Is there anything we can do? Grace said. Anything at all?
Not much. Eat well, stay active. You know, I see women from time to time, struggling to conceive a child, and they sit in that chair and they tell me it’s their right to have children; they want a baby and it’s their right. I tell them it isn’t a right; it’s a privilege. Some women can’t have children. That’s a sad fact, and it isn’t fair, but that’s how it is. I’m telling you this, Grace, because I think you understand. Live your life. Don’t waste it lamenting what you think is required to complete it. That disrespects the miracle of your own birth, and that of your husband’s. Now, go, both of you, and get on with it. I’ll see you again in six months for a checkup. You can make the appointment with Mrs. Webber on the way out.
Thank you, Doctor Roberts, Grace said.
You’re very welcome. If you have any questions, anything at all, you can call me and we’ll talk. That goes for you, too, Captain.
Outside, she leaned against the car and held her head. The car was hot from the sun.
Hey, he said.
She pulled herself into him.
I know, but just let me, let me—
It’s okay.
She drove him back to the base. The car was an old Model A coupe that Harrison had been given. The engine idled. Outside the window, mountains rose in the distance.
You got any? she said.
He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. She sighed.
You okay? he said.
She shrugged, tucked one behind her ear and put the other between her lips. She looked at the sky.
Here, he said, striking a match from the box on the dash.
Go on, she said. I got things to do.
He got out and she drove away.
Ridley was in his office, boots resting on his desk, reading and smoking. The sound of mechanics and technicians working in the hangar leaked up through the floor.
Mornin, Ridley said.
Everything okay? Harrison said.
Everything dandy.
Harrison sat down.
Jim.
Harrison turned to see Yeager in the doorway, young boy at his side.
Chuck, he said, and why if it isn’t Don too!
Hi, Uncle Jim.
Don was three, dressed in blue, tatty cap on his head.
How’s it goin, Don? Harrison said.
Good, Don said.
Here to see your daddy fly, ain’t you? Ridley said.
Don nodded.
My Daddy never takes long, he said.
Ridley chuckled. All set? he said to Yeager.
Jus need to get changed.
The intercom on Ridley’s desk buzzed, calling Yeager down.
Harrison stood.
You can watch me from here, Don, Yeager told his son. I’m goin that way. He pointed west, out the window.
You can stand on the radiator, Don, get a better view, Ridley said.
Let’s get this over with, Yeager said. Jack? Be right back, Don.
Okay Daddy.
The two men left. Don tried to climb onto the radiator. It was too high. Harrison watched him look around; he watched him walk across to Ridley’s desk, pick up an old flight helmet and carry it back to the radiator to use as a step. He stared at the boy, on the radiator, hands flat against the window, steam expanding and contracting from where his face pressed against the glass.
That night, at Pancho’s, Harrison sat with Yeager, Ridley, Cardenas, Kit Murray and Bob Hoover and went over the flight plan for the morning. The men drank beer and felt good. When they were finished, Ridley stood up and said to Yeager, don’t push her past point nine-eight-eight unless you’re sure you can handle it. And we’re on an unrestricted frequency, remember, so if the Machometer reads one or more, tell me the thing’s playin up or something; I’ll know what you mean.
Sure thing, Jack, Yeager said. Jim an me stayin for another; Glennis be here in a bit.
Don’t you kids go stayin out too late, now, Hoover said, rising. Murray and Cardenas laughed as they stood.
After they’d left, Yeager said, jeez, I’m beat.
Yeah, Harrison said.
Old man took me aside yesterday an said, Chuck, lot of scientists, engineers still of the opinion that, at the speed of sound, g-forces become infinite.
What’d you say?
What we said. That the buffeting may decrease and things get easier as you approach Mach one.
What he say to that?
He opened the door to his office, where a bunch of fellas were waitin on him, and yelled, no rudder, no elevator, buffeting severe at one speed, mild the next, nose-up at point eight-seven, nose-down at point nine-zero: that airplane is liable to go in any direction, or all of them at once, but Yeager, Harrison and Ridley anticipate no difficulty, no difficulty at all, in attaining Mach one on Tuesday.
He sounds pissed.
Couldn’t tell what he was; he was smilin half the time.
I noticed that about him. Says take it easy one minute; next he’s champing at the bit.
Hell, Boyd’s a pilot through an through. If it was up to him, we’d have done it a week ago.
The men sat for a moment in silence.
Harrison saw the door open; it was Glennis. Over here, he said. Yeager looked around.
His wife approached the table. Hi, hon, Yeager said.