Page 23 of The Launch

“It wasn’t top secret, Bill,” she says, amused. “In fact, you took us all out to the yard with those little glasses so we could look at it.”

“No, I mean, did I tell you about the astronomers who chartered a DC-8 so that they could fly along the path of the eclipse up in the Northern Territory of Alaska? They got to see it for forty-four seconds longer than the rest of us knuckleheads here on the ground.” He shakes his head. “I’m so jealous.”

This makes Jo laugh even more. “When did you get to be such a space nut, sweetheart? Were you always like this?”

Bill looks at her incredulously. “Of course. From my first Air Force flight onwards, all I wanted to do was fly higher, faster, farther.” His eyes look slightly glassy while he stares up at the stars, one arm now around Jo’s shoulders as he holds her close. “I’m living my dream, Jojo.”

The laughter inside of her dies down when she sees how serious Bill is. This is his dream. And Jude may not have been entirely right when she said that Jo’s only purpose in life is to be a wife and a mother, but she was at least partly right: it’s Jo’s duty—it was in her vows, for heaven’s sake—to love, honor, and cherish her husband, and that means to fully support him as well. To bolster him, and to help him achieve his dreams. She reaches over and brushes his hair across his forehead. “I love you, William Booker,” she says, leaning closer and kissing him on the lips again. “I love you, and your dreams.”

In response, Bill lays Jo on her back there atop the roof and kisses her slowly, moving down her throat and kissing her on the hollow of her neck. Jo sighs softly as Bill’s nimble fingers work the top buttons of her blouse. She’s tempted to sit up and look around to see if any of their neighbors are outside, but then Bill unzips the side of her skirt and she forgets entirely that they live in a neighborhood.

There, beneath the Summer Triangle on a hot July night, Bill makes Jo forget everything. All she can think of as the passion builds between them is the weight of her husband on her. The feeling of his arms. The solidness ofhim.

Jo closes her eyes and arches her back as she bathes in the moonlight.

TEN

bill

“This is Jeanie Florence.”Arvin North is standing before the men, who are seated around the long, rectangular table in the same room where the psychological evaluation took place. “She is joining our team directly from MIT. Jeanie is an aerospace engineering technician, and she will be working closely with our team to prepare for space flight.” North pauses and takes a long, sweeping look at the five men. In his gaze Bill can see that there is no room for even the slightest lifted eyebrow between the astronauts, so instead of catching the eye of Vance, Todd, Jay, or Ed, Bill looks at the paper on the table in front of him and picks up a pen, as if he might be about to take notes.

Arvin North cedes the floor to Jeanie, who—to her credit—makes eye contact with each of the men separately. She steps up to the green chalkboard hanging on the wall and picks up a piece of chalk. Without hesitation, she turns her back to them and begins to scrawl her name and job title in cursive, and it’s then that Jay catches Ed’s glance and they share a look that travels between one another and Jeanie’s rounded behind, which is outlined in her slim pencil skirt. Bill notices this exchange, but then studiously goes back to looking at his paper.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen,” Jeanie says, dropping the chalk in the tray and turning back to them as she brushes her hands against each other to release the chalk dust. She smiles at the group with just the slightest hint of hesitation. “Mr. North has given me a brief introduction, and I’d like to immediately address the obvious in order to dispel any rumors that might start amongst you: I am, in fact, a woman.”

There is silence in the room for a full ten seconds, and then Vance laughs. “I was kind of thinking you might be,” he says with a playful smile. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

Jeanie puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve encountered more pushback than you can possibly imagine during my brief time in the world of engineering, but I want to be clear with you all up front that I’ve got what it takes to work with you. Mr. North has been extremely forward-thinking when it comes to selecting me for this team, but I understand that there can be—on occasion—some disbelief about women working in science.” She lets her hands fall from her hips and her attitude shifts, her face softening. “I have spent my entire life looking up at the heavens and wondering what’s out there. When I applied to MIT, the female students only accounted for about one to two percent of the entire population, so any jokes or comments you can think of are ones I’ve undoubtedly already heard. I’d like to ask you to treat me just as you would any other team members, and to put your faith in my work, just as I put mine in yours.”

The room is silent, and Bill glances at Arvin North, who is standing off to the side of the chalkboard, arms folded over his stout chest. He’s nodding at everything Jeanie says. “I assume that there will be no issues whatsoever,” North says, addressing the men again. “If you have anything you’d like to discuss, my door is open. But my expectation is that we will work in lockstep as a team, and that there will be no issues.” His tone leaves no room for misunderstanding: he expects them to put theirnonsense aside and behave professionally, and Bill, for one, is ready to do that.

