Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Fourteen Days Gone
Vivian flew home from Arlington to Florida, Polly beside her on the plane.
When they landed, Polly drove them from the airport to the little beach house she and Joe had rented months ago, and it occurred to Vivian that now that the memorial service was over, she was going to have to make some tough decisions.
The fact of the matter was that she was only in Cocoa Beach because of Joe’s work at the Cape.
As much as she’d been able to find the positives in living here, just as she had in the other cities they had called home, the reality was that Cocoa Beach largely existed around the space program.
There weren’t a lot of job opportunities here for her, and while she was sure someone would hire her solely based on the fact that she was Joe Mitchell’s wife—widow, now—this was a town that revolved around some tourism, but mainly the industry that the space program brought.
She didn’t really have friends here—Polly was in Houston, and that was one place Vivian never saw herself returning.
She would get a little money after Joe’s death, but it wouldn’t be enough to live on indefinitely, especially at her relatively young age.
She needed to formulate a plan, build a future for herself, and she didn’t miss the irony that after years of complaining that her life revolved around Joe’s career, now that she had a chance to live on her terms, she had absolutely no idea where she wanted to be or what she wanted to do.
And even though she didn’t have a life here anymore, the idea of moving out of the last home where she’d lived with her husband felt immensely painful, yet another thing she wouldn’t, couldn’t face.
Vivian rolled down the window to Frank’s car that he kept at the Cape, which Polly had commandeered for airport transportation.
The fresh air felt good on her face after hours of being cooped up on the flight.
They’d offered to fly her to and from Arlington on a NASA Gulfstream, but Vivian had declined the ride on the way back, wanting the flexibility to stay in the city a bit longer, needing the opportunity to meet with Graham to give him the memo she’d received.
She hadn’t heard anything from him, but she knew how long it took him to work a story, knew how secretive he could be when he was putting it all together.
She figured she’d give him a day before she’d reach out again.
Polly cursed when she turned onto Vivian’s street, staring at the line of cars parked there—six, seven.
“I told Frank to send everyone away, let him know that the last thing you needed was to be surrounded by people. I’m sorry, Vivian. I know this doesn’t help things.”
“It’s fine,” she lied, even though she had big plans to lock herself in the bedroom as soon as she got into the house.
When they got up to the front door, the noise hit her, the familiar sound of spouses trying to fill the vacuum of grief with their own unique brand of comfort. It was a routine they’d all been through—first as military spouses and then later as astro wives.
Vivian pushed open the door, dread filling her at the outpouring of sympathy that likely awaited her.
Her body went numb at the thought of being on the receiving end of their proffered sentiments.
She knew they meant well, understood that they were doing their best to offer their condolences, but invariably Vivian found herself offering comfort, assuring them that she was coping, even though she felt like a liar each time she said it. The whole thing was exhausting.
Her gaze drifted around the room at the assembled crowd, Polly whispering apologies beside her.
Polly navigated the path from the front door to the bedroom Vivian and Joe had shared, running interference if anyone came too close. Polly gave Vivian a quick hug before turning back to handle the crowd in the living room, leaving Vivian alone once more.
Vivian rounded the edge of the bed—
A book sat on Joe’s nightstand.
A book that hadn’t been there when she left for Arlington six days ago.
Vivian glanced over at the little bookshelf in the corner of their bedroom.
It was a mix of titles—some classics that had been favorites of hers since high school, her much-loved copy of The Feminine Mystique, some beloved romances, and Joe’s collection of science fiction novels that he had moved from assignment to assignment.
All the books were where they were supposed to be, no empty gaps on the bookshelf, nothing appearing obviously out of place.
Had the book been in Joe’s effects at his astronaut quarters?
Frank had brought his stuff over before she left for Arlington, but there hadn’t been a book in there. She would have remembered.
Perhaps this one had been left behind?
The nausea receded a bit as she sank down on the edge of the bed, her breathing a bit ragged, the air coming into her lungs calming her.
Vivian picked up the book, imagining that it was still warm from Joe’s touch, and she wondered when he’d last read it, when he’d last held it, and how it had suddenly appeared on her nightstand.
The Mystery of Time.
A smile played at her lips, a wave of grief coming over her.
It had been like this ever since they’d told her they were officially declaring Joe dead, that they didn’t believe any of the crew could have survived in space.
Her emotions were all over the place, and she found the nostalgia that hit her at various moments to be a source of both comfort and pain.
How Joe had liked his science fiction books.
He’d always been better than she had at suspending disbelief and opening his mind to a vast number of possibilities.
She’d never outgrown the stark practicality that had dominated her life for so long, even if now she was considering the very impractical possibility that her husband was haunting her.
She opened the book—
A paper rested there, the handwriting familiar.
Joe’s.
Her heart thundered as she read over the message written there.
Wait for me.
Her hand shook as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the paper that she had carried with her since she first found it.
Wait for me.
She put the two pieces of paper side by side on top of the book, studying them.
They were both undeniably done in Joe’s handwriting. Same color black ink.
Same phrasing.
Vivian flipped them both over, sliding them together like two puzzle pieces.
The math equation that she hadn’t understood before, the calculations that Frank said were his, was now complete. She still didn’t understand what it was trying to solve for, or the mathematical gymnastics that had gone into it.
She tried to puzzle it out—so Joe had written this message, one he considered to be so important that he wrote it not once, but twice. He’d torn it into two halves and left one for her in the pocket of her dress and one for her in the book he’d been reading?
How? When? Why?
A book about—
She scanned the book description on the jacket, surprise filling her.
It wasn’t a work of science fiction like she’d thought it was. Instead, it was an academic treatise published by a university press she’d never heard of.
Instantly, she was transported back to that day she and Joe were in his apartment. When they talked about the books he liked to read and what inspired him about them.
The universe feels infinite, like it could contain wonders we’ve never seen, possibilities we’ve never imagined.
The very words Joe had said to her were the first lines of the book.
Vivian flipped through the pages, phrases jumping out at her—
Wormholes.
…shortcut between space and time…
…space and time bending…
…communication between time and space…objects moving…
Vivian’s heart pounded as she began to read.
An hour passed by.
Then two hours.
Three.
A couple of times Polly knocked on her door, only for silence to greet her as Vivian pretended to be sleeping, unable to set the book down.
A lot of it she didn’t understand—the writing was unbelievably dry and technical, and despite Joe’s passion for the subject matter and his engineering degree, she was surprised this was a favorite of his.
It lacked the romanticism of space travel that he had espoused to her so many times.
And yet, the more she read, the more convinced she became that she had solved the mystery of these little signs cropping up everywhere.
What if it wasn’t a ghost haunting her? What if Joe had been right all along and time travel was possible? What if her husband was stuck in a different time, or a different place, trying to communicate with her?
“Time travel?”
He laughed. “You should see your face. What’s so hard to believe about time travel? It’s just a matter of physics, if you think about it.”
“I try not to think about physics as much as absolutely possible.”
He laughed again. “Fair enough. Maybe one day I’ll convince you otherwise.”
She didn’t understand all the nuances of how something like this would work, wasn’t even sure she wholly believed it was possible, but she knew with certainty that this was the closest thing to hope she had felt in a long time.
Vivian flipped to the back of the book. There was no picture of the author, a Dr. Calvin G. Robbins, just a short biography that said he had studied at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and was currently working at NASA’s Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia.
Vivian glanced at the suitcase sitting at the foot of her bed, waiting to be unpacked from her trip to Arlington, the decision already made.
She was going back to Virginia.