Leon’s body remained in the hands of the FBI. His church refused to provide a memorial ceremony because he’d died by his own hand. (Apparently it had been an overdose of some kind.) But his family announced there would be a farewell event at a veterans’ club in Vineland, New Jersey.
He was thinking about attending. It was ridiculous. But he wanted to go. Maybe, he thought, it would give him some release from the dark shadows that haunted his nights. Leon, the Leon who’d been a friend for more than fifteen years, would not have deliberately harmed anyone. And he could not forget the desperation of that visit the day before he’d ended it. There was, in the end, no way he could not attend. “No, Alicia,” he said, “I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.”
* * *
SNOW HAD BEGUN falling during the ride to Pulaski, and there was an inch or more on the streets when they arrived at the recreation center. It was the first storm of the season. He left her off at the front door, parked, and joined a decent-sized crowd inside.
The Pulaski team was already on the court. They looked pretty good. In any way you wanted to interpret that. And a couple of minutes after he sat down, they were joined by the Hawks. Jake recognized one of the other women who’d been at Alicia’s table the night they’d met. He began to realize he was going to have a seriously enjoyable time. Finally.
During the warm-up, Alicia stood outside the foul circle and sank some jump shots. She was better than he’d expected. So were her teammates. He noted also that the basketball court looked considerably longer than he remembered from his high-school days. Good thing I’m not out there.
Approximately two hundred people were present to watch the game. Whistles blew, and the crowd listened, with some clapping, as the starting five for the Hawks were introduced. The loudest reaction came for their center, who must have been six and a half feet tall and exceedingly mobile. How could they possibly be only a mediocre team with that woman on their side? Then it was the Jets’ turn, and the crowd applauded and whistled.
The answer to that was that the Jets, at least, had a balanced offense and two players who were blindingly fast.
The Hawks fell behind early but stayed close. Alicia got into the game midway through the first quarter. She was a guard. Jake was impressed with her running and ball handling. She scored twice on inside jump shots, and passed off for a couple more scores. Not bad for a backup.
The Jets increased their lead to seven as the game approached halftime. The Hawks got most of it back with a pair of three-pointers. They’d stolen the ball and were headed back down court for a third try when Jake’s link vibrated. Usually, when he was out on the town, he shut it off. But he’d forgotten. He glanced at it. Unknown caller. “Yes?” he said, trying to get over the noise.
He heard a woman’s voice: “Captain Loomis?”
“Speaking.”
But the place was getting loud, and it was impossible to hear. “Hold on,” he said. He sighed, got up, and left the gym. Out near the front doors, he apologized and asked if the caller was still there.
“Yes,” she said. The noise level from the gym rose to a roar. Then faded. “Can you hear me, Captain Loomis?”
“I hear you.” He walked out into the street.
“I’m Sandra Coates. I’m calling you for the Astro Society. We’d very much like you to be the guest speaker at our monthly luncheon next week. Would that be possible?”
“Who’s the Astro Society?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I should have explained. It’s a group of academics and scientists. We have a branch in Roanoke. We’d love to have you come and have lunch with us.”
“Why me, Sandra? What would you want me to talk about?”
“Some of your experiences with the interstellars. What you’ve seen. Where you think we should be going.”
“Where in Roanoke?”
“At Carmody’s Restaurant. It would be next Wednesday. We start at noon.”
* * *
THE HAWKS MANAGED to grab the lead just before halftime. Alicia started the third quarter and the game seesawed through the balance of the evening into the final six minutes. But then the Jets, fueled by perfect ball handling and a withering shooting game, took control of the flow. They applied full-court pressure, shut down the Hawks’ offense, and even neutralized their center. When the final buzzer sounded, they led by nine. But Jake was impressed by the level of play on both sides. Especially by the fact that no one on the Christiansburg team showed any inclination to give up. The crowd cheered and yelled and, at the end, stood and applauded both teams.
And Jake left the building realizing he was in love with Alicia. How could you not be with someone who could break down court the way she did?
* * *
THE CARLSON MEMORIAL was scheduled the following day. He flew to Philadelphia, rented a car, and crossed the Delaware into South Jersey. He was early, so he stopped for a snack. An hour later, he pulled up in front of the Veterans Association Hall just off Valentine Avenue in Vineland. It was a squat, gray structure, originally intended as a manufacturing site. But it had been reconfigured for social events. There were about a dozen cars in the parking lot.
A middle-aged couple were loitering at the entrance. The woman appeared to be wiping her eyes. They went inside as Jake climbed out of the automobile.
Just inside the door, a register had been placed on a table. A young woman sat behind it. Jake signed in, and the woman thanked him for coming. A lectern had been set up on the far wall, which was dominated by a flag, with its sixty-three stars. Two sections of folding chairs faced the lectern. Approximately twenty people were present, most already seated. He was surprised to see Clyde Truscott, the Union chaplain, standing off to one side talking with a few people.
Then it was time to start. Quiet, soulful string music seeped into the room. Those who were still standing took their seats. And a man who resembled Carlson got up and advanced to the lectern.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Shockley Carlson, Leon’s father. I’d like to thank you for coming. This is a difficult time for all of us, made especially painful because of the nature of what happened. Anyone who knew Leon knew he would never have deliberately injured anyone. He constantly went out of his way to help other people. During his college years, he was a volunteer at the Vineland animal shelter. He used to joke that if you took care of animals in trouble, you got extra credit at salvation.” He paused and looked up at the flag. “Ironically, it was his sense of humanity and decency that got him into so much trouble.
“I’m not saying that what he did wasn’t wrong. There’s no way I can defend his action. What I am saying is that the Leon I knew, that I suspect we all knew, wasn’t malevolent. What he did was commit a serious error in judgment, a result of desperation brought on by what’s been happening on Selika. He was heartbroken that his actions resulted in the death of Captain Miller, who’d been both a colleague and a friend. He admitted that he’d made a terrible mistake, and he’s paid for it.
“Another friend of his, the Rev. Clyde Truscott, who is the chaplain at the space station, has asked for an opportunity to speak with us. Reverend?”
Truscott was a small man with a big voice. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve lost a good friend, a member of our family, under the worst of circumstances. The one fortunate thing we can be sure of is that, whatever we might believe about an afterlife, we know that Leon is in a better place now than he was a few days ago.”