Yeah.
Was it okay? she said. Dinner? I don’t want you getting in any trouble because— It’s fine, he said.
Really? she said.
Yeah, he said. Talk about a cat among the pigeons. I miss the old days.
Grace was quiet.
Hon? he said.
Me too, she said.
What’s the matter? he said.
Nothing. Grace rolled away. Can we turn out the light now?
Thought we were talkin?
I’m tired.
Grace—
Don’t, Jim, she said.
Don’t what?
Can we just go to sleep?
What’s the matter? he said.
Nothing is the matter, she said.
They stared into the hard silence until they slept.
Deke called a late pilots’ meeting to discuss launch preparations for Wally’s flight the next day.
Take the T-33s, Deke said. Get down there tonight. Each of you has a room at the Holiday Inn, Cocoa Beach. The manager, Henri Landwirth, is expecting you. I’ll see you down there.
The Astronaut Office kept a fleet of aircraft—T-33 Shooting Stars, mainly; a few F-102s—for when they were needed on short notice halfway across the country. The pilots also used the airplanes to keep up their proficiency and would take them into the sky as often as they could. Plus, there was extra pay. The men complained that the 102s, on loan from the air force, were barely capable of going supersonic, topping out on a good day at about Mach one point two five, like some beaten-up old hatchback. Deke reassured them he was working on procuring a few Delta Darts, the kind of airplane you could really fly balls-out.
Around the table, the men started to collect their things.
Hey, Jim, Conrad said as they stood. You spoke to Rathmann yet?
Sure have, Harrison said. When we were at the Cape for the prelaunch training. Fixed me up real good.
What color you go for?
Powder blue.
Nice.
You want to see it? It’s out back.
You can do that?
Do what?
Park there?
Yeah.
Aw, hell. I’ve been parking over at the—never mind. Listen, I can’t; I gotta run, but let’s take em out when we get back, go for a little rat-run, yeah?
Sounds good.
See you at the Cape, Conrad said, slipping out the door.
Jim, Deke said. You got a minute?
They were the only two men left in the room.
Listen, Deke said. Marge ran into Grace the other day, down by the lake. Why don’t you two come over for dinner one night after we get back?
Sure, Deke, that’d be swell, he said. I’ll tell her.
How’s she doing?
Fine. Good. Enjoying the house after all those years being fried like an egg out at Edwards.
Yeah, Deke said.
I don’t think she can get her head around how many rooms we got now, Harrison said.
I’m not sure any of us can.
Yeah.
You know, you’re one of the best pilots in this group, Jim, Deke said.
Sure appreciate that, Deke, he said.
Deke grunted.
Guess I better go home and pack, Harrison said.
Just take care of yourself. I’ll see you down there.
Thanks, Deke.
Harrison turned the key and gunned the Corvette’s big block V8 engine. Not bad for a buck a year, he thought. Conrad had put him on to a guy named James Rathmann, a General Motors auto dealer twenty miles south of Cocoa Beach. Grissom and Shepard had met him at a party, become friends. Ever since, any of the fellas could lease any Chevy they wanted from him at a dollar a year. Rathmann, an Indy 500 winner, was good pals with Ed Cole, who ran Chevrolet. They liked to cut loose and race the boys along A1A, tearing up the asphalt then shooting the breeze with the astronauts after. It made them feel pretty good.
The early fall rain fell hard as clouds murmured throaty rumbles above Houston’s low buildings. The tall ones were lost, slunk into the murky wet gray. Harrison drove home on dark roads slick with water that sprayed from his tires. He pulled up outside and silenced the engine. It shuddered and stopped. He looked at his watch. Almost four. He sighed. He’d be in the air soon, above all this. He sometimes wished he could stay up there. He got out of the car. It was gloomy outside. The house looked dark. He hoped Grace wasn’t caught out in the rain. He slid his key into the front door and stepped into the hall.
You look wet, Grace said.
Harrison frowned, and looked around.
Why are all the curtains shut? he said.
Guess I didn’t get round to opening them, she said. Not much point now, I suppose.
Busy day? he said.
She shrugged and sat back down on the sofa.
Looks like you didn’t get round to dressing either, he said.
Grace looked down at her pink gown.
Milo doesn’t mind, she said.
Jesus, he said. What if someone comes to the door?
No one comes to the door, she said.
What’s gotten into you?
Nothing.
You haven’t been out today?
It’s hardly dog-walking weather.
He looked at Milo, who looked miserable.
What’s going on? he said.
Nothing’s going on, she said. What’s the difference anyway? You only ever see me in bed these days.
The program—