Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid
To Paul Dye, the longest-serving flight director at NASA and author of Shuttle, Houston.
Paul, I can see how you guided many a crew home safely. This book would not exist without you.
Dear Reader,
One night, last summer, after my daughter had gotten in bed, I walked outside, looked up at the night sky, and saw Venus in the distance.
It was brighter than any star, hanging low just above the trees. My daughter and I had been trying to spot Venus for a few days now. I knew that I should let her fall asleep, but instead, I snuck up to her room, opened the door, and whispered, “Come outside.”
When we got to the backyard, I picked her up. She’s far too big to be held anymore, but she still lets me do it when she’s sleepy. I pointed toward Venus in front of us.
“There it is!” she said. “I see it.” And, for a few moments, I held her in my arms as the two of us stared up at the night sky, filled with awe.
Before writing this novel, I could barely recognize the Big Dipper. But I wanted to make my main character, Joan, a passionate, excitable astronomer. So I downloaded an app, picked up some books, and began studying the stars. What started as my attempt to create an interesting backdrop for a love story became the beginning of me understanding my place in the world.
You see, once you start observing the night sky, you begin to orient yourself in time and space. You learn, for instance, that in the Northern Hemisphere, if you can spot Orion’s belt, it’s winter. You can learn to get a general idea of what time it is by where the constellation Cassiopeia is in relation to the star Polaris. My favorite thing I learned? If you can spot the stars Altair, Deneb, and Vega during the summer, you will see that they form a triangle. And that triangle always points south. If you are ever lost, you can find those three and know which way to go.
Something about that always seems to cure whatever ails me when my daughter and I walk out into the night. I know some of it is simply the joy of spending time with her and perhaps the thrill of new knowledge. But I think it is also the relief I feel that those stars are immovable.
Nothing you or I could do will ever alter them. They are so much bigger than us. And they will not change within our lifetime. We can succeed or fail, get it right or get it wrong, love and lose the ones we love, and still the Summer Triangle will point south. And in that way, I know everything will be some type of okay—as impossible as that can seem sometimes.
I hope, very much, that you enjoy this story. But I hope, even more, that Joan Goodwin can convince you to go outside tonight, after the stars have come out, and look up. I hope, with all my heart, Joan can convince you to be open to wonder.
—Taylor Jenkins Reid
Contents
Ebook Information
By Taylor Jenkins Reid
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author’s Letter
December 29, 1984
Seven Years Earlier
Summer 1980
December 29, 1984
Fall 1980
Spring 1981
June 1981
July 1981
December 29, 1984
August 1981
Fall 1981
Winter 1982
Summer 1982
Summer 1983
Fall 1983
Spring and Summer 1984
Fall 1984
The Day Before: Thanksgiving 1984
December 29, 1984
Acknowledgments
Further Reading
About the Author
December 29, 1984
Joan Goodwin gets to the Johnson Space Center well before nine, and Houston is already airless and muggy. Joan can feel the sweat collecting along her hairline as she walks across the campus to the Mission Control building. She knows it’s the heat. But she also knows that’s not all it is.
Her job today is one of her favorite parts of being an astronaut. She is CAPCOM on the Orion Flight Team for STS-LR9, the third flight of the shuttle Navigator.
The role of CAPCOM—the only person in Mission Control who speaks directly to the crew on the shuttle—is one of many that astronauts fill when they aren’t on a mission.
This is something Joan often has to explain to people at the rare party she agrees to go to. That astronauts train to go up into space, yes. But they also help design the tools and experiments, test out food, prep the shuttle, educate students on what NASA can do, advocate for space travel in Washington, talk to the press, and more. It’s an exhausting list.
Being an astronaut is not just about getting up there. It is about being a member of the team that gets the crew up there.
Plus, Joan has already been. She has, in her nightstand at home, that elusive talisman that every astronaut aches for: the gold pin. Evidence that she was one of the chosen few humans who have ever left this planet.
She has seen the spectacular shimmering blue of the seven oceans from two hundred miles away. Cerulean? Cobalt? Ultramarine? There was no shade vivid enough that she could name. Ninety-nine point nine percent of human beings who have ever lived have never seen that blue. And she has.
But now she is home, both feet on solid ground, and she has a job to do.
So when Joan walks into the Mission Control building that morning with a black coffee in her hand, she is at ease. She is not anxious or terrified or heartbroken.
All of that will come later.