Jeanie is watching Arvin North as he speaks, and when he’s done, she steps forward again. “I’m sure you all heard about the engineering test in Seattle this past weekend,” she says, eyebrows lifted like a teacher who is waiting for her pupils to jump in and join the class discussion. “Five engineers at Boeing undertook what should have been a thirty-day test of the life support systems that would sustain a crewed space station. They were working in their space chamber, which was the first of its kind in the U.S. It included all the necessary life-support equipment that would have been required for a multi-person, long-duration mission.” Jeanie looks around at the men, who are listening with interest; at this point, Bill starts jotting notes on his paper. “This project was built for NASA’s Office of Advanced Research and Technology, and the crew simulated some very unique and specific problems of spaceflight. These issues included environmental control, waste disposal, food preparation, and how to address the personal hygiene needs of the crew.”

Bill is watching Jeanie as she talks, as are the other men. She appears to be in her early to mid-twenties, with rich, chocolate brown hair and eyes, and her skin is rosy and untouched by makeup. Her round eyes are slightly magnified by the thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses she’s wearing, and her skirt is a plain navy blue, with a white blouse tucked into it neatly. It’s simple and appropriate for work. Jeanie is clearly a beautiful girl, but unlike Debra at the front desk, Jeanie Florence looks freshly scrubbed, devoid of the time-consuming constraints of fashion and makeup, and as if perhaps she’d fallen asleep the night before with a physics textbook open on the bed next to her. Her schoolgirl charm combined with a brilliant mind makes her undeniably attractive.

“Unfortunately,” Jeanie goes on, pacing back and forth in front of the chalkboard as Arvin North continues to watch her, “this weekend the test came to an abrupt end after only five days when the crew and engineers realized that they were working with a faulty reactor tank. This was obviously only a test situation, but it underscores the fact that we have light years to go when it comes to reaching our ultimate goal of sustained space travel.” Bill glances at Jeanie’s hands, which are now clasped lightly in front of her: no rings. He drags his eyes back to her face. “I am extremely honored to be amongst you all as we reach for the stars, and work toward someday having an international space station—a time when astronauts of both genders will be out there exploring the universe.”

Jeanie is swept away to an office after this introduction, and the men are quickly engaged in a day-long training about aircraft flight readiness, broken up only by their daily one-hour Russian language class. Over lunch in the break room with its humming vending machines (tuna on white bread for Bill, with a shiny red apple and a thermos of chicken noodle soup), there are a few comments about Jeanie, but they’re mild and mostly whispered.

Bill tries to focus on reading his copy ofThe Florida Star, folding the newspaper in half and tucking it beneath one corner of his lunchbox as he holds his sandwich.

“Cuteandsmart? She’ll get nabbed by a recent college grad. Probably give birth to a few little future astronauts, and then forget all about being an engineer,” Vance Majors predicts as he bites into a banana.

“I’d like her to tutor me in astrophysics,” Ed says in a mocking, lecherous tone. “I wish my high school teachers had looked like her. I bet my grades would have been top-notch.”

The other men laugh.

It’s on the tip of Bill’s tongue to defend Jeanie, to remind the other guys that a woman can be more than a teacher or a motherto future astronauts, but he himself isn’t immune to thinking or saying the wrong thing on occasion, so he keeps his mouth shut and flips to the sports page.

“You think she’d like to join us at the Black Hole?” Ed goes on. “Maybe get to know the team on a more personal level?”

Bill scans the news, reading casually about the US Women’s Golf Open that coincided with the solar eclipse the previous Saturday. Mary Mills won her first title by three strokes ahead of runners-up Louise Suggs and Sandra Haynie. Jack Nicklaus won the PGA championship the next day, and the photo of him holding up a ball and his club, his sandy blonde hair loose in the breeze, dominates the page. By contrast, the column on the US Women’s Golf Open is small and has no accompanying photo. Bill’s brow furrows as he compares the two articles.

He’s never been one to think too deeply about the differences between men and women—or the differences in their lives, for that matter—but raising two daughters has given him a whole new perspective on things. Bill wants nothing more than for Nancy and Kate to be able to do anything they want to do in life. He turns the sports page and finds a brief blurb about NASA’s announcement the day before that Dr. George Mueller would succeed D. Brainerd Holmes as the head of the Apollo program, something he’s already heard about.

Bill chews his tuna sandwich thoughtfully as he looks out the window at the midday sky. He’s spent his entire life reaching for the next goal—the next thing he wants to achieve. He climbed the ranks in the Air Force, becoming a Lieutenant Colonel and flying the F-104, and the F-4 Phantom II. He wanted to be an astronaut, and he reached for that goal. He has a beautiful family, and a happy life, and never once has he been forced to choose between his own dreams and anything else. So why is it so hard to imagine that Nancy and Kate, or Jeanie Florence—or even Jo—should have the same right?

“Booker,” Ed Maxwell says, slamming his metal lunchbox closed with aclank. “I’m hitting the latrine. Meet you back in there?”

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