Chapter Eight
Eight
Two Days Gone
The morning after the press conference, Vivian read over the letter the man had slipped her once more, trying to understand what she was reading; the scientific information was a piece of the puzzle, but she was still missing the rest of it.
The letter looked to be an internal corporate memorandum from someone who had worked on the capsule’s navigation system as a contractor to another person in the company.
The technical aspects were a bit too complicated for her to understand, and she figured you needed an engineering degree to parse some of it, but the intent was clear.
There were concerns that the space program was moving too far, too fast, and that in the desire to beat the Soviets, corners might be being cut that could compromise the astronauts’ safety.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by Polly’s voice on the other side.
“Are you awake?” Polly asked.
“Yes. Come in.”
The door swung open.
“What do the newspapers say?” Vivian asked Polly as she walked into the bedroom carrying a stack of periodicals.
Her bedroom had become her only sanctuary in a house that felt as though it was perpetually filled with people.
She’d considered asking them to leave—or better yet, asking Polly to ask them to leave—but she couldn’t quite summon the courage to do so.
There was an inevitability to her eventually falling apart; no matter how hard she fought to keep it all together, if Joe didn’t come home soon, she was going to break.
Vivian just couldn’t decide if it would be easier or harder if there were people around when it happened.
Her personality tended toward solitary pursuits, but everyone kept telling her that the company of others would make this easier, and what did she know of how one would respond when their husband was lost in space?
She’d never been in this position, and no amount of fearing and dreading the possibility of it could have prepared her for the reality.
“You’re on the front page,” Polly replied, shutting the door behind her and walking over to the bed where Vivian lay tucked under the covers. “Everyone is talking about your speech, about Joe.”
Vivian glanced at the headline above a picture of her stricken face.
brING THEM HOME!
“Is Frank furious?” Vivian asked.
“Don’t worry about Frank. He’s a big boy and he can deal with the fallout himself. After all, he wanted this job, didn’t he? Wanted the power, and the responsibility, and all the official duties that come with it. Frank’s fine.”
Polly delivered the last word with an uncharacteristic edge, as though “fine” had teeth.
Polly set the newspapers down on the edge of the comforter so that Vivian could see them, and then she climbed into bed next to her.
Vivian glanced through the headlines of the other papers—
WHERE ARE THEY?
One of the papers had placed a photograph of Joe in his uniform—his official photograph—next to the one of her in front of the house yesterday. Vivian reached out, tracing his image with her fingers.
He looked so vibrant, so happy, like the world was waiting for him to conquer it.
“How are you doing?” Polly asked her. “Which I know is a terrible question, because of course, the answer is ‘not well,’ but I don’t know what else to say. Maybe better to say, ‘What do you need from me?’ Right now? How can I help you?”
“Just being here right now is enough. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Polly glanced over at the squawk box. “Have you heard him again?”
Of all the reasons she loved Polly—and there were many—gratitude filled Vivian at the fact that she didn’t question if Vivian had heard Joe, but accepted it.
“No. Nothing.”
It was the main reason why she was reluctant to leave the bedroom—the squawk box—and what felt like her only connection to Joe now—was here. She was afraid that if she did leave, she’d never hear her husband’s voice again.
“Maybe the spacecraft just isn’t in the right position,” Polly replied. “You know how sensitive these things can be.”
“Maybe. I just don’t understand why they didn’t hear him at Mission Control but I did.
” Vivian took a deep breath. “I keep wondering if I imagined it like Frank seemed to think I did. If it was my worry making my mind play tricks on me. And at the same time, I’m not sure I’m ready to accept that possibility.
Because at least if I heard his voice, then I know he’s alive and he’s out there somewhere, trying to come home.
“Do you know how things are going in Houston?” Vivian asked. “With the other families?”
“Frank asked me to check in. Bridget seems calm, all things considered. The wives in Togethersville are rotating in groups of three to make sure she’s never alone. Paul’s parents are a wreck.”
“I wondered if I should call Bridget, but then again, we’ve never been close. I wasn’t sure if she would welcome it or not.”
Polly hesitated. “I would wait. She—when I spoke with her—”
“What?”
