All three men stared at me, waiting.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If I could talk to Congress or appear on national television, I could answer these men. “I don’t remember a time when flying wasn’t a part of my life. My father was a pilot. I used to beg him to do barrel rolls when I was little because I loved the way the earth spread out below us and gravity didn’t seem to matter…”
I opened my eyes, but still stared at the polished linoleum floors as I felt my way through my answer. “Space seems … I’m a pilot, you know? Space seems … necessary. Or inevitable. Or…” I spread my hands, struggling to find words I was willing to say to them about how I yearned to go there. “Maybe it was all the science-fiction novels and comic books my dad gave me, but the idea of not going into space seems more impossible than anything else. Even if the Earth weren’t damaged, I’d still want to go.”
Benkoski gave a little grunt, his pencil scratching on a form. Clemons had his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed as if he were holding a cigar.
And Parker was nodding.
God help me, the man who had said he would keep me grounded was nodding as if he understood. Then he shrugged and picked a notebook off the table. “What’s the reliability data on the Atlas booster?”
“Um…” The sudden shift in topic left me a little startled. “Fewer than nine out of ten Atlas launches were successful. That’s why we moved to the Jupiter design.”
Clemons kept his arms crossed over his chest while Benkoski jotted down my response.
“What are the advantages of pressure carburetors over float carburetors?”
“Pressure carburetors are less likely to exhibit carb icing, which can initially lead to the engine running more rich, but will eventually restrict the airflow and cause a complete blockage. And they provide a stable fuel-air ratio under negative-G conditions, such as a rapid dive or inverted flight.” It is astonishing how much more comfortable I am with technical questions than personal ones.
From then on, the interview was almost simple.
When Hershel asked for a hotel recommendation, I sent him to the Aladdin, which is where Nathaniel and I had stayed after the bomb threat. Its lobby had a second-floor balcony with a martini bar. The balcony was supported by black marble pillars, and the gilding on the railings and at the top of the columns gave a pre-Meteor golden-age elegance to the place.
As appealing as the martini bar was, after surviving five days of testing, it was probably not a good plan to drink before meeting Aunt Esther. Maybe after that I would have all the martinis they could make.
We made our way through the lobby and back to the restaurant attached to the rear of the hotel. It was intimate, with pretensions of elegance. When we’d been here before, the food had been solid, if uninspired.
The ma ître d’ glided forward to meet us, menus in hand. “Two this evening?”
Across the room, Hershel leaned out from a booth and waved.
Nathaniel shook his head. “No, thank you. We’re meeting someone.”
He may have said other things, but I was already past him and hurrying between the rows of tables. Hershel had grabbed his crutches and was pushing up to his feet as I got close. He’d brought Tommy with him, and he looked every inch the young man. He wore his dinner jacket from the bar mitzvah and had his hair slicked down with Brylcreem.
Hershel braced himself on one crutch and held out an arm for an embrace. I hugged him, suddenly shy about greeting the poof of white hair I’d passed. He gave me a good solid squeeze and murmured. “You look beat.”
“Good to see you too.” I thumped his back before releasing him and facing my aunt.
She beamed up at me with the strong Wexler stamp from my father’s side of the family. I don’t know why Aunt Esther never married, but she had a sort of kittenish charm, even over ninety. Her white curls had been pinned into place in a style held over from the 1880s. There was powder caught in the wrinkles on her cheeks, but her eyes were as bright as ever.
She held out both hands to me. “Anselma! Let me look at you.”
“Only if I get to look back.” I sank onto the seat beside her, hoping that Tommy would forgive me for not hugging him yet. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Once you hit a certain age, it’s hard to look older.” She reached up to pinch my cheek. “They aren’t feeding you enough at that school of yours.”
“School?” I shot a glance over to Hershel, who was just shaking hands with Nathaniel.
“The tests you were doing.” Hershel put a hand on the back of the booth and lowered himself to sit next to Tommy.
“Oh. That’s not school, really. I’m applying to be an astronaut.”
Tommy perked up at that. “That is just the keenest thing. What was it like? Did you meet Stetson Parker? How do you get tested? And Dad said we’re going to see a rocket launch while we’re here.”
“I’m not sure which question to answer first.”
Aunt Esther had a hand cupped around her ear. “What did he say?”
“He asked how the astronaut testing went.”
She frowned, cocking her head to the side like a bird. “Well, now, that’s what I thought he said. But I have to confess I’m not real clear on what an astronaut is. I keep hearing it on the news, but it just sounds like some sort of story.”
“Um … an astronaut is someone who goes into outer space.”
“Well, that’s the silliest thing I ever heard of. Why would anyone want to do that?”
I’d spent the day trying to explain that to a series of shrinks who seemed determined to ask many of the same questions that Clemons and the gang had. Defending the desire to an aunt I’d just rediscovered lay beyond my abilities. “Let’s just say that I’m sort of applying for a new job.”
She shook her head and said something in Yiddish, but too quickly for me to catch. I’d never really spoken Yiddish, since my parents hadn’t. I used to love listening to Aunt Esther and Grandma and the other aunts kvetch, though. I put my hand on her papery thin one. “Sorry? Can you repeat that in English?”
“Why are you working?” She gave Nathaniel a meaningful look. “Why is your wife working?”
“She likes it, and I try to make sure she has what she likes.” Nathaniel winked at Aunt Esther as he settled on the bench next to Hershel. “You want me to make sure your niece is happy, right?”
“She’s just like her father. And her grandmother.” She pinched my cheek again and I began to see why Tommy was sitting next to his father. I’d forgotten this aspect of Aunt Esther. She was the baby of the aunts, which is a funny term to apply to someone who was over ninety. “I would be dead, were it not for Rose.”
I cleared the tears from my throat. “How did y’all get out?”
She laughed a little and clapped her hands. “We went to church.”
Glancing at Hershel, I raised my eyebrows questioningly, but he shrugged. “Aunt Esther, I thought you said that you drove out of Charleston.”
“Oh … oh. Yes. Later, that’s what we did, but first Rose took us to the church in town—you remember the one with the big steeple? It’s the first time I set foot in a Christian church, but, Rose, she said we had to, and so we climbed all the way up to the top of the bell tower. I’ve never seen so many steps in my life.”
The church with the big steeple … I had no idea which one she was talking about. We’d moved around so much when I was a kid that my knowledge of Charleston was limited to how to get from Grandma’s house to my cousins’, and the synagogue, cemetery, and grocery store. The priorities were clear, at least.
“That’s amazing. And how—”
“Good evening, everyone. Have you had an opportunity to look over the menu?”