14. Bill
CHAPTER 14
Bill
Dr. Sheinbaum never smokes in Bill’s presence, but as he enters her office on Tuesday afternoon, she’s standing at the window with her back to him, holding a cigarette aloft as she stares out at the hot afternoon.
“Come in,” Dr. Sheinbaum says without turning around. “Don’t mind me while I finish this.”
“Not a problem,” Bill says, though for some reason, the sight of her narrow back and shoulders through her creamy silk blouse as she smokes through a crack in the opened window makes him feel a little lost. “I’ll just get situated here.”
And he does. Bill chooses to sit on the couch this time, which faces the window. He watches Eve Sheinbaum as she taps her ash out the window and admires the way she tilts her chin towards the ceiling while she blows a stream of smoke. When she’s done, she crushes her cigarette butt into a heavy amber glass ashtray, shuts the window, and turns to Bill with a smile.
“That won’t come out of your time, Bill,” she promises him. “I’ll start the clock now.”
Bill frowns at her; something is off. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. He isn’t sure that he’s fully prepared to talk her through something if she isn’t okay, but there’s no way he can sit there and not ask. “Did something happen?”
Dr. Sheinbaum gathers her skirt and sits at her desk, straightening her pile of notepads, her cup of sharpened pencils, and her desk blotter. She smiles again, though it’s clearly a put-on. “Nothing,” she assures him. “I’ve just had a rough morning.”
Bill knows what it’s like to have a rough morning, and he gives a single nod. “Understood.” He picks at the crease that Jo has ironed into the leg of his slacks. “As long as you’re okay…”
Dr. Sheinbaum sighs loudly. “I was dating someone, and he broke things off unexpectedly.” She shrugs and makes a What are you gonna do? face. “I’m fine, but I’m only human, you know? I try to check my own bags at the door each day when I get here, but sometimes I inadvertently carry one in with me.”
“Nice metaphor,” Bill says with a lopsided grin. “Baggage.”
“That’s what it is, right?” Dr. Sheinbaum leans back in her chair and laces her fingers together over her stomach, which Bill knows as one of her favorite poses. “We carry our baggage with us wherever we go. Some of it is light, some of it is quite heavy. Occasionally someone offers to help us carry it, and then sometimes they’ll hand it back without warning.” She pauses, letting her eyes look up at the ceiling tiles as she ponders this. “Yeah, that’s about as far as I can take that analogy without making myself gag.” Her laugh is rough and unamused. Dr. Sheinbaum unlaces her hands and holds her palms apart. “Anyway,” she says with purpose. “Let’s talk about you.”
“As you know, I was selected for a mission in August, and I’ve been in full-blown preparations for that,” Bill offers, relieved that they’re moving on to something other than her relationship drama, which he feels unprepared to hear about. “I still don’t know how I was chosen, given the circumstances. Are you sure they didn’t ask for your opinion?”
Dr. Sheinbaum gives him a closed-lipped smile. She averts her gaze. “They asked how you were progressing, and I was able to honestly say that we had made some great strides during our time together.”
“You think we have?”
“I do.” Dr. Sheinbaum looks right at Bill. “Don’t you?”
It’s a simple question, but the answer has layers. “I think we’ve talked about some things in here that I haven’t spoken about with anyone—ever.”
“And do you see that as progress?”
“I see that as… enlightening. I see it as you getting me to talk about the hard things and to see how they contribute to my sense of self.”
“Mmhmm.”
Bill takes a deep breath and then exhales. “It’s not always easy, but I leave here and I always have something different to think about. Some of the things I’ve learned about myself haven’t been things that made me feel particularly amazing, but they’ve been important.”
“Such as?”
It’s Bill’s turn to look away, and he turns his face to the window. “Oh, I would say it was important for me to spend that time one-on-one with each of my kids when you gave me that as an assignment.”
“Right. And what did you discover as you did that?”
“I realized that while I’m a good father in terms of providing and loving my kids, I don’t know them fully as the people they’re becoming.”
Dr. Sheinbaum looks pleased. “That’s excellent, Bill.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is. I always felt like a great guy because I got home in time for dinner and was there to put them to bed when Jo went out for one of her evening walks, but I did it on autopilot. I half listened when they talked about school or their friends, and I didn’t know the ways they were changing.”
“And what ways are they changing?”
“Well, Jimmy is barely a kid anymore. He’s turning fifteen. At fifteen I kissed a girl, spent all my time playing sports, and thought about what it means to be a man. When I took him to the park as part of your assignment, he talked about a lot of things that I wouldn’t have even imagined were on his mind.”
“What’s on a fifteen-year-old boy’s mind these days?”
“Girls, of course,” Bill says with a knowing laugh. “But also the future. He talked about Vietnam and about the ways America is changing… it was eye-opening for me.”
