It was plain that the Director had decided that he had heard enough of wifely hysteria. “But now they’re back on the shuttle and they will be back down here just as soon as we can manage it,” he said briskly. He gestured to Sherman Reese urging him forward. “Mr. Reese here will stay with you until we can take you to your husbands.” He changed to a more human pitch. “I’ve worked closely with both Spencer and Alex, and I know they are both strong and courageous men. I’m sure they are going to be fine. I give you my word.”
With that, the Director turned and with a nod to Reese, as if handing the two women officially to his command, left the room. There was a sense that the Director was glad that the interview was over and done with. He had more important things to do.
Natalie and Jillian did not care if the Director had stayed and held their hands. NASA, the space program—none of these weighty matters were of the slightest significance to them now.
“They were all alone out there, Jill,” said Natalie tearfully. “They could have been lost forever.”
Jillian put her arms around Natalie and held her close. “It will be fine, Natalie. We have to believe that. That’s all we can do. Get them back down and get them home. Then everything will be all right. Understand, Natalie?”
Natalie Streck did her best to nod and smile, as if she really believed what her friend had said. She pushed her face hard against Jillian’s shoulder, burrowing for comfort.
Sherman Reese pointed to the television monitor mounted on the wall above them. “This monitor will show the view from the shuffle as they land. Would you like me to get the link up? You’ll be able to see the whole thing from here.”
Neither Natalie nor Jillian heard him; they had traveled too far into their own grief to care what anyone said to them. There was a very long silence as Reese waited for an answer, for a set of instructions—anything—from the two women. But nothing came—and nothing was going to come from either of them.
“I’ll get the link up,” said Reese, as if to himself. He got busy doing whatever it was he had to do.
Natalie and Jillian paid no attention. As with the Director, they didn’t care about Sherman Reese, either.
4
The space shuttle Victory flew noiselessly though the sky, dropping thousands of feet in a matter of seconds until it was over the lush green landscape of Florida.
Jillian watched the vehicle intently while listening to the dispassionate voice of the pilot of the Victory reporting from the flight deck of the spacecraft. He was a man that Jillian did not know well and she would not normally have recognized his voice. “Thirty feet at 235 knots. Twenty at 225… ten feet at 220. Eight at 215… five feet at 210 knots… almost down now… two feet at 200. One foot. Zero. Ground Control, this is Victory, we are down.”
From somewhere in the building Jillian could hear the sounds of cheers and applause. The pilot, however, was not celebrating—not yet. He still had a very large vehicle traveling at a very great rate of speed to slow down and bring to a stop.
“One hundred and fifty knots,” he intoned. “One hundred knots. Eighty knots. Sixty-five knots, 30, 15, 10 knots… We are stopped. Ground Control, this is Victory. The voice seemed to lighten slightly. “This is Victory, come and get us.”
Almost as the words were broadcast a cavalcade of emergency vehicles raced out onto the tarmac strip of the runway, the red and blue lights on their roofs bright and sharp, glancing off the gray of the dawn. There were two ambulances, one each for the injured men, as well as a phalanx of other trucks that Jillian could not identify.
A feed from a news reporter came out of the monitor, as a bulletin was made to network headquarters in New York City.
.“…unprecedented actions on the part of NASA to take care of its own. The Victory was just a few hundred thousand miles into a three-million-mile mission when the accident occurred and the decision was made almost instantly to cut the mission by eighty percent to bring the injured men home. You have just seen a rare dawn landing of a space shuttle. NASA and the two injured astronauts were lucky that there was a weather window open so soon. It’s something of a miracle…”
Jillian’s only idea of a miracle had nothing to do with weather windows. The miracle was that her husband had been hurt far out in space and now he was on earth again. Now she wanted to see him, to see for herself just how miraculous this had all been.
The reporter continued. “The two astronauts, Armacost and Streck will be medivaced to a hospital facility here on the base…” The hospital was as calm and as white as the conference room and the same fluorescent hum seemed to have followed Jillian here like a fly she could not get rid of.
Jillian stood at one end of the corridor with the doctor taking care of her husband. At the far end of the corridor stood Natalie Streck with the doctor who was overseeing treatment of Alex. Between the two, in the middle of the corridor, still feeling like a fish out of water, stood Sherman Reese.
Jillian hung on the doctor’s every word. He was young and seemed competent—plus he was reporting nothing but good news. Her spirits rose with every word.
“He’s breathing on his own,” the doctor said. “His vital functions are good and strong. As far as we can tell, there has been no brain damage. It should only be a matter of time before your husband regains consciousness.”
Jillian nodded, and then looked down the corridor to Natalie. Her doctor had his hand on her shoulder, and Jillian could tell that the news she was getting was not so good.
“What about Alex?” Jillian asked.
The doctor sighed and looked uncomfortable. “Captain Streck is an older man than your husband. There was a tremendous strain put on his heart ”
Jillian looked down the hail again and caught Natalie looking back at her, but her eyes were blank with grief. She had been awake all night, she had been put through an emotional wringer, but nothing would stop her from sitting at Spencer’s bedside, a vigil she knew she had to keep.
Spencer lay inert in his bed, an intravenous tube plugged into the crook of his arm, the monotonous drip the only movement in the room. She fought the fatigue as best she could, but gradually her eyes began to close. The narcotic effects of stress and relief flooded into her body and despite her resolve she felt herself giving into sleep. But the instant her eyes closed, she heard a whisper. For a moment, she wondered if she had dreamed it, then she heard it again.
“Jillian?”
Instantly, Jillian’s eyes opened wide.
“Jillian?” Spencer sounded unsure of himself, as if not quite certain of her name.
Jillian stood up and went to the bed, leaning over the bed, looking into Spencer’s eyes. He looked’ back, gazing into her eyes, as if reacquainting himself with her perfect features.
Spencer smiled slightly. “I told you…” he said groggily. “I told you I’d call.”
A great wave of happiness washed through her and she laughed and cried at the same time and threw her arms around him. “Never,” she gasped through her tears, “never leave me again.”
Spencer nodded against the pillow. “I promise,” he said with a little smile.
“Never, Spencer,” she said, her voice almost stern. “Do you hear me?”
“I promise,” he said, trying to raise an arm, as if swearing an oath. “I promise, Jillian. I will never leave you again.”
Their faces were close and he raised his head and kissed her, first on the lips and then on the warm corner of her neck, as if learning her contours again, tasting her, savoring the smoothness and smell of her skin. His lips felt electric on her skin.