Atmosphere(31)

Joan blushed and looked at her hands.

“But that wasn’t it,” Vanessa said. “I think flying that plane, glancing at the ground below me, watching the horizon ahead . . . it was the first time I remember feeling . . . peace.”

Vanessa relaxed back on the blanket, her hair spread all around her, and looked up at the stars. Joan, after a moment, joined her.

“That’s Cygnus, right?” Vanessa said.

Joan moved closer, following her finger as she pointed to the sky. “Yeah, very good.”

“I only know it because of Deneb,” Vanessa said.

“Still, it’s harder to spot when there are so many stars in the sky, like tonight. Easier in the city,” Joan said. “There are a lot of stories about it, but my favorite is that Orpheus was transformed into a swan after he was murdered and placed next to his lyre, which is Lyra, right next to Cygnus.”

“I’m going to guess he was placed there by Zeus,” Vanessa said.

Joan laughed. “You know, I’m not sure. It could have been Apollo. But, yeah, I mean, for much of recorded history, humans have looked at the stars and believed there are gods up there.”

Joan did not believe there were gods up there, but she did believe that God was there. Was everywhere. The wonder of the night sky was as good a place to connect with it as the smell of a grapefruit or the warmth of a pocket of sun.

“Of course we look for the gods there,” Vanessa said. “And if we make it up there, we’re going to have to fight against that sneaking suspicion that we might just be gods ourselves.”

If Joan could have been pressed harder into the Earth, if gravity was variable, this would have flattened her.

Did Vanessa know that, on some level, Joan could not resist the idea that to go up there would be to touch God? That Joan could not help but wonder if, among the stars, there would be answers to questions no human had yet found?

It seemed so clear to Joan, as crazy as it might be, that the meaning of life had to be up there, somewhere.



Joan had rescheduled Frances’s sleepovers the past few weeks because, for a short period of time during the training, all of the ASCANs had to hop into a fleet of T-38s and travel all over the United States, visiting NASA centers and contractors.

They visited the Kennedy Space Center to see the launchpads and Boeing to tour the facility and boost morale. They went to the Goddard Space Flight Center and Edwards Air Force Base. Soon they would tour Marshall, to check out the development of the shuttle rockets and payloads.

Joan began to see firsthand what being in the astronaut corps, even as candidates, meant in the eyes of the public. They gave talks at schools all over Houston and were met by reporters as they stepped off the bus. Every person they came in contact with seemed to stand a little straighter in their presence and regarded them with a respect that Joan had never received before. Most people’s smiles were a little more intense, when Joan shook their hand, than she had expected. It wasn’t personal. It was the aura of being an astronaut. It was the promise she held. That one day, anyone who shook her hand might be able to say with pride, “I met her.”

After a while, Joan started standing a little straighter, too.


This Friday night, Joan handed Frances a magnet from Washington, D.C., where she had gone with the ASCANs and some astronauts to meet lawmakers at a state dinner. Joan had not said much at the event. She let some less reserved members of the group take center stage. But she was surprised to see just how easy it was for Lydia to step into the spotlight. Joan watched as she explained the mechanics of the space shuttle to a senator with such focus and verve that Joan realized Lydia could be a very good instructor one day, long after her astronaut career was over.

“I also got you a replica of the Apollo LEM, but it shattered in my bag on the way back,” Joan told Frances.

“You skipped two Fridays in a row,” Barbara said. “We miss you.”

“I missed you, too. But I will be here for the next few weeks, all right? So no one needs to worry about me being away for a little while.”

Frances ate her Chinese food. “And I can come over every week again?”

“If she can find time in her very busy schedule,” Barbara said.

Joan tried to catch her eye, but Barbara wasn’t looking at her.

“Okay,” Frances said.

Frances never pushed Joan, never tried to make her feel guilty. Joan was not sure if that was because Frances was nothing like Barbara, or if she just hadn’t figured out the power she held yet. But there was something about Frances that made Joan believe she was better—held more goodness—than anyone she had ever met. That kind of faith was a lot to put on a six-year-old girl. Joan tried to keep it in check. To be ready to accept all the ways that Frances would grow and change and blossom into her full imperfection.

Joan would love her no matter what. Even if she grew up to be exactly like Barbara. Joan would love her then, too. Without hesitation. Whether she had to work at it or not, she would do it forever.

“We learned about gravity in school,” Frances said. “My teacher said that astronauts float, and I told her she was wrong. I said, ‘My aunt is an astronaut, and she doesn’t float.’ ”

“Frances, that’s not—” Barbara started.

Joan looked at Frances. “You’re right, I don’t. But if I go up into space, I will.”