Can we go home? Florence said.
Yes, he said. In the morning.
Okay, she said.
Grace smiled and stroked her forehead until she fell asleep. That night, in the motel, Grace said, I’m scared, Jim, and Harrison said, everything will be okay.
They left Los Angeles early. It was Saturday.
Grace carried Florence up the stairs when they got home.
At around two, Pancho stopped by.
Aunt Pancho! Florence said when Harrison brought her down.
Hey, kiddo, good to see you, Pancho said. I heard you done real good at the hospital.
I was at the hospital, said Florence. There was a doctor and Daddy bought me an ice cream.
I’ll bet he did, Pancho said. I’m gonna cook you up some sausages. You still like sausages, don’t you?
I like sausages, she said.
Good, cause I invited a few people over.
Grace decided not to stress. An hour later, the garden was full and Pancho stood in a cloud of hot smoke and put raw meat on the grill and piled it onto a plate when it was cooked. Joe Walker, who couldn’t make the party, buzzed the house in a F-104, flying so low and so fast that it shook the glass in the windows and caused a plate to fall off the sideboard and smash on the kitchen floor. Harrison carried his daughter around on one arm and held a bottle of beer in his spare hand. Florence still wasn’t able to walk. She wore the head scarf that Lapitus had given her. Grace stood outside and looked at the salad she’d made and considered making more.
Hello, Grace, a voice behind her said. She turned around.
Reverend Irving, she said. You—I wasn’t expecting you.
He smiled. I’m sorry, he said, I should have called ahead. Pancho told me what was going on when I visited the base last week. I’ve been praying for you all.
He was dressed in black and holding a bottle of beer.
No, no it’s fine, Grace said. I’m sorry, I was just—
Surprised to find me in your garden?
She smiled and nodded.
Have you had any salad? she said.
I have. It was good, he said.
Good.
It looks like she’s doing well, he said, looking over to where Florence was playing in the grass.
Who knows, she said.
And how are you? he said.
She looked at the sky curling overhead, a weak blue. It’s good to be home.
I’m sure, he said.
We’ve got another six weeks to go, she said. As an outpatient.
In Los Angeles?
She nodded. I’ll take her back during the week, stay down there, bring her home on weekends.
You have somewhere to stay?
A friend of Jim’s moved to Long Beach not too long ago. Said we could stay. Jim’s got to work.
How have things been?
She looked down at the salad bowl she was carrying.
I didn’t mean to—
No, it’s okay, she said, looking up. Better, thank you. Much better. Having Florence really turned things around. I don’t know why, but there you go.
Well, nothing never happens when we pray, he said.
I like that, she said.
He smiled.
Me too, he said.
Thank you, Reverend, she said. Really.
It was my pleasure, he said.
I’m going to—she held up the bowl.
Of course, of course!
She smiled and walked back to the house. The wind picked up. Irving finished his beer. He spotted Mel Apt’s wife, Faye, and her two children, and went over to speak to them.
Grace stood in the empty kitchen. The house was cool and quiet. She could hear Jim, outside, talking to someone about the X-15. She walked into the living room and sat down on the edge of the sofa, her arms around the salad bowl, and cried. She looked at the wall. Then she looked into the empty bowl. Then she stood and returned to the kitchen, fixed more salad and went back outside.
Harrison poured himself a black coffee and sat down. His body ached from the flight. He’d flown the X-15 just shy of Mach five. He wanted out of his pressure suit, but first he wanted a coffee. Ridley stepped in from the hangar.
Good flight, he said.
Sounded like someone was banging on the side of it with a goddamn hammer, Harrison said.
That’s the slots expanding, Ridley said.
Felt like I was flyin an oilcan.
One of the pleasures of flying at hypersonic speeds. Metal expands. Not much else we can do about it.
I need to get this goddamn suit off.
Ridley sat down on the bench next to him. Can you believe Jack Kennedy? he said.
Hell, after that stunt he tried in April, think the man must have been dropped as a child, Harrison said.
You hear the budget?
No.
One point seven billion. And that’s just the first year.
Jesus.
They’re gonna need a lot more than that to get to the moon. And they’ll get it.
He really serious about this nineteen-seventy deadline?
Yup.
That’s nine years.