You know what I’m doing.
He went downstairs. He found a mug in the kitchen and poured an inch of rye. He sat down at the table. Grace came down the stairs and the back door banged. He picked up his mug and went to see what she was doing. Grace stood on the stoop. There were several black bags outside the back door.
I didn’t want them in the house anymore, she said, walking past him. I’m going to bed.
It’s still early, he said.
Turn the lights out when you come up.
He watched her disappear upstairs. He looked at the back door. He went back to the kitchen and topped off his drink. Then he went out to the stoop and knelt down by the bags.
What the hell? he said, looking inside the first one.
Grace! he said. He yelled again. Grace!
He pulled out handfuls of dresses, vests, cardigans and skirts. Some he discarded. Others he collected next to him. What the…? Grace!
What’s the matter with you? she said, appearing behind him.
What the hell are you doing? he said.
What?
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!
You know—
I thought you were clearing out a few old things; stuff we didn’t want anymore—this, this is everything! Look.
He held up a yellow dress with white lace skirting the hem.
You know what this is? he said.
Her eyes swelled with tears.
Of course I know what it is, she said.
Then why the hell is it out here? Here with the trash? The goddamn trash?
It’s not the trash, she said.
What?
It’s—I’m giving it to Jane Boham—she’s just had a little—
The hell you are!
Jim I’m sorry I—
Harrison was frantically searching though the last bag.
Oh you’re sorry are you? You’re sorry.
Please Jim, don’t do this—
Just go away, would you? Leave me the hell alone.
He started stuffing clothes back into one of the empty bags. She stood behind him and cried.
Just—leave me alone, he said.
He heard the door bang behind him. He fell back and wept into the yellow dress.
What the hell are you doing here?
Quit being such a hard-ass.
Pancho, I’m serious, it’s not like the old days. You need clearance. You need—
I need a drink, is what I need.
Jesus. What do you want?
You know she goes every day. To Rosamond Park Cemetery?
Look, Pancho, I’m flyin in forty minutes.
Did you know that?
No, I did not know that.
You wanna know how I know it? I drive her there every goddamn day. I been spending more time at your place than you have.
Don’t come over here, start playing that card, Pancho; that I’m working too hard, that I don’t know my own wife.
You don’t know your own wife.
Get out.
Shut up.
What’s this?
An envelope.
Is she leaving me?
It’s from me you dope. It’s a thousand dollars.
What?
Take her away someplace, Jim; someplace nice. Just the two of you.
I’m runnin a program here, Pancho, I can’t just—
Screw the program.
F’chrissakes.
Speak to the old man, get some time off. Hell, everyone knows you need it.
So now everyone knows what’s good for me.
No, just me.
Right.
You were back on the flight line three days after her funeral!
I couldn’t protect her, Pancho.
It wasn’t your job to, sweetie.
Something ached inside him.
Yes it was, he said.
He sat in the middle of Muroc Dry Lake with the canopy up and waited for the ground crew. His pressure suit was tight and uncomfortable. Boy, that was a ride, he thought. The Big Engine had failed to ignite when he was dropped. Hell, he’d fallen fast. There was only time for one relight in the X-15. It lit. Waiting for the truck with the sun on his face he thought about what he’d seen up there, across the top, above the dome. Black space, blue Earth; the globe curling away beneath him. He’d looked down on everything he’d known, for a brief window, a few minutes. He’d flown weightless, on reaction control, hand on the stick squirting hydrogen peroxide from the thrusters. He felt free. Then he dropped back into the atmosphere and the Earth pulled him down.
When the crew arrived they helped him from the cockpit and quizzed him on the malfunction. High speed flights always made him hungry so they’d started bringing him a sandwich to munch on in the truck. Baloney and mustard. He rode back to base.
Phone call, Jim, Ridley yelled when they pulled into the hangar.
Who is it? Harrison called up.
Didn’t say.
Harrison climbed the stairs in his pressure suit. In the office, he picked up the receiver.
Hello? he said.
I’m looking for Jim Harrison, a voice said.
This is he, Harrison said.
Jim, it’s Deke Slayton.
Harrison looked up. Ridley had gone down to the hangar. He sat down.
Jim, you there?
Yeah, uh, Deke; I’m here.
You still want to come fly for us? Deke said.