It was two weeks before Christmas. The sky was a slab of concrete. The lakebed cracks ran deep and the desert animals were restless for the winter rains. Clouds bore down. The ground grew closer to the sky.
In the locker room, Harrison removed his pressure suit. He paused, rubbed his face, and sat down. Ridley entered, holding a bunch of paper.
I’m headin home, Harrison said.
Hell you are, Ridley said. It’s only four, and I got the data. Don’t you want to see it?
I gotta go.
Sixty-five miles, Ridley said. That’s space. Kármán line’s at sixty-two; air force and the FAI say so.
I know where the damn Kármán line is, Harrison said.
He pulled on his clothes and began to button his shirt.
Hell of a day, Ridley said.
Yeah, Harrison said. He stared at the watch in his hand, then at the floor. She’s been coughin a lot, he said. Up most of the night.
Ridley looked at him.
Sure sorry to hear that, he said.
Gracie had to call a nurse out earlier, Harrison said.
You spoken to her?
The nurse?
Gracie.
Not yet.
Ridley didn’t say anything.
Not since the nurse came out, anyway, Harrison said. It’s happened before, them sending someone. They got some real good staff up there at the Antelope.
Don’t doubt that. When you due next in LA?
Not til after the holidays now.
Make sure you tell that little girl what her daddy did today.
Harrison grunted. Think it’ll rain?
Can’t even remember what it looks like.
Yeah.
Give her a big hug from me.
I will.
See you tomorrow.
See you, Jackie.
Harrison clambered into the Model A just as it started. Heavy drops thumped on the roof.
Shit, he said.
The car had no wipers. It barely had gears. The car had passed down to him from Yeager, via Scott Crossfield, who passed it on to Joe Walker, who’d given it to him after his first run in the X-15. It was a wreck. Irony with wheels. Harrison liked a tradition, even a new one, as much as the next man. And the next man, as far as he was concerned, was Bob White. Bob White was reserved, quiet, a thinker; different, somehow, from the rest of them. An engineer as much as a pilot. Hell, Harrison could feel the guy clipping at his heels. Well, that wasn’t anything new. He remembered what some of the old heads had said when he first started flying rocket planes. But things change. Not a damn thing you can do about it. A man could spend a decent chunk of his life trying, but it would do no good. Things never stood still. Life was a fucking mess. The rain hammered hard on the roof. He backed out and drove home half-blind.
Harrison arrived home. The nurse’s car was still outside. He frowned. Loose stone crunched beneath his heavy boots as he walked toward the front door. He pushed it open, it closed behind him.
Hi, Grace said. She was standing by the staircase.
Nurse still here? he said, surprised.
Grace nodded.
How’s Duck? Is she okay?
She’s asleep.
What’d the nurse say?
It’s Joan; she’s coming down now.
Joan stepped into the living room.
Hello, Jim, she said.
Joan, he said. What’s goin on?
His words hung in the air.
Florence has got pneumonia, she said.
He looked at his wife; Grace held him up with her eyes.
She’s very weak, Joan said, but in good spirits. That’s a good sign. She’s such a gay little thing.
Harrison didn’t say anything.
He looked around the room. Jesus, he said. What a mess.
He began collecting glasses, picking up newspapers and books and dropping things into drawers.
Jim, it’s okay, please, Joan said. That really isn’t necessary.
Grace looked over to Joan. Harrison disappeared into the kitchen with mugs between his fingers and plates balanced on his hands. He came back.
Jim, Grace said.
It’s fine, he said.
Jim, she said.
Hang on, he said, and moved Milo’s basket back into the corner by the window.
Jim.
He looked up at his wife. He stopped. He sat down. Grace went to him.
Lapitus said something like this might happen, she said.
Harrison shut his eyes. The room went divergent. The outside of the envelope, he thought. Son of a bitch.
I’ll need to run through a few things with you, Joan said.
I want to see her, he said.
Let her sleep, Grace said. She’s coughing pretty hard. She’ll be awake soon enough.
Is she okay?
Apart from the cough, Joan said, she’s breathing very fast, and wheezing, but there’s no sickness, at least not yet, and no fever.
I’ll make some coffee, Grace said.
They sat around the kitchen table and talked for an hour. The radio broadcast the news in the background. Outside the rain threw itself against the glass windows and thudded on the porch. When there was nothing left to say they just sat and let the radio talk for them.
Saigon, Harrison said after a while. Shit.
You think he knows what he’s doing? Grace said.
Sure as hell hope so; he’s got plenty enough advisers.