7. Bill
CHAPTER 7
Bill
“How did it feel, being put in front of the world—or at least in front of America—as a potential member of the crew that will go to the moon?”
Bill blows out a long breath and leans back in his chair, tilting his head so that he’s looking at the ceiling tiles in Dr. Sheinbaum’s office. “It felt… vindicating.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Sheinbaum is sitting behind her desk today rather than in the chair that faces the one Bill is in. She’s wearing a thin turtleneck sweater and giant gold hoop earrings with her hair pulled back in a loose knot. Her glasses are large and gold-framed, and she’s writing notes on a yellow legal pad. “Vindicated is an interesting word choice. Can you expand on that?”
Bill takes a pause before answering. “There have been a lot of moments in the past few years when I thought maybe I wasn’t cut out for this. Actually, let me rephrase that: I believe myself to be cut out for space travel and for this job, but things have happened that called into question whether NASA felt I was fit for the job, and certainly whether my coworkers were going to be able to support me if I got chosen for the mission.”
“And—just to be clear—you haven’t officially been chosen yet, have you? That is, if I’m allowed to ask that.”
“You can ask,” Bill says. “I just don’t have an answer. I know that I’m still in the running and that there are plenty of people who’d like to see me on that mission, but I would also imagine there are several people who would be in favor of me not being on it.”
“So, again,” Dr. Sheinbaum says, lacing her hands together and leaning her elbows on her huge desk. “Let me ask: why did you say you felt vindicated?”
“I guess because the explosion really called into question some of my choices, and the inquiries that followed put me on edge. There were times when I thought I might be fired or demoted.”
“But you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t. And more than that, I got put on stage in a room full of reporters and introduced as a member of the team. As someone who might go to the moon.” He puts his hands in his hair, which doesn’t mess it up at all, as he still keeps it as short and groomed as he did when he was in the Air Force, and blows out a long, loud breath. “I could actually be on that mission, Dr. Sheinbaum.”
She gives him a small smile. “Do you have any reasons at this point why you think you won’t?”
Bill drops his hands to his knees with a loud slap as he considers this. “I guess they could decide that me not speaking up sooner the day of the explosion was an egregious error that warrants my exclusion from all further missions—or even just that one. But other than that, I really do feel like I’m the right man for the job. I do.”
“Having faith in yourself is important.” Dr. Sheinbaum is staring right at him. “It’s an important step toward success in any endeavor.” She stops and waits for a moment, and when Bill says nothing, she goes on. “Now, what evidence do you have in your favor for why you’re a shoo-in?”
“Okay, a shoo-in is a bridge too far, I think.” Bill laughs in a way that he hopes is self-deprecating. He’d like to believe that he is a contender just based on his own merits, but of course the doubts creep in as he lies awake at night. They just do. “Something happened the night of the fight—New Year’s Eve—that made me think that I was already seriously being considered.”
“Oh?”
Bill watches Dr. Sheinbaum’s face, but it remains placid. “Ted Mackey—the guy I punched?—“
“Yes, I recall.”
“He said something to me about how he wanted me to commit to supporting his bid for a seat in the Senate once I was an astronaut who’d been to the moon.”
“That could have just been conjecture. Or wishful thinking. Big talk.” Dr. Sheinbaum is holding a sharpened pencil with a perfect, unused pink eraser. She taps the eraser on her desk blotter as she thinks. “Maybe he was pumping you up to get your support—you know, glad-handing the way politicians do.”
“Maybe. But it felt like he had insider information. And if he did or does, then I want to know how. Who is he to have a say about which astronauts NASA selects for the moon? He’s just some prick from Connecticut—pardon my language.”
Dr. Sheinbaum holds up a hand to let him know he doesn’t need to apologize. “Be that as it may, having powerful allies in your corner isn’t a bad thing, is it?”
“It’s not unless they’re just using you as a pawn in their own game.” Bill stretches his neck from side to side as he tries to roll out the tension. “If he has any way to prove that he ‘helped’ me to get chosen for the mission, then he’ll have something to hold over me. In essence, I’ll be owned by him.”
“Surely you can choose who you pay back for favors you didn’t ask for?”
“I think sometimes in life you can’t.”
“Have you ever been in a situation like that?”
Bill thinks. “Yes,” he says definitively. “I have. In high school I made captain of the basketball team. I didn’t have the best record on the team, I wasn’t the best player, and there was no good reason I should have been the captain. In fact, Charlie McAvoy was a far better player, and even went on to play college ball.”
“Okay.” Dr. Sheinbaum toys with the pencil in her hands.