“And your middle child?”
“Nancy,” Bill says with a nod. She’s always secretly been his favorite, though he’d never admit that to anyone. Her singular sense of self and her unwillingness to do things just to please others have always struck him as plucky and amusing. “She’s thirteen.”
“So she’s blossoming into a young woman.”
The phrase makes Bill cringe at the implications, but he looks at the crease on his pant leg again as he nods. “She is. She’s read nearly every book in the library, and she says she wants to be a professor. When I took her out, just the two of us, she wanted to go to a bookstore in Cocoa Beach, so we drove there and I let her browse for hours. After we bought books, we sat at a cafe and she told me all about each of the books.” Bill smiles to himself, remembering what it felt like to listen to his daughter speak so knowledgeably about books. “I really learned a lot about the way her mind works.”
“I love that. And your youngest?”
“Well, if you recall, after the day I took her to the beach, we had a discussion in here about her desire to be an astronaut.”
“Ah, I do remember that.” Dr. Sheinbaum reaches for a mug of coffee on her desk, sips it, and sets it down. “Cold,” she says, making a face. “Go on.”
“I gave it more thought after you and I talked, and I realized that, yes, I do want my daughters to have easy lives, and I can’t apologize for that. I want them to be happy and healthy and fulfilled, of course, but part of being a woman is adhering to society’s expectations of you.”
“And yet you have girls who want to be college professors and astronauts. Does that worry you?”
Bill scratches his neck as he thinks about the question. “Yes and no. It worries me for them because I don’t want them to face adversity their entire lives, but it doesn’t worry me because they’re being raised with a sense of adventure.”
“Tell me more about that.”
Bill gives her a look like he’s about to state the obvious. “I’m an astronaut who packed up my family and moved us across country for the chance to go to the moon.”
“Yes,” Dr. Sheinbaum says expectantly.
“And Jo is not exactly a wallflower. She set up a house here, made friends, got the kids involved in things, and immediately dove into a volunteer position at the hospital. And, as if that weren’t enough, she started writing in her free time.” He stops talking, awed for a moment at the list of accomplishments that he’s able to attach to his wife. “And even in the midst of all that, she never drops the ball. The house is always immaculate, dinner is on the table, and things get done.” Bill shakes his head and then gives a harsh laugh. “I wish I were half the man my wife is.”
Dr. Sheinbaum’s look is almost pitying. “Oh, Bill. You’re just realizing what most men never come to understand: women multitask every day of their lives, and most do it effortlessly. Or it at least looks effortless. It’s exhausting, and largely thankless, but womanhood is fraught with the constant choice of responsibility versus self-actualization. It’s a rare woman who can keep both things going, and who can do it all well.”
Bill stays quiet here. He knows that he’s learning things about Jo and about what it means to be a woman, and while he hadn’t come here to Dr. Sheinbaum’s office to learn about the fairer sex or about the pitfalls of womanhood, he’s doing his best to take it all in and let it become a part of his understanding. Knowing how hard Jo works and what things his own girls will face as they grow into their adult selves is something that is important to him.
“Let’s shift gears,” Dr. Sheinbaum says. “Let’s talk about work, since we started with that.”
“Okay.” Bill sits up straighter; talking about work is a more comfortable topic for him. “Shoot.”
“This mission you’ve been chosen for—what is it?”
“I’ll be working with a small team to do the first docking of our ship with a target. Right now there are three of us selected for the mission, but ultimately there will be two in the capsule. So it’s competitive, it’s challenging, and it’s exciting.”
“You want to be in the capsule, obviously?”
“Without question. It’s the next stepping stone on the path to being chosen for a moonshot.”
“Then what do we need to do in order to get you focused and ready to be competitive for this and all future missions?”
Bill is taken aback; he always comes to Dr. Sheinbaum’s office expecting her to tell him what he needs to work on.
“I need to make sure I have my head on straight,” Bill says, hoping that this is a focused enough answer for her.
Dr. Sheinbaum nods slowly. “Okay. So that means we need to minimize any episodes that leave you feeling like you need to self-isolate, correct?”
Bill clears his throat. “Right.” It hasn’t happened in a while—at least not to the capacity that he’s experienced in the past—but Bill does occasionally feel the panic rising in him that indicates an oncoming loss of his faculties. He’s been able to breathe through most of them with the tools Dr. Sheinbaum has given him, and he tells her this now.
“That’s wonderful, Bill,” she says softly. “It really is. Keep doing that. If something comes on and catches you off-guard, stop, breathe, try to get through it with rational thoughts. Write things down. And most definitely bring those thoughts to me here—we can always discuss them. Now, what else?”