“There have been some rumblings in some of the news reports. I didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to upset you, but I suppose it isn’t surprising given the questions the reporters asked at the press conference. There are more folks who are saying this was the result of operator error.”
“They’re blaming Joe,” Vivian guessed.
Of course they would blame Joe.
Joe was the mission commander. Ultimately, the spacecraft was his responsibility.
He’d told her as much when they first talked about the mission.
He’d explained to her that he felt an obligation to ensure that the mission was safe, that everything went smoothly, that Michael and Paul returned home to their families.
Not to mention, she’d seen the same finger-pointing play out in his career as a pilot.
Whoever oversaw the controls, or was the flight lead in charge of the formation, held the lives of their colleagues in their hands.
Was that why the mysterious man had slipped a note to her?
“People are rushing to judgment, looking for answers in the absence of an actual investigation being done,” Polly replied. “Bridget asked Frank if Joe had made a mistake. It made him angry, I could tell, but at the same time, she’s grieving. It’s a complicated situation.”
“How could there even be an investigation when it’s too soon to know what—if anything—even went wrong? It seems like the priority should be getting them home safely.
“Joe is a good astronaut. He is careful. He is serious about what he does.”
“I know that, Vivian. We all do.” Polly took her hand and held on. “Emotions are just running high right now. I think a lot of people are afraid that a mishap broader than operator error will be chalked up to a problem with the program and will jeopardize a future mission to the Moon.”
“I don’t care about the Moon right now. Don’t care about anything but them coming home safely.
And at the same time—I don’t want Joe’s reputation to be diminished in all of this.
It seems unfair that while his life is in danger, while he’s missing, there are people actively accusing him of causing this.
Is there any evidence that Joe was responsible for something going wrong with the spacecraft?
I mean, how do they even know that anything went wrong?
They keep saying that they don’t know where it is or what happened. ”
“I don’t know. If Frank does, he hasn’t said anything to me. Frank—Frank doesn’t say much to me these days.”
“Is everything alright?” Vivian asked Polly.
They hadn’t seen each other in a couple of months.
Polly had traveled from her home in the Houston suburbs, in Togethersville with the other wives, to be with Vivian in the days preceding the launch with the intention of staying until Joe returned home.
Since she’d arrived, before the launch even took place, Vivian had noticed that Polly wasn’t quite herself, but then again Vivian had been so distracted by Joe going to space, so worried about her own problems, that she hadn’t thought much about it.
Now she wished she’d asked her friend if something was wrong in the beginning.
“Of course. Everything is fine,” Polly replied, not meeting Vivian’s gaze. “Frank has just been so consumed by the launch. He hasn’t had time for much else.”
“Come on. It’s me. How long have things been like this?”
Polly sighed. “I don’t know. A year, maybe?”
“A year?”
Longer than the focus surrounding the launch, then.
“Maybe more.” Polly glanced down at the comforter, her fingers tracing the floral pattern. “I didn’t want to tell you. You’ve been dealing with so much—it felt insignificant in comparison.”
“It’s not insignificant. I’m sorry. So sorry you’ve been going through this. I wish I could have been there for you. Even if you just needed someone to listen.”
“I know. And I think part of why I didn’t tell you was that I knew that if I told you, you would be there for whatever I needed, would want to help me fix it.
But I wasn’t ready to face what I needed to do.
Wasn’t ready to face this.” Polly was silent for a moment.
“We’re getting divorced,” she finally added.
She said it so softly, so quietly, and yet so loudly, and for a moment, Vivian considered the possibility that she’d misheard her. But it was the expression in Polly’s eyes—an expression that Vivian had never seen in all their years of friendship—that told her differently.
“Polly.”
“I didn’t want to tell you,” Polly added. “Before—I knew you were nervous about the mission, and I didn’t want to add to your concerns. And then after—how could I tell you when you’re dealing with all of this?”
“We’re astro wives. I think we’ve gotten used to juggling multiple crises at once.” Vivian put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend,” Vivian replied. “You’re my family. I’m going to be here for you no matter what. What do you need? Do you want to talk about it?”