David peeked his head in to rescue her. “Antacid is still on the top right of the cabinet.”
“Thanks,” Catherine said sheepishly.
“I knew you were going to be in trouble when you ate that third slice,” he teased. “Nice to see some things haven’t changed.”
“Hey, do you know how long it’s been since I had pizza?” They shared an amused moment, then Catherine made a shooing motion at him. “I’ll be right out.”
The antacid was exactly where David said it would be. In fact, while she couldn’t be entirely certain, everything looked like it was exactly where it used to be. Nothing had changed. Was that weird? Or was it weird that she thought it was weird? It was hard not to read into it, to wonder what it might mean for them if David hadn’t changed in nearly ten years, when she had changed so much. Even if the mission had gone as planned, it still would have altered her. As it was, she felt… new, somehow. As if she’d come out of Sagittarius reborn into someone else’s life, and she wasn’t quite sure where she’d fit into it yet.
Here. She fit in here. Catherine reminded herself of that sternly. She belonged here.
She’d brought her pajamas into the bathroom with her, not quite ready to change clothes in front of anyone else, not even David. She changed into them and brushed her teeth, telling herself that this was what she’d looked forward to, and no matter what happened, she and David would work through it together.
You have to tell him. He has a right to know.
Ava’s voice again.
Not yet, Catherine argued. I don’t want to ruin it.
“Are you going to spend your entire afterlife playing Jiminy Cricket to me?” Catherine muttered ruefully. “I know. I know. Just not… not yet.”
“Cath? You okay?” David’s concerned voice came from the bedroom.
“I’m fine,” Catherine called with excessive cheerfulness. “I’ll be right out.”
David was sitting up in bed, and he put aside the book on his lap when she came in. “You look beautiful.”
Catherine ran a self-conscious hand down her pajamas. They were silk but not revealing, feminine without screaming sex. “I’m a mess.”
“Yes, but you’re my mess.” There was that grin she’d always loved.
They’d met during one of the initial interview rounds for the Sagittarius program, and Catherine had been charmed by the way he never postured or bragged. David had been a dry wit in the middle of the often macho bluster that permeated the astronaut training program—even among some of the women, including her. She’d been all over the place then, twenty-three and a bit of a hell-raiser. All she wanted was to fly, the higher and faster the better. NASA was the ultimate in high and fast. She wound up sitting next to him during one of the introductory lectures, and his quiet asides had her fighting to keep from laughing out loud. They went out to dinner that night, and from the moment they both moved to Houston for Sagittarius, they were an item.
Of the two of them, David was the explorer. Where Catherine just wanted to go, he wanted to go see what was out there, figure out how the universe worked. Catherine thought he was so grown up, even though he was her age. He had everything together, his life mapped out. Somehow, she wound up fitting on his map. They worked, mostly. David calmed her down and gave her more focus, and she got him to let go and unclench a little. Sometimes she wondered if the things that made him stand out to her were what made him invisible to their trainers, if someone above them had interpreted his quiet self-assurance as a lack of ambition or drive.
They’d been wrong. That much she knew. She climbed into her side of the bed, sitting next to David. “Yeah… I am. Every messy bit of me.”
David took one of her hands. “I know we’re going to have to get to know each other again. I’m not going to rush you into anything.”
“I know. I’ve missed you so much. All I could think about was getting home to you and Aimee.”
“Come here.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Catherine made herself relax, lean her head against his shoulder, no matter how awkward it felt. They were quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I’m so sorry, Cath. I know how close you and your crew were.”
No you don’t, not completely.
She sighed, guilt and grief trying to rise up and swallow her again. “I keep thinking about how young Claire and Richie were.”
“Richie.” David snorted softly. “Did he ever take anything seriously?”
“You know, he really did, when it was important. I know you guys didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was brilliant.” Catherine closed her eyes against the ache. “They all were.”
“Ava was one of the best mission commanders I ever saw.” Leave it to David to get to the heart of her grief.
“Sh-she was…” Catherine trailed off, slipping her arms around David’s waist and relaxing into the luxury of giving in to the grief she’d fought for so long. Grief overrode everything, even her awkwardness about touch. How could she have left them? More than that, she couldn’t help wonder how she’d left them. Were they buried? One image that haunted her over and over was that of Ava and her crewmates staring sightlessly up into TRAPPIST-1f’s sky, maybe forever. The alien bacteria there, combined with the lower oxygen levels in the atmosphere, might prevent decomposition from ever taking hold. They’d be staring up into that crowded sky until the winds managed to cover them with alien dust.
The thought made her cry harder.
“Shh. I know, I know.” David stroked her hair and let her cry—something else she’d always appreciated about him. No matter what she was feeling, he gave her room to feel it. He might try to fix it later, but not then. It went on for what felt like forever, but finally she started to run dry, hiccupping in David’s arms.
He kissed her forehead. “You know, Aimee and I met up with Jana and the kids every year on the day we lost contact with you.”
“I should call her,” Catherine sniffled. Ava and Jana had been a lot like Catherine and David, two opposites drawn together into a single whole—Jana was exuberantly social, a bubbly schoolteacher who had a knack for drawing quieter people, including her astronaut wife, into the spotlight.
“She’d love to hear from you, I’m sure.”
“I just— I can’t help thinking that she blames me somehow, that they all do.”
“Hey, hey.” David drew away and looked down at her, his forehead furrowed. “Where did that come from? Why would they blame you?”
“I don’t know.” The words to explain the amorphous guilt sitting in her gut wouldn’t come to her. “Blame is the wrong word, maybe. Resent me. I lived and Jana’s wife didn’t. How can she not hate me a little?”
“Listen to me.” He cupped her chin and made her look him in the eye. “The absolute worst part of this whole ordeal was that we knew we might never find out what happened to you. Director Lindholm got the funding for Sag II in part because he pitched it as the only way we had to investigate. With every other tragedy that’s hit NASA, sooner or later, some investigation gave families the answer: ‘This is why your loved ones died. This is how we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ The Sagittarius I families knew we were never going to have that. There was never going to be any closure at all. You’re our closure. The start of it, anyway.”
“And I can’t remember a damn thing.”
David pulled her back into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “There’s the ship data, and you’ll start to remember, maybe. But you’re home, and honestly, that’s all I care about.” He leaned down and kissed her, and immediately she felt the difference in his kiss. He wasn’t going to rush her, but he wasn’t going to be shy about his interest either.