“Anyhow, without explanation, the coach announced that I’d be captaining the team and starting every game. I was as stunned as everyone else. So the first game comes and there I am, standing on the court with a bunch of guys who are taller, faster, stronger, and just all-around better than me. I held my own though,” he says, smiling at the memory. “I ran up and down that court. I scored twenty points, and when it was over, I was actually congratulating myself.”
“I’m sure. That’s quite a feat.”
“Not so much,” Bill says with a laugh. “I was busy convincing myself that I might actually play in the big leagues, and I remember coming out of the locker room with my hair still wet, my gym bag slung over one shoulder, and a huge smile on my face. I really felt like the coach had picked right after all, and that maybe he’d seen something in me I just couldn’t see in myself.” Bill shakes his head now, recalling the self-congratulatory bubble that had popped the second he stepped out into the hallway of the high school after that game. “But then Virginia Hellman brought me right back down to earth.”
“Oh?” Dr. Sheinbaum looks amused. “Who was Virginia?”
“The coach’s daughter.” Bill taps his knee with his fingers and waits a beat to give the story the right amount of pause before he delivers the coup de grace. “Apparently she’d begged him to give me that position so that I’d be grateful enough to take her out.”
“Ouch.”
“Indeed. And it was a real ‘ouch’ moment because Ginny Hellman was not someone who caught my eye. Don’t get me wrong—she was a nice girl, and God forgive me for saying this—but Ginny was enormous. Huge.”
“Oh no.” Dr. Sheinbaum puts a hand over her mouth as she shakes her head slowly. “Oh, Bill.”
“And I don’t mean she was fat,” he adds, holding up one finger. “I mean she was enormous . Ginny could have taken on any one of the guys from the basketball team and given him a run for his money. This girl was six-foot-five if she was an inch, and she probably weighed close to two hundred and fifty pounds. She ran laps at the school track, practiced her free throws before and after the boys’ practices, and she had this absolutely unforgettable head of hair: bright orange and as frizzy as a pile of hay. My God…” He holds in a chuckle. “She was a sight. The other guys had all kinds of names for her that they never said around the coach: Ginny Smellman, What the Hell Man, Virgin-till-she-goes-to Hell, Man—you can imagine the rest.”
“I’m sure I can.”
“Anyway,” Bill says on a sigh, “Ginny was quick to let me know she was responsible for my new station in life, and it took her all of ten seconds to tell me she expected to be asked out the next Friday night.”
Dr. Sheinbaum gives a low whistle. “I hope she became a government agent of some sort.”
Bill smiles wryly. “Who knows. I don’t go back to Arizona much, and now that Margaret is dead, I never go at all.”
“I want to get back to that,” Dr. Sheinbaum says. “But first, finish your story about Virginia.”
“Yeah, well. I think you can guess how that went. I felt pressured to take her out once I realized what kind of pull she had with her father. As much as I didn’t feel like I deserved the spot as captain of the team, once I got a taste of that crowd cheering, and of the feeling that comes with scoring a fair amount of points, I wanted more. I certainly didn’t want to be kicked off the team for slighting Coach Hellman’s daughter.”
“So you took her out?”
“I did. And it was as disastrous as it sounds. She tried to pin me down on the front seat of my car one night after we went out for burgers, and Dr. Sheinbaum, if you can believe this, I almost couldn’t escape from that beast.”
Dr. Sheinbaum is clearly doing her best not to laugh out loud, though she’s barely holding it in. She has one hand over her mouth and her shoulders are shaking. “Oh, Bill,” she says, giving one vigorous shake of her head to clear the image that’s hanging between them. “I imagine she didn’t take it well when you ultimately ended things?”
Bill looks at his lap. “I didn’t have the guts to end things.”
“What did you do?”
Bill shrugs. “I did what any self-respecting man would do: I pretended to have a top-secret relationship with another guy on the basketball team.”
“Oh, you did not!” For once, Dr. Sheinbaum has broken professional protocol and is engaging with Bill as though they’re friends sharing gossip over a cup of coffee. “Weren’t you worried she’d tell everyone?”
“I honestly would have preferred that to being suffocated beneath the weight of a girl who had six inches and seventy pounds on me. I could have at least denied it to the guys, and I know they would have believed me. Regardless, I just wanted out of that particular obligation, and now I think you can see that I do, in fact, have experience feeling as though someone helping me can quickly morph into me owing them something,” Bill says, holding up a hand. “And I do not want to go through that again.”
“Okay, that’s understandable.” Dr. Sheinbaum picks up her pencil again. “But now I’d like to backtrack to Margaret for a moment, if we can.”
Bill clears his throat. Without warning, just saying and hearing her name have brought to the surface several complicated emotions he prefers to just stuff down and not deal with. “Alright. I think that’s fine.”