Bill’s chest tightens as he realizes she’s asking for more specific things he needs to work on. “I need to listen to Jo and the kids and to really engage with them, not just for their benefit, but for my own. Being part of a family is a responsibility to myself and to them—knowing them is a privilege and I need to honor it,” he says, feeling like he’s parroting back to her the things she’s taught him. None of them are wrong, per se, but he never would have thought these things up for himself as he goes about his busy life and pursues his career goals.
“But it needs to be authentic, Bill,” Dr. Sheinbaum says, staring him in the eye. “People can sense b.s., and your family will pick up on it faster than anyone. Go into those interactions with intention and real curiosity.” She pauses. “Now, what about Jeanie—the woman at work? Where does that stand?”
Bill swallows, hoping that his Adam’s Apple doesn’t bob noticeably. “We’ve spoken. We agreed that we needed to stop… whatever interest we might have in one another.”
“Easier said than done,” Dr. Sheinbaum says. It’s not a question.
“Yes, easier said than done,” Bill agrees. “I’m keeping my distance, but as you know… I kissed her. It’s been over a year, but it happened.”
Dr. Sheinbaum does not react. She sits and waits for more.
“You weren’t totally clear the first time we discussed this. You kissed her, or she kissed you?”
Bill recalls the moment in the stairwell. “It was mutual.”
“Okay. And what now?”
“I don’t do it again?”
“Is that a question?” she asks with a laugh. “Because that’s not something I can decide for you.”
“Let me phrase it as a statement then: I don’t do it again.”
Dr. Sheinbaum shrugs. “Okay. I’m here to talk you through things, Bill. To help you see yourself and the people closest to you in a way that encourages you to grow as a person. I’m not here to make prescriptions for the ultimate path your life takes.”
“I kind of wish you were,” Bill says, cracking a smile. God, that would make his life so much easier if she would just tell him that he’s never to speak to Jeanie Florence again.
“That would make life easy and wonderful if we all had someone who held us accountable and made our decisions for us, wouldn’t it? Someone we could blame when it all fell apart.”
“I don’t want it to fall apart,” Bill says huskily, realizing the implication of his life cracking in half. “I don’t.”
“You’re a smart man, Bill Booker. If you want your life to stay on track, then you know what you need to do. And if you lose your way and want me to lay out some worst-case scenarios for you, then I’m happy to do that.”
Bill closes his eyes for a long moment, imagining the ways his life could disintegrate around him. “No,” he finally says, opening his eyes and looking right at her. “I think I can envision that on my own.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you next week. Same time?”
Bill stands and gives her a tiny salute. “Next week, Dr. Sheinbaum.”
* * *
The men are all suited up and standing in the cavernous room at Cape Kennedy. Bill is standing with Todd and Vance, and the three men are holding paper cups of coffee as they talk quietly over the finer points of the mission.
Jeanie Florence approaches them with a scroll tucked under one arm, and a no-nonsense look on her pretty face.
“Gents,” she says, nodding at each of them. “I wanted to show you a few things before you all take part in today’s training. Got a second?”
Bill sips his coffee and keeps his eyes focused just over Jeanie’s right shoulder. “Sure,” he says mildly, working to keep his tone and reaction to her presence on an even keel. “Lead the way.”
Jeanie strides right over to a long table, her heels clicking on the cement floor. She sets down the scrolled poster and unrolls it, smoothing it flat with her hands as Vance, Bill, and Todd gather around.
“So the propulsion system is going to be isolated from the retrorocket section of the capsule by a fiber-glass blast shield,” Jeanie explains confidently. “The retrorocket section will hold the re-entry rockets for the entire capsule.” She points at the front of the drawing of the shuttle. “The nose-mounted docking collar right here,” she says, tapping the image, “and the target docking adapter on the other craft—also known as the TDA—will come together, resulting in the very first docking of two spacecraft while in Earth’s orbit.”
Todd gives a low whistle as he leans over the table in his flight suit, one hand on his hip. He looks young and eager. “What if the docking collar and the TDA don’t interface correctly?”
Jeanie is wholly lost in the moment and in the conversation, and Bill watches her as her brow furrows. She explains to Todd the precautions that are already in place if they encounter trouble, but Bill isn’t zeroing in on the technical jargon. Instead, he’s watching the way Jeanie’s long hair, which is pulled back from her face with a brown clip, falls forward and brushes the table as she leans over the drawing of the space shuttle. She’s wearing a light, flowery perfume that sits around her like a delicate cloud, and the tiny gold hoops in her ears catch bits of light from above, glinting as she turns her head to look right at Todd.
Bill steps away from the table and turns his back. He can’t be doing this—standing around thinking about Jeanie’s hair and about the way she smells. He tips the paper cup of coffee back and drains it, crushing the cup in his hand when he’s done and walking over to a large, silver aluminum trash can by the double doors. Bill chucks the cup into the garbage and glances back to where Todd is still engaging Jeanie in a discussion, but striding right in Bill’s direction is Arvin North.
