what this could be about, but he's curious as hell, and wants to hold his tongue and let her talk.

"Hi," Bill says, approaching with his head bent slightly, as if she's a horse he might spook.

But Jeanie is forthright and ready to talk. She turns and walks directly to him.

"You almost died," she says in a tone that borders on accusing, one hand holding onto the chain-link fence as she stands in front of him. Her fingers are laced through the steel mesh and she's looking up at him, her face a jumble of emotions. "You went out there, and you nearly died, Bill," Jeanie says, her words merging into a hysterical sob. "I was just sitting here in mission control, and I didn't know what to do..." Her head falls forward, silky, straight hair hiding her face. "I didn't know how I could go on if something happened to you."

Bill is watching her, but he feels almost as though he's watching from a distance. Jeanie has made it so clear--more than clear--that she's unwilling to be a part of some torrid love affair with a married man, and he's accepted that. It had never been his attention to be attracted to another woman besides Joanyway, and he has no desire to embark on some vow-breaking entanglement—at least not any more than he already has. So he’s accepted her words, and now here he is, watching her cry over his potential demise. He isn't sure what to feel. It's confusing. Exciting, heart-wrenching, and confusing.

"Jeanie," Bill says softly, reaching out with one hand and tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm right here. I'm fine."

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