“You mentioned during our first meeting that it was her laugh that made you love her initially. Do you remember that conversation?”
“I do.”
“So, you fell in love with her laugh, and then things got complicated, as relationships do. What made you stay?”
“My obvious answer would be ‘my vow to do so,’ but as we both know, I eventually broke that vow, so I’m not sure it holds any weight.”
“I think it still does, Bill. You left because of extraordinary circumstances, not simply because you got bored or things were a little bumpy. My understanding is that Margaret had gotten to where she was unable to navigate daily life and that she was somewhat belligerent.”
“That’s a generous description,” Bill says. “She was angry, she often didn’t recognize me at all, and for her own safety, she was sedated and sometimes restrained. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t a marriage anymore.”
“Let me cut right to the chase.”
“I can’t imagine you’d do it any other way.”
Dr. Sheinbaum gives a wry smile before dropping the hammer. “Tell me about the guilt you’re carrying around for leaving her.”
Bill feels like he’s taken a blow to the chest. He rears back. “I feel guilty that she got pregnant. I feel guilty that the baby didn’t live. There are times I feel guilty that I agreed with her parents and put her in a residential facility. And I feel some guilt about starting over and building a new life while she was trapped in the hell of her own mind.”
“Ah,” Dr. Sheinbaum jots something on her notepad and then rests her elbow on her desk. She looks back at Bill. “Essentially, that’s survivor’s guilt. You feel bad that she couldn’t make it through the same things that you did. Not only did she have to go through the physical pain of pregnancy, and the pain of losing the pregnancy, but the emotional heft of it weighed on her so heavily that it exacerbated her already agitated mental state and rendered her unable to live independently.”
“Sure, you could say that. I do feel guilty sometimes that I’m here and that I have three healthy children and a wife who is able to function and do all of the things that Margaret wanted to do, but I feel even guiltier that she died alone.”
“There’s a lot here, Bill, and carrying that amount of guilt around with you each day can do really interesting things to how the brain functions. You basically have to form a separate warehouse in your mind to store all of those feelings—a place where you can turn out the lights and lock the door when you need to, just so you can get through the days. But that doesn’t mean the stuff you’ve locked inside is sitting in there quietly, minding its own business. Instead, it’s pounding on the door, it’s hollering for your attention, and it’s wreaking havoc on your nervous system. It can be bad for your sleep, your circulation, your heart… we need to address the guilt and in doing so, we might even find a way for you to handle all the other things that are trying to beat down the doors in your mind.”
Bill takes this in; it sounds like a legitimate way to describe the things he feels. “Even my feelings about the war?”
“Even those. Sure.” Dr. Sheinbaum puts the sharp pencil behind her ear as she laces her fingers together on the desk once more. “If you’re willing to open up, Bill, we can address basically anything you want to. I can give you tools to manage the things that creep into your days and pull your focus away from what’s important.”
“Do you think it will help with my marriage and my work?”
“Absolutely. I think any sort of reflection and willingness to face—well, I hate to use the term ‘demons,’ as it has such a negative connotation—but our darknesses, is a positive step towards improving not just ourselves, but our relationships. Even our performance at work. It touches every part of us: marriage, parenthood, friendships, career, and just general happiness.”
“It’s hard though,” Bill says. “Talking about some of these things.”
“Of course. There are many difficult things that I’m asking you to bring to the surface. But you’re doing them. You’re here, and you’re doing the work, and that’s going to pay off.”
Bill puts his hands on his knees and stands just as Dr. Sheinbaum pushes her chair back and stands up as well. “You’re ready to call it a day?” she asks him with a laugh.
Bill taps the face of his tank watch with one finger. “Our time is up.”
Dr. Sheinbaum smiles with amusement. “Yes, Bill, it is. Until next week.”
“Do I have an assignment or something I need to work on before next week?”
Dr. Sheinbaum shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she regards him. “Why don’t you find some time this week to spend time alone with each of your children? You don’t need to take them anywhere or spend money on them—no need to buy anyone a puppy or anything crazy—just spend a little quality time with each of them. And during these times, you may not give them advice unless they ask for it . No reprimanding, no active ‘fathering.’ All I want you to do is to be there and listen to them. Take in each of their personalities and step outside of yourself to just enjoy their existence. Got it?”
Bill nods. “Yeah. I got it. I can do that.”
“I’ll see you next week, Lieutenant Colonel Booker.”
“Yes, I’ll be here next week. Thank you, Dr. Sheinbaum.”
* * *
"How's the shrink?" Vance Majors nudges Bill with an elbow as they stand in front of the vending machine that spits out coffee in the break room. "Is he making you spill your guts? I don't think I could do that." Vance shakes his head pityingly as he reaches into the dispenser and takes out the paper cup that's full of hot liquid. He steps aside so that Bill can take his turn.
