Luke silently waved them into the kitchen.
He refilled the kettle. “I had Michael Esdale’s wife, Dorothy, get the kids from school; she’s standing by to come back as soon as Margaret’s ready. I’ve been answering the phone and the door—all neighbors offering help. Word travels fast. Margaret’s held together pretty well. I didn’t tell her any specifics. Just that his helo had crashed, and he didn’t make it.” He got two mugs out of the paneled cupboard, and set a Nescafé freeze-dried coffee jar next to them. “Help yourself.”
JW spooned out the crystals and when the kettle boiled, he poured, handing a mug to Kaz.
“Al doesn’t want to shake up the whole crew,” Kaz said after a small silence. “Chad’s your new commander.”
Luke nodded. “It makes sense. Minimizes the impact on the mission.” He looked bleakly at the two men. “But he ain’t no Tom Hoffman.”
Kaz nodded. “They asked me to take over as CACO so you can get back to training.” He paused. “You okay with that? Do you think Margaret will be?”
Luke shrugged. “When Tom asked me to be CACO, we never thought . . .” His voice broke. He turned away, and took two deep breaths. Then he said, “Right. If we’re still going to the Moon, I’ll need to get back to work. Let’s go tell Margaret.”
The March weather had turned to match the mood of the day, with low gray clouds moving in from the Gulf of Mexico. By dinnertime, it was raining steadily, with occasional downpours as waves of thicker clouds passed overhead. The fat raindrops made a continuous metallic din on the tin roof of the U-Joint, a background hum to the after-work wake that had gathered to honor Tom Hoffman.
The NASA Manned Spacecraft Center was a type of factory. It took in the strange raw materials of human dreams, ingenuity and tenacity, ran them through a labor-intensive assembly line of development, testing and training, and spat out astronauts and their support teams, ready for spaceflight. Regular as clockwork, best in the world.
When an accident happened, the assembly line slammed to a stop. It took internal inspections and tests to get the machinery running again, and while that was happening, the factory workers, with all their skills and creativity, were at loose ends.
The U-Joint’s wet grass parking lot was filled with cars. Inside, there was a natural pecking order: Apollo space fliers sat at the tables, and junior engineers took the standing room out of respect for the astronauts’ willingness to take risks.
The Apollo 18 crew, Chad, Luke and Michael, sat at their own table, the fourth chair empty. The three of them hadn’t paid for any of their drinks; Janie just kept bringing them, all on the house.
Chad leaned towards the other two, elbows on the table, chin on his crossed hands. Despite the horrific circumstances, today was the start of his command, and he and these men were about to do something intensely dangerous and demanding together. He allowed himself a small smile and, attempting the first step towards a new relationship, said, “When did I first meet you two assholes, anyway?”
Michael let himself chuckle. “Pax River. Luke and I were still at Test Pilot School, and you and Tom were the Air Force hotshots who’d just been selected for the MOL program. You’d come to brief our class.”
Luke looked up from the beer rings he’d been contemplating. “I think, to be accurate, we met at the Green Door.” It was the Navy’s equivalent of the U-Joint, a country bar in Southern Maryland, a favorite of the test pilots there. “Quite a legendary night, if I recall.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I remember now.” Chad’s tight smile faded. “Tom was there that night, with us—and he always will be.”
The swinging doors banged open as Kaz and JW came in out of the rain, soaked, stomping their feet.
Chad waved a hand and pointed to the empty spot at the table. JW looked at Kaz questioningly, who by way of answer grabbed a chair off the stack by the jukebox and carried it over his head. Janie spotted them while bringing another round for the table, and stopped to add two whiskies, a beer and a coffee to her tray.
Luke spoke first after they got settled. “How are things with Margaret?”
“About what you’d expect. Dorothy’s with her now.” Kaz sipped his beer, looking around. “A good crowd.”
Chad nodded. “Time to say something.” He pushed his chair back and climbed up onto it, glass in hand. The room quickly hushed, all eyes turning to the lone figure on his chair. Someone turned down the sad song on the jukebox.