Harrison did not want to be at the Antelope either. It made him uncomfortable. Pancho drove him over every week, partly because rule number six was no driving and partly to make sure he actually got there on time. During their third session, Baum said, most of my patients want to be here, and Harrison said, really, he didn’t see the point. In the fourth session they talked about his mother and flying and Baum prescribed thioridazine, which the hospital’s pharmacy dispensed for him. He took them home in a brown paper bag and sat in the hangar and read the advisory notes on the bottle and he read each line over and over and he felt scared and sweated heavily. Then he swallowed one of the capsules and went outside and set the advisory notes on fire with a match. When it fell to the ground he stood on the burning paper and scooped up the black ashes and threw them into a water trough. Then he lit a cigarette and went back to work.
Apart from Pancho, the only people he spent any time with were the Walkers. He’d play with the kids, have a few beers with Joe, stay for dinner. Most nights, he turned in early. He stayed away from the Happy Bottom Riding Club and its regulars. There weren’t many he knew at the base now anyway; most had moved on or augered in. Ridley was in France, working for NATO’s Advisory Group for Aeronautical Research and Development. Yeager had returned to Edwards and was now commandant of the air force’s new Aerospace Research Pilot School, or ARPS, as it was known, designed to produce air force astronauts for both NASA selection and the air force’s own space aspirations. When word reached Yeager that Harrison was back, he stopped by the ranch and the two men sat outside the hangar with a beer and talked about the old days. As it happened, one of Yeager’s first students, an air force pilot named Dave Scott, had just taken his first spaceflight aboard Gemini VIII. I’ll be damned, Harrison said when he found out. He did one hell of a job. Yeager chuckled and said, feel like a proud father. They sat and talked for a long time.
One night, over dinner in Pancho’s kitchen, Harrison said, I hate goin up to the Antelope, and Baum’s an asshole. Pancho looked up from her plate and said, you forgotten our deal?
No, he said. But there must be someone else?
Pancho chewed her food.
I’ll look into it, she said. Eat your pie.
He ate his pie.
A week later Pancho said, I spoke to Deke; got you someone else.
You spoke to Deke?
Yeah, I spoke to Deke. And I got you someone else.
Who is he?
He’s a she, and she’s agreed to come out here every week, although God knows why anyone would want to talk to a miserable bastard like you.
A woman?
Thought you might like it. If you ask me she’s nuts herself but no one’s askin me.
Harrison stood up and hugged her and she recoiled and cursed him loudly.
He met with Doctor Louise Brubaker twice a week, in an old workshop Pancho had behind the barn. Doctor Brubaker’s husband, Ed Brubaker, had flown in Korea, chasing down MiGs up the Yalu River. She knew pilots. I’m familiar with the breed, is how she put it. It was a good start. As the weeks went on, their talks began to help.
Pancho gave him Saturdays off. He usually slept late, ran errands, read in his room. His window looked out over the front of the house. The room was small, with barely enough room for a single bed, which he’d wedged horizontally against the window to give him more space. Next to it was a small bedside table with a lamp, pack of Lucky Strikes, matches, two paperbacks and a stick of Beemans. On the far side of the room, behind the door, was a thin wardrobe and an old chair.
He’d spent the morning with Pancho in Lancaster, meeting an accountant he’d finally persuaded her to hire. Harrison didn’t like town much. It was busier than it used to be, and he was afraid he’d run into Grace.
They got back to Pancho’s at noon. He found some bread, a little cheese, some potatoes and beans in the kitchen and took them up to his room with a glass of water. He sat on his bed and ate. When he was done, he drank a little water and put the glass down on the bedside table and the empty plate on the floor. Then he lit a cigarette and looked out the window. The bed creaked beneath him. He finished the cigarette and picked up the paperback he was reading, The Deep Blue Good-By. A few minutes later, Pancho rapped on his door.
Visitor, she said.
He sat up. Reverend Irving poked his head in.
Hello, Jim, he said. Hope I’m not disturbing?
Not at all! Harrison said, laying the book pages-down on his bed. Please, come in, have a seat. Excuse the mess.
Oh, said Irving, pulling up the chair, looks fine to me.
It’s good to see you, Reverend, Harrison said. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?
I’m fine, I’m fine, thank you, though. I just wanted to see how you were doing.
Appreciate that, Reverend.
Call me John.
Appreciate that, John.
So how are you?
I’m okay, he said, I’m okay.
Pancho told me everything. You’ve been through a lot.
Would you like a smoke, John? Harrison said.
Ah, thanks.
Harrison offered him the pack, and some matches.
Thank you, Irving said.
Harrison lit one too. The men sat in silence for a moment.
Anytime you want to talk, about anything, Irving said, just give me a call, or swing by the church.
That’s very kind of you, John, thank you. I’m doin okay, though, really. Getting there.
Oh, and our service on Sundays is at eight. Come along, anytime; we could use a man like you.
Not sure I’m good for much anymore, Harrison said.
I think God would disagree, Irving said.
That so, Harrison said. Must have missed the memo.
You know, Irving said, looking at his hands. I’ve been seeing a fair bit of Grace this last year or so.
You mind if I have another? Harrison said, glancing at the Lucky Strikes.