Page 25 of Atmosphere

Her parents’ marriage seemed fine to her. Good, even. They still loved each other. Her mother, basically a vegetarian, made her father’s favorite meatloaf most weekends with a joy that Joan had scrutinized for years but found completely sincere. Still, when she thought about it, a gloom dared to take over. You could develop your personality your entire life—pursue the things you wanted to learn, discover the most interesting parts of yourself, hold yourself to a certain standard—and then you marry a man and suddenly his personality, his wants, his standards subsume your own?

Joan knew that society was changing and some men were changing with it. Some of them now understood that a woman’s career, her life, her passions were just as important as their own. But still, all Joan could think was that it was now justtwopeople cutting off parts of themselves to make themselves fit together. A world of vegetarians cooking meatloaf.

“Goodwin, do you read me?” Griff said.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, I’m going to head out in a minute. Do you want a ride?”

Joan had come with Donna, but any second now Donna was going to ditch her for Hank.

“Sure,” she said, standing up.

Griff dried off and they said their goodbyes, including to Antonio and his wife, Jeanie.

When they got to the driveway, Vanessa had her head underneath the car’s engine, next to Steve. Ted and Harrison were watching. Apollo was now at Steve’s feet.

“How’s it going on the Dodge?” Griff said.

The path to get by the car was narrow, and there was a hose on the ground. Joan saw where to step, but Griff put his hand on the small of her back to guide her. When Joan turned to look at him, he smiled sweetly at her.

She had been here before—not often, but enough to recognize it for what it was. The glances that lasted just a bit too long, the softer tone of voice directed only at her. It almost never ended easily. There was always a thrash or two, when she tried to kill it.

Joan moved forward quickly, away from his touch.

“Looks like Steve’s got it,” Harrison said. “I certainly couldn’t figure it out.”

“Actually, Vanessa spotted it,” Steve said. “It was the vacuum pull-off on the choke.”

Vanessa stood up slowly and wiped her hands on a rag. “A team effort.”

Steve laughed, and then Vanessa saw Joan there, with Griff. “Off to read your book?”

“Caught red-handed.”

“Well, good night, Brando.”

Joan shook her head, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good night, Newman.”

December 29, 1984

First Griff’s voice gone.

Then Hank’s.

Then Steve’s.

Now Lydia’s.

“Ford, we read you,” Joan says.

Joan is now all Vanessa can hear, all that lies between her and isolation.

With the hand that’s not pressed to Griff’s suit, Vanessa bangs on the side of the airlock, trying to get someone’s attention and wake them up. The force of it pushes her backward. She rights herself.

“LYDIA!” she screams. “STEVE! HANK! SOMEONE!”

The ghostly quiet of the shuttle overwhelms her. Suddenly she becomes aware of her body floating in microgravity. The slowness, the absence of both feet on the ground. She has never felt the full scope and terror of floating the way she does in this moment, tethered to nothing, unable to move.

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