And because it is Friday, she replies, yes, dear. And she rises to her feet, puts his plate and cup, and her own cup, in the sink to be washed later, follows him into the hallway, where she slides on her sunglasses, picks up her purse, and tock-tock-tocks out of the house and into the carport, and waits deferentially while Walden locks up behind her. Once he has slid behind the steering-wheel, she joins him in the car and sits there waiting compliantly as he gives the ignition key a quick, confident twist.
It’s the first day of April, the temperature is in the low seventies and the sun beats down on the blacktop, causing it to shimmer and flex ahead of the car as Ginny drives the thirty miles to Lancaster, her foot heavy on the throttle. Tucked away somewhere in her purse is a shopping list of groceries, but as well as the Alpha Beta Market she also needs to visit Sears to buy herself some more clothes. She and Walden argued a couple of evenings ago—he came home angry after some incident on the flight line, he wouldn’t say what. She had spent the day writing, he asked in a cold hard voice why she has to dress like a hippy, which only demonstrated to her he has no idea what a hippy looks like, but the remark sparked a fight… And now she must, as she has reluctantly promised, dress more often like the other wives, in skirts and dresses. She is already thinking how she might use the incident in a story, perhaps something about how wives disguise their true nature by presenting themselves according to their menfolk’s wishes and expectations, using all the tricks and tools at their disposaclass="underline" makeup, foundation garments, skirts and heels and the like; maybe, she thinks, the wives could be alien creatures, forced into their spousal roles in order to survive…
There are certainly days when Ginny feels like an alien creature—or rather, days when she feels she has more in common temperamentally with some invented alien being than she does her husband of seven years. Walden is not a complicated man, but there are times when she cannot understand what is going through his head. She knows some of it is a result of a peculiar kind of blindness—he pretends not to see her science fiction, and has done for so long now he probably can’t actually see it. His mind filters out anything not of his masculine world. If Ginny leaves out a magazine, a copy of Redbook, perhaps, or Ladies Home Journal, brought round by one of the other wives, Walden says nothing but behaves as if it exists in a blind spot in his vision. When Ginny leaves pantyhose to dry in the bathroom, he complains of her “mess” but cannot say what the mess is. And should Ginny lose something, a lipstick, an earring, he will happily look for it but he will never find it, she has to do that herself, and she often discovers it in a place where Walden has already searched.
She twists the steering-wheel and directs the Impala into the Alpha Beta Market’s parking lot, causing it to wallow queasily as it bounces over the edge of the road. She finds a parking space quickly and slots the car into it. After slipping her nyloned feet from the flats she wears for driving into her high-heeled pumps, she exits the Impala; and, as she leans in to pick up her purse, she hears her name called. Surprised, she turns about and there’s a figure across the lot waving at her. It’s another woman, another wife, blonde hair, sky blue A-line summer dress, tanned arms. And it’s a moment before Ginny recognises Mary, wife of Captain Joe H Engle, whom she doesn’t know all that well as Mary’s husband is a pilot on the X-15 program and Walden is still sensitive on the topic. But the four of them have spoken on occasion in the Officers Club on the base, so if they’re not friends then they’re certainly acquaintances.
The two women meet up at the entrance to the supermarket and it’s clear Mary has something she wants to talk about, although it’s not easy to read her expression due to the large sunglasses she is wearing.
Joe tells me, she says earnestly, Wal is doing the tests to be an astronaut?
He is, Ginny confirms. Joe too?
They walk into the store side by side, through the sliding doors and into its air-conditioned interior.
You think Wal has a chance? asks Mary.
He thinks so, Ginny says.
When do you think they’ll be told?
Ginny pulls a shopping cart from the line and drops her purse into it. I don’t know, she says. Soon, I hope. I’m not sure I can put up with Walden like this for much longer.
She smiles to take the sting from her words, but the memory of the fight with Walden still burns.
Oh I know, says Mary. Joe’s the same, he’s not good with all the waiting, you’d think he’d be used to that being a test pilot, wouldn’t you?
Joe already has an astronaut pin, hasn’t he? Flying the X-15?
The what? Oh I don’t know, I guess.
Mary pushes her shopping cart alongside Ginny’s and the two make their way, heels clattering, cart wheels squeaking, along the aisle in formation. As they pick items from the shelves and freezers, they discuss what selection by NASA might mean, both for their husbands and for themselves. It’s something Ginny, who has only really thought about the technology of space exploration, the launch vehicles and spacecraft, the science and engineering, has not considered. She has a book she has been reading, hidden in her underwear drawer where Walden will never find it: Americans into Orbit by Gene Gurney, “The Story of Project Mercury”. One day, she hopes, Walden will be in such a book. The issues raised by Mary are ones that have not occurred to Ginny: not only moving to Houston and finding somewhere to live, but being in the public eye, she’s seen the interviews in Life magazine, she’s seen the astronauts and their wives on television, she knows several of them have been invited to the White House and met the president, and there were ticker tape parades in New York for some of the Mercury Seven. Ginny wonders if she wants that—not that she will have any say in the matter if Walden is selected.
If they ask him, he will accept—and nothing she can do will prevent him.
The telephone rings but before Ginny can get to her feet, Walden is up and striding into the hallway. She hears him answer, and then it is a succession of yes sir, of course sir, I would be honoured sir, yes sir, I’ll be there sir, yes sir. Someone from the base, she decides; and returns to her book. Moments later, Walden marches into the lounge and he is grinning fit to break his jaw.
That, he says, was Deke Slayton.
Ginny recognises the name. He is one of the Mercury Seven, although he never flew since he was diagnosed with a heart murmur. She remembers his headshot from page 89 of Americans into Orbit.
From astronaut selection at NASA, Walden adds.
She doesn’t need to ask, she can tell from Walden’s expression.
I report in four weeks, he tells her.
You’re going to be an astronaut, she says; and she doesn’t quite believe it. She puts down her book. An astronaut, she says again in wonder.
He crosses to her, bends forward, grips her about the upper arms and hauls her to her feet. I am! he crows. I’m going into space!
He wraps her in a tight hug and she can feel the righteousness beating off him like waves of heat. She can also feel where his fingers wrapped her arms and pressed hard enough to bruise.