Atmosphere(27)

As Vanessa’s car picked up speed, Joan’s hair began to float behind her, the wind on her shoulders.

“I used to take Frances there when she wouldn’t fall asleep.”

“How old is she, again?”

“She’s six now,” Joan said. “It was a long time ago. My sister would lose her mind after so many nights not sleeping and so I’d take Frances and just drive. Usually out to Brazos. Most of the time, she’d be asleep by the time we got to the park, but sometimes, she’d still be wide awake, so I’d lay her on a blanket and show her the stars.”

“Raising the next generation of astronauts,” Vanessa said.

“Frances has said she wants to be an astronaut,” Joan said. “I don’t know if she really will, but it’s a nice idea that . . . you know . . .” Joan seized up, very aware of the lump in her throat. It’d snuck up on her.

“Girls today might look at us or the women in Group 8,” Vanessa said. “And know they can do it, too.”

Joan looked at Vanessa as Vanessa watched the road. The wind ran through Vanessa’s hair. Joan had been trying to control hers, holding it back. But Vanessa just let it fly. Joan put her hands down, let hers go.

“I mean, pretty soon, they are going to put a woman in space,” Vanessa said.

“Have you heard anything about who they might choose?”

“No,” Vanessa said. “You know how they are about that stuff. It’s like we’re not even supposed to admit we’re curious.”

The first American woman in space would be one of the women from Group 8, the first round that Joan had applied to, when she hadn’t been called back. She was grateful for it, in hindsight. Being the very first would have been so much to hold on her shoulders.

As they got onto the highway, the wind was too loud for either of them to say anything and so Joan closed her eyes and felt the air run over her.

“This is far,” Vanessa said once they took the exit and the wind quieted down.

“I know,” Joan said. “But trust me. It’s worth it.”

Vanessa kept her eyes on the road. “Donna and Hank are fucking, right?”

Joan’s shoulders came up to her ears. “I think they are sleeping together, yes. But I don’t care for that word.”

Vanessa laughed. “You’re a little bit of a prude.”

“No, I’m not,” Joan said, in a tone that she knew undercut her point.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Vanessa asked.

Joan tried to think of something, but her mind was blank. “I mean, when I was six years old, I stole a pack of cards from the five-and-dime.” She could already tell it was a dud. “Forget that one—I ended up returning them anyway.”

Vanessa smiled. “Okay, you can try again.”

“I let kids in high school cheat off my tests for about two months before I lost my patience and told them all to study on their own.”

“And which is the bad part? Cheating or eventually telling them no?”

Joan laughed. “Cheating! Obviously.”

Vanessa shook her head. “Sorry, try again. I’m asking you to look deep down in the ugly parts of your soul, Jo. Come on, now. What’s the thing you’re the most ashamed of having done?”

“I assume you’re going to answer, too?”

“Of course. I’ll go first if you want. I’ve got loads to choose from.”

“No, no, I’ll think of something.”

Joan was not sure why she was so willing. “Oh,” she said finally.

“You got it?”

“I . . . yes. I have the thing I regret the most,” Joan said. “I’m not sure how terrible you’ll find it. But I do.”

“I’m ready.”

“When my sister was seventeen, I was home from college, and I heard her sneak out her window to go see some boy. I woke up my parents and told them. They pulled her back in the house and she was grounded for months.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“She’d gotten pregnant the year before. She’d miscarried early, before she’d even figured out she was pregnant. She never told our parents. I was worried it would happen again, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Vanessa thought this over. “There were better ways to go about it, maybe. But I don’t know . . .”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Oh, well then, by all means . . .”

“When my sister came to my room the next morning complaining about being grounded, I pretended I knew nothing about it. I told her Dad must have heard her climbing out the window.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrow and bit her lip. “Why not tell the truth?”

“Barbara is . . . very delicate. If you so much as look at her the wrong way, she might just say the worst things you can think of. And mean each and every one of them. We all just tiptoe around her. We always have. I am not . . . I am not honest with her. Maybe ever. I don’t even know what that would look like. And I hate it about myself.”

Vanessa put her hand on Joan’s shoulder.

“Forget I said that. You go,” Joan said.

Vanessa stopped at the red light. “Wait, I feel like there is a lot to discuss there.”