“Booker,” North says crisply. “You’re up first.”
Bill had been about to duck out of the large warehouse-like space to hit the men’s room, but instead he claps his hands together, forgetting all about nature’s call.
“I’m ready, sir,” he says, following North to the simulator that’s set up under a heavy canvas tent. Beneath the flaps of the cover, several engineers with clipboards and serious looks on their faces inspect the simulator, bending down, looking at its underside, and testing the knobs and controls.
“We’ll strap you in here,” one engineer says to Bill, waving him over. “And as soon as you hear the command to dock, we want you to use the levers and knobs to direct the docking collar. It’s going to take a few tries,” the engineer, a man named Sheldon, says, pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose, “but after some maneuvering, you’ll get the hang of it.”
Bill is confident that he can master this task in a fairly short span of time, so he allows himself to be settled and belted in with the three-point harness, then he slips on the headset that allows the pseudo-mission control staff to talk into his ear.
“Mission control to Booker,” says a voice over the scratchy air in the headset.
“This is Booker,” he says, twisting the mouthpiece so that it faces his lips. “I read you loud and clear.”
A quick click-click comes across the line. “We read you as well. Are you settled in, sir?”
“I am,” Bill confirms, pressing the buttons on the machine in front of him. A small television screen sits directly in front of him, and on it, Bill can see the to-scale model of the nose of a real spacecraft, its tip poised to make contact with another to-scale model of a target docking adapter.
“We’re not running a clock on this, Lieutenant Colonel Booker,” says the voice in his ear. “The first time is just an attempt to see whether you’re in the neighborhood of the TDA.”
A small wave of nervous laughter fills the space as the other engineers, who have stepped back to the recesses of the tented area, wait anxiously for Bill to test the equipment. He glances out at the space beyond the tent and sees Vance and Todd watching in their matching flight suits, and Jeanie next to them, arms folded across her chest as she bites on her lower lip with anticipation.
Bill takes a series of slow breaths, forcing himself to calm down and get into the right head space.
“Let’s proceed,” Arvin North says, standing under the flaps of the tent as he observes Bill.
Bill grips both the lever and the knob in front of him, giving each a gentle movement so that he can gauge how much pressure results in how much movement. The system is highly and delicately calibrated, and he quickly realizes that it will take very gentle pressure to get the nose of the craft to move.
“Go on, Bill,” North says, nodding at him. “Give it a shot. No clock, no timer, no pressure.”
Bill gives a quick laugh at this. “No pressure whatsoever,” he says as he manipulates the knob and lever. “None at all.”
The small audience that’s gathered to watch does so silently, holding its collective breath as Bill does his best to match up the nose and the TDA. He’s millimeters away from having the hardware connected in precisely the right way when he makes the slightest movement, jarring the apparatus and sending the nose off course.
Everyone gathered makes a stifled sound in tandem, and Bill cringes inwardly. He’s realizing now how difficult this will be to execute under different circumstances, and he grits his teeth, realigning the nose and the TDA to make another pass at it.
This goes on for what feels like hours as Bill sweats under his flight suit. Each time he misses the docking, he can feel a trickle of wetness run down his spine, and more than once he has to pause and swipe at his brow so that sweat doesn’t run right into his eyes.
On what has to be the tenth or eleventh miss, Arvin claps his hands together, startling the entire group, including Bill, who fumbles the lever and swears under his breath.
“Let’s have Roman give it a shot,” Arvin North says, waving Todd over.
Todd, all Golden Retriever eagerness and joy, comes bounding in from the outskirts of the tent, nodding at Bill as he unhooks the harness and steps out of the seat. Bill’s muscles have cramped as he’s tried to work the delicate machinery, and his shoulders have grown rock hard with tension. He stretches his neck from side to side and motions at the seat he’s just vacated.
“All yours, Roman,” Bill says gruffly, stepping out from under the tent.
Maybe I should have insisted on a bathroom break before starting , he thinks to himself, still cursing his own inability to complete what should be a fairly simple task. Bill stalks across the concrete floor, trying his hardest not to look around to see if Jeanie is still there and watching. He makes a beeline for the double doors, which he pushes with one shoulder, letting them swing out into the hallway.
Against his better judgment, Bill glances back and sees Jeanie looking on as Todd Roman takes his turn in the hot seat. Her back is to the doors, and even with Bill’s indelicate slamming of the door, she has not turned to look in his direction.
Bill pauses there for a split second, watching the crowd lean in again in anticipation as Todd attempts to do what Bill could not. As if to rub salt in the wound, a loud cheer goes up toward the rafters, echoing throughout the giant space, and Bill stands there in the doorway, watching in amazement: Todd Roman has made contact between the nose and the TDA on his first try.
Bill takes another step into the hallway, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.