"First of all, it's a she, not a he," Bill says as he plunks a quarter and a dime into the machine and punches the button so it will dispense coffee with creamer. "And I wouldn't say it's so much spilling my guts, as just answering her questions as honestly as I can."
Vance screws up his face. "Wait. You have to lie on a couch while a woman picks your brain? Might as well just go home to the wife, am I right?"
"There's no couch involved," Bill assures him, watching as the dark liquid fills his cup with a loud, hissing stream. "We sit in chairs, and she sometimes asks me questions that feel totally random, but they usually lead us somewhere important."
The joking smile fades from Vance's face as he takes his first sip of coffee. "So, wait--you're actually enjoying this?"
Jeanie Florence walks past the open door of the break room then, her shapely legs visible beneath an A-line dress that hits her mid-thigh. She's wearing nylons and kitten heels that make a clacking sound on the concrete floors. Bill watches her for what feels like a split-second before looking back at Vance, who is watching him with interest.
" Enjoying is a strong word," Bill says, "but I'm trying to learn something from it all if I can. I would be willing to wager that we all have areas where we could grow and improve."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Vance says dismissively, poking his head through the open door as the sound of Jeanie's heels fades into the distance. He pulls his head back in and gives Bill a knowing look. "But let's get down to business here. What's going on with you and Jeanie?"
Bill frowns. He realizes that he's holding his paper cup too tightly and tries to ease his grip. "Nothing. Why?"
"Come on, Booker. Women talk. And the women around this place..." Vance makes a low, whistling sound between his teeth as he puts a hand in one pocket of his pants and rocks back on his heels. "Word on the street is that you two were caught kissing on the night of the accident."
Bill is instantly reeling at this news. He'd been stunned when Todd Roman had mentioned something to this effect, but hearing Vance say it so boldly sends anxiety rocketing through his veins.
"Who caught us kissing?" Bill asks hotly, lifting his chin just an inch. Careful , Bill tells himself, trying to keep in mind that having a short temper and overreacting is what got him in trouble in the first place. "Who said that?"
Vance lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. He and Bill have certainly had their difficulties over the past few years, but Vance isn't someone Bill actively dislikes. In fact, he respects the man and even admires him. No need to shoot the messenger on this one.
"I guess I heard it from one of the secretaries from mission support. You know that one with the red hair that looks a little like Angie Dickinson in Ocean's Eleven ?"
Marta , Bill thinks. He knows exactly who Vance is referring to, as many of the men on staff like to talk about Marta over drinks at The Black Hole. In fact, he knows at least three guys who've dated her.
"I know who you're talking about," Bill says gruffly. "Why was she spreading rumors around like that? Did she just come up to you and tell you she saw something happening between me and Jeanie?"
Bill knows well that a denial to the accusation has not yet crossed his lips, but he's not in the mood to stammer through some sort of lie or to brush it aside; he wants the truth on this, and he wants it now.
"Hey, I'm just passing on the info, Booker. I'm not here to judge." Vance holds his coffee cup in front of his chest like a protective shield. "I have no idea why women talk about any of the things that they do, if I'm being honest."
The look on Vance's face is genuine; he is clearly just letting Bill know what's circulating around Cape Kennedy, not looking to dig for more dirt that he can share with others. At least Bill hopes that's the case.
"Look, I don't want to give any sort of momentum to that kind of talk by acknowledging or denying it. I think sometimes the best course of action is to just ignore gossip and let it die down."
"Heard and understood," Vance says, raising his coffee cup to Bill and then taking another drink. The look on his face shifts almost instantly and his brow furrows as they fall into step and walk out of the break room together. "So, hey, can we talk about the changes to the Gemini capsule? I have some questions on the improvements to the latch, and I thought maybe you could walk me through what you thought were the initial issues with it..."
The men change gears seamlessly as they walk and sip their coffee all the way back to their desks, and not for the first time, Bill notices and is grateful for the way men can back away from the hard topics and just switch to office talk, politics, or sports. In his experience, it’s never like that with women.
"Sure," Bill says, holding the door for Vance as they walk into the big, open office space where phones are ringing and desks are occupied with engineers, astronauts, and other members of their team. "Why don't you pull up a chair at my desk and we'll go over it together?”
And just like that, the topic of Jeanie Florence is dropped. But it's always running in the back of Bill's mind, day and night. He never forgets the precarious position he's put them both in, and the thought that Jo could hear about it somehow makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, even when he's engrossed in talking about safety valves for liquid oxygen tanks, main engine nozzles, and the orbital maneuvering engines.
No matter what happens, Jo cannot find out about that kiss.