The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(39)

“Speaking of flying…” Eugene said.

Myrtle nudged his foot. “Let her bowl. I want to see the fireworks.”

“We’ll get you out in time to enjoy the Fourth.” Eugene shook his head and pointed his beer toward the lane. “And I’ll wait till after Elma’s turn for my question.”

“I’ll be fascinated to see where this segue takes us.” The Fourth was what had made me suggest bowling. After the Meteor, I found fire raining from the sky considerably less appealing. I turned back to the lane, where the pinboy had cleared the last of the pins and was safely perched on his high stool. He had a comic out, and even from here I could recognize Superman’s distinctive red-and-blue costume.

But, back to bowling … To knock down both pins, I’d have to strike one at just the right angle to cause it to fly across and hit the other. I could see the trajectory. Give me a piece of paper and I could describe it for you with mathematical precision. I swung the ball back, its weight tugging on my arm like additional G-force, then brought the pendulum forward, aiming at the pin on the right. The ball released, and, for a brief instant, arced weightless through the air, before thudding against the smooth poplar floor. It rumbled down the lane and I stood there, arm outstretched, as if I could will it to hit the pins correctly.

It brushed the pin on the right, which wobbled, and then tipped to land spinning on the floor. The other pin stayed perfectly upright.

A commiserating groan rose from our little group. Laughing, I turned back and curtsied.

“Next time!” Nathaniel patted me on the shoulder as he took his place on the lane.

Myrtle laughed. “Next time … I keep waiting for them to throw us out this time.”

“My bowling isn’t that bad.”

Eugene and Myrtle exchanged a look like I had just said something adorable. And then, belatedly, my brain caught up with my mouth. The “us” Myrtle meant wasn’t our bowling party, but Eugene and her.

Before the Meteor, they wouldn’t have been allowed in at all. This place would have been filled with white people, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Now, with Kansas City being the capital, Myrtle and Eugene weren’t the only brown people in here. They were still outnumbered, but at least no one was glaring at us.

Embarrassed that I hadn’t noticed the imbalance until she pointed it out, I marked my score down on the sheet and dropped onto the bench next to Eugene. He handed me my beer and raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s this I hear about an air show?”

“I don’t know if it’s going to happen.” The beer was cold and had a bright acidity. “The idea was to prove that women pilots have the ability to be astronauts.”

“But…?”

Nathaniel’s bowling ball careened down the lane and slammed into the pins, throwing them clear in a beautiful strike.

“Yes!” I lifted my beer to my husband’s success. “But we only have leisure craft. The more I think about it, the more I realize that no matter how good the show is, it won’t look as flashy as a show with military planes.”

“That’s a pity. Pilots would know it was a feat, but the general public looks at the trappings.” Eugene shook his head as he stood for his turn. He clapped Nathaniel on the back. “Good job, York.”

Nathaniel picked up his beer and leaned against the back of the bench. “The air show?”

“Yeah.”

Myrtle peered over her glasses at him. “You make your wife follow through on that. It’s a fine idea.”

Nathaniel held up his hands, and laughed. “You have a very different idea of our marriage than I do. I don’t make Elma do anything.”

The pins cracked and bounced, but Eugene had left one standing. “I don’t know why she thinks any husband can make his wife do anything. Never worked with us.”

“You hush.” Myrtle threw a wadded-up napkin at his back.

Laughing, Eugene waited for the pinboy to clear the pins and roll his ball back to him. “So you need Mustangs.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I sighed and took a deep sip of my beer. I hadn’t flown a Mustang since the war, but they had been, by far, my favorite of the planes we had to ferry. Swift, agile, and a beautifully responsive machine. It might not be the highest tech these days, but it had been glorious back then.

Eugene’s next bowl knocked that pesky pin down. He let out a hoot and pumped his fist. “Now who’s cooking with gas!”

Myrtle rolled her eyes and stood. “He loses his train of thought so easily.”

Giving her a peck on the cheek as they traded places, Eugene grinned. “Do not.” He leaned down to pick up his beer. “How does six Mustangs sound?”

I stopped with my beer in midair. “Six? Six Mustangs? Where—?”

Eugene grinned. “My airclub has six of them.”

My jaw literally dropped. “Are you serious? I’ve called all the—no. Wait.” I pinched my nose. “Someday, I swear to God, I will learn this. I called all the white airclubs.”

“ Ha! Take that!” Myrtle jumped in the air. All of her pins had scattered in a strike. She spun around. “And none of you saw that, did you?”

I shrugged. “Six Mustangs.”

Myrtle exchanged a look with Nathaniel and shook her head slowly. “Pilots.”