Atmosphere(104)

Joan’s legs buckle underneath her. She falls to her desk, the ground underneath her disappearing. She cannot hold her own weight. She can feel her heart begin to implode.

But then, in a shock, Joan feels the most perfect peace overtake her.

What a gift. To have known Vanessa, and to have loved her.

The way the universe had developed—the way God itself unfolded—was that Vanessa had been here for thirty-seven years.

But Joan had been given four of them.

She had been given so much of Vanessa when so few ever understood her at all. She had been given that face to sketch for the rest of her life. To spend her days trying and failing to capture her hair.

In this one moment of brilliant clarity—a clarity Joan knows she will lose her grasp on within seconds, and have to fight like hell for years to come back to—Joan understands that God gave her something spectacular. A love, and a life, beyond the confines of her imagination.

Small, slight, unimportant Joan. Just one person of five billion, on a small planet orbiting a small star, in a humble galaxy, one of billions of galaxies. Joan is so insignificant and yet, look what God had given her. Look at all that God had given her. Look at what no one will ever be able to take away.

Vanessa has gone into the ether.

And it will make Joan even more eager to take each breath.

What a world.

Joan hears a crackle in her headset. She lunges forward.

She watches Jack turn his gaze to the screens. All at once, they begin to update.

“—ston, this is Navigator. Do you read?”

The air rushes into Joan’s lungs. “Vanessa? Vanessa, are you there?”

And then Vanessa’s voice comes through, loud and clear.

“Houston, this is Navigator. Lydia Danes is alive. I’m about to land at Edwards.”

The entire room erupts into such loud cheering that Joan jumps.

“Navigator,” Joan says. “We read you.”

Vanessa lets out a wild sigh, sharp and whistling.

“Hi,” Vanessa says.

Joan takes a breath. “Hi.” She closes her eyes and smiles.

Maybe they had not asked for too much. Maybe they would get everything they wanted.


Acknowledgments


For the past few years, I’ve been joking with my family that I should dedicate this book to “artistic license.” It was incredibly challenging to get close to historically accurate in order to create Joan and Vanessa’s world. So much of my growth as a writer was in accepting that my work cannot and will never be flawless. I am flawed; my scope of understanding the world is limited. And thus, so is this book. But, with any luck, within the flaws there is something that can mean something to somebody.

What technical accuracy this story has is thanks to the books I’ve read—a selected list of which follows these acknowledgments—and to the people who agreed to help a stranger with a crazy idea.

Paul Dye, it speaks to what a generous person you are that you took so much time guiding me through the details of life on the space shuttle and in Mission Control. I have learned so much from you throughout this process, not only about how to create a monumental life-threatening disaster in space but also the way the people at NASA approach the world. Thank you.

Jeffrey Kluger, I am so grateful for your time. A large part of Joan’s love for space travel was formed that day we spoke about the value of exploration. Corey Powell and Mike Massimino, thank you so much for your help with the science and day-to-day details.

Kari Erickson, I am exceedingly grateful for your expertise at every step of the way in crafting this book. It is better because of you.

Jennifer Hershey, you have changed my life and changed me as a writer. Your support, not only in helping to get this book into shape but also in understanding me and what I’ve needed, has made all the difference. Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Jennifer Garza, Emily Isayeff, Taylor Noel, Wendy Wong, Bonnie Thompson, Robert Siek, Susan Turner, Angela McNally, and the incredible team at Ballantine, thank you for everything you do. I am exceedingly lucky to get to work with such talented, passionate people.

Theresa Park and Celeste Fine, there is a fierceness to both of you that I admire greatly. Thank you for always being the steady hands that have never steered me wrong. To Andrea Mai, Emily Sweet, Abigail Koons, Ben Kaslow-Zieve, Kathryn Toolan, John Maas, Charlotte Sunderland, and Haley Garrison, I get excited every single time I get to see you—and you all know how much I hate leaving the house, so that is saying a lot.

Brad Mendelsohn, you endure so much complaining from me! And you make it seem as if you don’t mind it at all. Thank you for everything you do to realize my wild visions. Sylvie Rabineau and Stuart Rosenthal, I am so fortunate to have you both, and I never take that privilege for granted. Stephen Fertelmes and Michael Geiser, thank you for understanding what I need, as unorthodox as it may be sometimes. This team is an incredible one.

Julian Alexander, Venetia Butterfield, Ailah Ahmed, and the incredible teams at Soho Agency UK and Hutchinson, I am so lucky to be repped and published by such a sincere and passionate team in the UK. To Leo Teti, Joaquín Sabaté, and the team at Umbriel (hi, Facu!), your dedication to my work means the world to me.

To my brother, Jake Jenkins, who never lets me say a bad thing about myself without staunchly defending me, thank you. I hope one day I’m as good of a writer as you see me as.

To Rose Reid and Sally Hanes, thank you for everything you do for Alex, Lilah, and me. You so often make it so that I have the time I need to write. And you have listened so much these past few years as I’ve figured things out.