The following night they sat together on the sofa and watched news reports of the blockade and of the ships turning around and of the Marucla, which didn’t, and were frightened. They went to bed and didn’t talk. When he was sure she was asleep he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling which was white from where the curtain cracked in the middle and let pale moonlight in. He lay awake for a long time. It felt to him as though the world had paused. The only sound was that of his wife sleeping alongside him. He realized with acute clarity that the past was nothing, it did not exist; it could not be lost, and the future was merely an abstract concept. He lay very still. Then he turned over and slept till morning and in the morning he rose early and dressed quietly and went for a run in the rain. When he got home she had fixed a pot of coffee, and eggs, and they sat together and listened to the radio in silence. Then he left for work. In the evening he took her out to the pool and said sorry for how things had been and they held each other. Then they went inside and Harrison called a few friends he had higher in the air force who told him the country was now at DEFCON 2. He told her what it meant and she sat down at the table with her head in her hands.
I’m going for a walk, she said. I need to get some air.
Don’t go far, okay? he said.
I won’t.
Want me to come?
No.
Do you want to take Milo?
No.
When she got back he said, where did you go, and she didn’t answer so he asked again and she said Clear Lake. They sat up and watched the news on CBS and Grace asked him what DEFCON 1 was and he said nuclear war imminent and she said I wish I hadn’t asked.
What can we do? she said. We must be able to do something.
Nothing. There’s nothing we can do. Except wait it out.
And pray. We can pray.
He thought for a second then said, yes, we could pray. So they sat closer together and shut their eyes and Grace said a prayer which lasted no longer than a minute.
Let’s go to bed, he said, afterward. No sense staying up waiting for something to happen.
They went to bed and lay together in silence and he found himself thinking on his daughter’s grave and he didn’t know why. He thought of something else, of McNamara, of Sorensen, of Bobby; men like him, no different, all breathing the same air as him, dressing in the mornings as he did, all lying in dark rooms wondering what tomorrow would bring. He felt uneasy and hot and he couldn’t get comfortable. He shut his eyes. He saw the cemetery, the grass, the stone angel on the tomb near the gate. He felt short of breath. He tried to think of something else, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He sat up and turned the light on. His back and legs were wet from where he was sweating. He smoked a cigarette and tapped the ash into a tray he balanced on his chest. When he’d finished, he moved the tray back to his bedside table, turned out the light and pulled Grace closer to him. She slid her feet between his and he fell asleep.
First light was cool and gray.
Do you want some coffee? Grace said, getting out of bed.
That’d be good, he said. Guess the world’s still here.
She let out a little laugh.
Maybe it’s just us? he said.
If it is, she said, I’m taking you to Hawaii.
How would we get there?
You could fly us.
They went downstairs and read the morning paper together over breakfast.
Anything new? Grace said.
Yeah, he said. Emergency meeting of the Security Council last night. I always thought Stevenson was a sorry sonofabitch but it turns out he’s got some balls after all. Asked Zorin about the missiles straight out. Zorin refused to answer. Then Stevenson said he was prepared to wait til hell froze over for an answer! Told Zorin he’d present the evidence himself if he continued to ignore the question.
What happened? Grace said.
They set up an easel at the back of the room and showed everyone the photographs—look.
He showed her the picture in the paper.
Three photos, he said. One twenty-four-hour period.
The Cubans built all that in a day? she said.
Well, they had plenty of help from their Red friends, he said.
Jesus.
There’s more, Harrison said. Lots more. Read the rest of it, right there. Those goddamn lying Soviet bastards.
And this was yesterday? she said, reading.
Yeah, he said, pouring himself another coffee.
She folded the paper and sighed.
Listen, Jim, she said. I need to talk to you.
Can it wait? he said, glancing up at the clock.
You’re not going in again are you?
Damn right I’m going in.
Jim, please; I need you here. Who the hell knows what’ll happen?
I have to, he said.
I’m your wife and I’m asking you to stay.
I have to go in.
The program’s more important than me?
Jesus, Grace.
Is the program more important than me?
Come on.
Answer the goddamn question!
Yes, he said. The program’s more important than you.
You son of a bitch, she said.