Grace rose early the next morning, fixed herself eggs and coffee and drove to Rosamond. Her arms ached from shoving the heavy transmission around. It was an old Chevy pickup, three-speed, Mexican-red; thirty bucks from Mac, month before he died. It was a wreck. He’d worked it hard. She’d learned how to fix it up herself. Working outside, with her hands, felt good.
It was almost ten. Rosamond was busy. It had changed so much since the early days, when she and Jim had first moved to Muroc. She could remember driving down Main Street at noon and not seeing a single person. She pulled up outside Howard’s General Store. She was due at Grace Walker’s for coffee and wanted to pick up some candy for the kids. She cut the engine and the truck shuddered into silence. She stared up at the empty sky. Joe was gone. She’d never seen Jim angry before. She found herself wondering what his room at Pancho’s was like. It had been good to see him. She wanted a cigarette. She stepped out into the fresh air, bought candy and a bottle of Coke, which she drank on the sidewalk in the sun. Then she returned the bottle and drove to the Walkers’.
She stayed for lunch. The children played upstairs. The women sat in the kitchen and talked.
Do you want another coffee? I could sure use one.
How are you sleeping?
Not great. But the kids are, which is something. I’ve got something for you, if I can still find it in all this mess.
She walked over to the counter and began sifting through a pile of papers.
Got it, she said, and sat back down. Here. She slid a photograph across the table. I want you to have this.
Grace picked up the photograph. It was Joe and Jim, standing on the lakebed in their pressure suits, grinning; sky arcing away behind them.
A few weeks later Harrison picked Grace up from church on Sunday and drove them out to the mountains to fish.
Look at you, she said, winding down her window.
Yeah, he said. Finally. Pancho made me do a bunch of tests.
Bet that was fun.
He chuckled.
Think you’ll fly again soon?
I dunno, he said. I feel better, but I still get distracted sometimes.
Do you want to get back into flight test? she said.
That’s a young man’s game, he said. Should have got out years ago. You want one?
He offered her a cigarette.
I quit.
You did, huh?
Yeah.
Really?
John helped me.
Irving?
Uh-huh.
You should come sometime, she said.
To John and Gracie’s no-smoking club?
To church. Do you good.
She laughed.
What? he said.
Nothing, she said.
Was sorry to hear about Milo, he said.
Ah, he was an old boy.
A good old boy, he said.
The best, she said. Her arm rested on the blunt lip of the open window and the hot wind blew her hair in all directions. The road turned to track and the car churned yellow dust around them.
Can I ask you something? he said, looking over at her.
Sure, she said.
He pulled the car over and idled the engine.
Hey, she said. Why are we stopping?
It’s important, he said.
I’m all ears.
It’s serious.
I’m serious.
You don’t sound it.
I promise, she said. Look.
She lay back in her seat and shut her eyes.
See? she said. You have my undivided attention. My mind is empty. Like an empty box. My mind is an empty box.
I could have told you that, he said.
She snapped open her eyes.
Who’s messing around now? she said.
He looked at her.
All right, come on, she said, or we’ll never make it up there by nightfall.
Okay, he said. Irving—John—came to see me. Not long after I got back.
Okay, she said. Sounds like the kinda thing he’d do.
We talked, he said. It was good. When he got up to leave, I accidentally knocked over a glass; smashed it all over the floor, so I apologized and he said, he told me, it wasn’t your fault.
Okay, she said.
When he said it, when he said that to me—I don’t know; something happened, I don’t know what. He looked up at me, said It wasn’t your fault and it felt like I’d been hit round the head with a brick. It was like my whole being shook. It was the strangest damn thing. I felt odd for the rest of the day. And a while later, with Doctor Brubaker … I don’t know. I started to feel better. Do you—do you think it was God?
Talking to you?
Yeah.
She thought for a moment, then said, yeah.
He looked at her, then thought for a minute.
All right, he said. Let’s go.
The trout in the mountain lakes were golden; succulent and firm and robust. It was work to reach them, but worth the effort. They liked the cold water high up in the Sierras. Fried up fresh with a little butter, they were the best thing Harrison had ever tasted.