The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(22)

“Once a program starts, it’s hard to stop.”

He nodded. “And we’re working on the wrong damn problem.”

*

I stood in front of the closet, staring at my meager wardrobe. Every time I reached for a dress, my stomach knotted itself. Everyone would be staring at me. What if I picked the wrong dress? What if my calculations were wrong? It would be better, for Nathaniel, if I stayed home instead of going with him to meet the general.

“Elma? Which tie should I—you’re not dressed?” Nathaniel stopped just inside the door to our room. “We’re supposed to meet General Eisenhower in thirty minutes.” He had a borrowed tie in each hand.

“The blue one. It brings out your eyes.” I shut the door to the closet, and the knot in my stomach immediately loosened.

“Are you okay?” He lowered the ties and came over to feel my forehead.

“Just a little under the weather.” I was having my period, but that wasn’t the problem. I would milk it, though, for all it was worth, if it meant I could avoid this meeting. “But I’ve got the report typed up for you, and you understand the equations as well as I do.”

“That is a serious exaggeration.” He set the green tie down on the desk. “If they have any questions, I’m not sure I’m equipped to answer them.”

They. Of course it would be a crowd. It was one thing to follow Nathaniel into a meeting as support, or to argue with Parker, but get more than six men in a room, and … all the old memories came back. I wiped my palms on my dressing gown, still nervous even though I wouldn’t be going. “The general likely won’t be able to follow the equations anyway. So all you have to do is talk about the conclusions.”

He sighed and looped the tie around the back of his neck. “That’s what I was planning on doing. I wanted you there for the things I couldn’t answer. Like the correlation between steam in the air and increased global temperatures.”

I grabbed one of the reports I’d typed up and flipped through the pages. “That’s on page four, and there’s a graph at the back that shows the rise in temperature over the next fifty years. So—”

“I know.”

“They’ll believe it coming from you. They won’t if I explain it.”

“Please.” He turned from the mirror. “Which of us was a math tutor in college? You’re brilliant at explaining things.”

My husband was a good man. He believed in me. And he also had a huge blind spot, because he didn’t see how people would ignore what I said until he repeated it. “It doesn’t matter. I just don’t feel well. Okay?”

Nathaniel wrapped the tie into a Windsor and snugged the sharp knot up against his collar. “Sorry. I’d just been planning on having you there. But if you don’t feel well, you don’t feel well.”

I shrank a little into my bathrobe. “I just … today’s not a good day.”

“When is? We haven’t had a good day since the meteorite struck.”

“I’m—it’s a feminine—”

“Got it.” He frowned and rubbed his brow. Shaking his head, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Well. This is just a precursor to meeting the president. You’ll be better for that one.”

The problem was that I wouldn’t be better. Meeting the president would be infinitely worse … but at least it wasn’t happening today. And maybe I wouldn’t be needed, or maybe my security clearance wouldn’t be high enough, or something would save me from having to stand in front of a roomful of men.

I’m an intelligent woman. I understood that there was absolutely no danger. I really, truly did.

And yet … and yet, going to high school when you are eleven years old. Being the only girl in a mathematics class. Repeatedly. Going to college at fourteen. Having everyone stare at you because you can do math in your head. Having boys hate you, hate you, because you never get questions wrong in class. Being used as a tool by professor after professor. “Look! Even this little girl knows the answer.”

By the time I left college, I would do anything to avoid speaking in front of a group. I cleared my throat. “Have you met him before?”

“The president, or Eisenhower? I mean, yes, either way, but only briefly.”

“General Eisenhower and Daddy used to golf together.”

“See! This is why I want you there.”

“Because of who my dad is—was? Whatever.” I slapped the report back down on the desk. “I can’t go.”

He sighed again and stared at the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish, because I’m nervous.” Nathaniel walked over and wrapped his arms around me. “Is there anything you need today? Hot water bottle? Chocolate?”

“Empty promises. Where do you think you’ll get chocolate?” With the ports on the East Coast still closed, the grocery store shelves were already getting thin.

“I’ll requisition it from General Eisenhower.”

“On what grounds?”

“That the fate of the world depends on keeping my wife healthy and happy.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m not even sure it’s an exaggeration.”

*

There’s a cascading effect that happens when you lie about not feeling well. I was supposed to go volunteer at the hospital after the meeting with Eisenhower. After Nathaniel left, Myrtle knocked on my door.