'Look, Scott . . .' began Baedecker.
'No, now listen a minute,' said Scott, but as soon as he said it, he took time to eat some scrambled eggs with that total focus of attention that Baedecker remembered from as far back as his son's first feedings in his high chair. 'I've got to explain this,' Scott said at last. 'I know it'll sound weird, Dad, but from the first time I met Maggie on campus she reminded me of you.'
'Of me?' said Baedecker, at a loss. 'How?'
'Maybe reminded isn't the right word,' said Scott. 'But something about her made me think of you all the time. Maybe it was the way she used to listen so hard to people. Or the habit she had of picking up on little things people do or say and remembering them later. Maybe it was the way she never seemed satisfied with explanations that satisfied the rest of us. So anyway, when I had the chance in India, I tried to arrange it so you and she could have a few days to get to know each other.' Baedecker stared at his son. 'Are you saying that's why you had her meet my plane in New Delhi? That's why you kept me waiting a week before I could see you in Poona?' Scott finished his egg, dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin, and shrugged ever so slightly.
'Well I'll be damned,' said Baedecker and scowled at his son.
Scott grinned and continued grinning until Baedecker found himself grinning back.
The launch was scrubbed with three minutes remaining before ignition. Baedecker and Scott sat in the VIP stands near the Vehicle Assembly Building and watched across the turning basin canal as high cirrus from the west quickly were replaced by cumulonimbus. The launch was scheduled for 9:54 A.M. By 9:30 the clouds were overhead and the wind gusts had risen to twenty-five knots, close to the maximum allowed. At 9:49 there were lightning strikes visible to the north and rain began to fall intermittently. Baedecker remembered sitting in these same stands when lightning had struck Apollo 12 as it lifted off, knocking out every instrument in the Command Module and causing Pete Conrad to say some candid things into a live mike. At 9:51 A.M. the voice of NASA's Public Affairs Officer came over the loudspeakers to announce that the mission had been postponed. Because of a very tight launch window — less than an hour — they would recycle the countdown for a launch the next day between two and three P.M. At 10:03 the speakers announced that the astronauts had been removed from the shuttle, but the voice was talking to an empty grandstand as the would-be spectators ran through the growing rain squall to reach automobiles or shelter.
Baedecker let Scott drive the rented Beretta as the flood of vehicles inched its way west across the causeway. 'Scott,' he said, 'what are your plans if the launch goes off tomorrow?'
'Just what I'd planned before,' said Scott. 'Go up to Daytona for a few days to visit Terry and Samantha. Then fly to Boston next week to see Mom when they get back from Europe. Why?'
'Just wondering,' said Baedecker. He listened to the windshield wipers tick away in their useless effort against the downpour. Brake lights flashed in the long line ahead of them. 'Actually,' said Baedecker, 'I was considering flying to Boston today. If I wait until after the launch tomorrow afternoon, there won't be enough time before my appointment in Austin on Monday.'
'Boston?' said Scott. Then, 'Oh, yeah . . . that might not be a bad idea.'
'Would you go up to Daytona tonight, then?' Scott thought for a second, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 'No, I don't think so,' he said. 'I already told Terry I'd be there tomorrow night or Sunday. I think I'll stay here and watch the launch.'
'You don't mind?' asked Baedecker, looking at his son. The months they had spent together the previous spring and summer had helped him become much better at gauging Scott's true reaction to things.
'Naw, I don't mind a bit,' said Scott and his grin was sincere. 'Let's go by the motel and get your stuff.'
The rain had let up considerably by the time they turned south on Highway 1.
'I hope Thanksgiving wasn't too much of a letdown,' said Baedecker. They had eaten alone at the hotel before going to the crew's dessert gathering.
'Are you kidding?' said Scott. 'It was great.'
'Scott,' said Baedecker, 'do you mind if I ask what your plans are? Long-term plans, I mean.' His son ran his fingers through his short, wet hair. 'See Mom for a while, I guess. Get through this semester.'
'You're definitely going to finish?'
'With five weeks left before graduation? Damned right I am.'
'What about after?' said Baedecker.
'After graduation? Well, I've been thinking about it, Dad. I got a letter from Norm last week and he said I can get back on his construction crew and work right on up until mid-August. It would help pay for the doctoral program in Chicago.'
'Are you planning on that?'
'If the philosophy program is as good as Kent says it is, I'm very tempted,' said Scott. 'And even though the scholarship offer is partial, it's the best deal I've seen. But I've also been thinking about going into the service for a couple of years.' Baedecker stared at his son. He could not have been more surprised if Scott had calmly announced that he was flying to Sweden for a sex-change operation.
'It's just a thought,' said Scott, but there was something in his voice that suggested otherwise.
'Don't commit yourself to anything like that unless I get a few hours . . . or weeks . . . to try and talk you out of it, okay?' said Baedecker.
'I promise,' said Scott. 'Hey, we're still going to spend Christmas vacation at the cabin, aren't we?'
'I'm planning on it,' said Baedecker.
They drove east over the 520 Causeway and turned south again past endless rows of Cocoa Beach motels. Baedecker wondered how many times he had driven this way from Patrick Air Force Base in a mad rush to get back to the Cape. He said, 'What branch?'
'Hmmm?' asked Scott, searching for their motel entrance through a renewed downpour.
'Which branch of the service?'
Scott pulled into the drive and parked in front of their unit. The rain pounded on the roof. 'Gee, Dad,' he said. 'You need to ask that of me? What with me growing up in a family proud of three generations of Baedeckers in the U.S. Marine Corps?' He opened the door and jumped out, hunkering down in the rain just long enough to say, 'I was thinking Coast Guard,' and then ran toward the protective overhang of the motel balcony.
It was snowing in Boston and already growing dark by the time Baedecker took a cab from Logan International to the address near Boston University. Still sunburned from the three days in Florida, he looked out through the gloom at the brown, icy water of the Charles River and shivered. Lights were coming on along the dark banks. The snow turned to dirty slush to be thrown up by the cab's tires.
Baedecker had always pictured Maggie living near the campus, but her apartment was some distance to the east, not too far from Fenway Park. The quiet side street was lined with stoops and bare trees, a neighborhood that looked to have been on the edge of decay in the sixties, saved by young professionals in the seventies, and now would be on the verge of invasion by the middle-aged affluent with an urge to homestead.
Baedecker paid the driver and ran from the cab to the door of the old brownstone. He had tried calling from Florida and again from Logan, but to no avail. He had pictured Maggie out shopping for groceries, returning home just as he arrived, but now he glanced up at the dark windows and wondered why he thought he would find her home on the Friday evening after Thanksgiving.