The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(45)

Basira looked up at me from across our shared desk. “Everything okay?”

I shrugged to hide my concern. “Let you know in a minute.”

Was hurricane season about to get really bad? Had one of the kids been injured? Was it his wife? Or, God—what if Doris was calling because something had happened to Hershel? Polio could reoccur. What if he’d fallen and hurt himself?

Wiping my mouth, I followed Mrs. Rogers to her office. She gestured me inside, where the phone lay off its hook on the desk. She stopped at the door. “I’ll give you some privacy, but try not to take too long, hm?”

“Of course.” I went in and only belatedly remembered to say, “Thank you.”

Taking a breath, I wiped my palms on my skirt before I picked up the phone. “Elma York here.”

A masculine voice—someone I didn’t know—answered. “Sorry to bother you at work. This is Don Herbert.”

Don Herbert? The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. In the absence of any other clues, I fell back on my mother’s training. “How do you do?”

He chuckled, which I prayed meant it wasn’t something terrible. “Well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Fine, thank you.” I fiddled with the phone cord and waited.

“I don’t expect you to remember me, but we met during the war a couple of times. You ferried a couple of bomber planes to me when I was with the 767th Bomb Squadron in Italy.”

“Oh! Captain Herbert. Yes. Yes, I do remember you.” What he hadn’t mentioned in the “we met” statement was that he’d called down some fighter pilots who were making catcalls at me and my copilot. Whatever this was, it wasn’t about my brother, so I let myself sit down. “What can I do for you?”

“Well … funny thing. I had a bit of a career change after the war, and I saw the newspaper article about you and that spin you pulled out of and the whole thing about astronauts and … Have you heard of the show Watch Mr. Wizard?”

“I—” That was not at all where I thought this conversation was going. For a moment, I’d thought he was going to invite me to be an astronaut, even though I knew that invitation would have to come from Director Clemons. “Yes. Yes, I have. My niece is very fond of it, although I have to admit I’ve not seen it myself.”

“That’s all right.”

“It’s just that we don’t have a television.”

He laughed. “It’s all right. Really. It’s just me doing the kind of science that you’re so far beyond it would bore you to tears.”

“Wait. You’re Mr. Wizard?”

“Told you I had a career change.” His laugh hadn’t changed, and I suddenly wished that I had watched the show so I knew what he looked like now. “The thing is, my producer’s daughter saw the clip on television of you pulling out of that spin and declared that she wanted to be a pilot like you.”

“That’s … that’s very flattering.”

“So we got to talking, and I was wondering if you’d like to be on the show.”

I hung up the phone and pushed back from the desk so fast I nearly knocked the chair over. Sweat coated my back and prickled under my arms. Was this a rational response? No. It wasn’t. But, be on television? Be on live national television? No. No. That was impossible. All of those people staring at me? And what would happen if I made a mistake, which I would? What would people think?

The phone rang and I jumped like a test launch had misfired. I think I squeaked. My hand pressed against my chest, and beneath my palm the beat of my heart pounded in double-time. The phone rang again.

I could be rational. I wasn’t, but I could act like it. Wetting my lips, I picked up the phone. “Mrs. Rogers’ desk. Elma York speaking.”

“Don Herbert here. Sorry about that. I think we got disconnected.”

“Yes. I … I was wondering what happened.” Liar. I covered my eyes and leaned forward to rest my elbows on the desk. “You were saying?”

“That we’d like to have you on the show. I thought we could talk about the physics of flight, maybe do a simple experiment about lift? The format is real simple.”

“I wish I could, but we’re so busy preparing for the next launch. I just don’t know if I could get the time off.”

“We can work around your schedule.”

“That’s very kind, but … maybe I could suggest another woman pilot?” Betty would be brilliant at this.

“Sure … it’s just that, well, my producer’s girl is kinda keen that it be you. I don’t need an answer right away, but think about it, eh?”

“Sure. Sure. I’ll think about it.” I would think of a way to say “no,” is what I would do.

*

The next couple of weeks were genuinely busy at work, which seemed to be a constant, so I hadn’t needed to lie much when Don called back a week later, just to see if I had any questions. I’d pretended to be too busy to talk—the launch, the fate of humanity, and all that—but he gave me his number so I could call back. I hadn’t. But life outside the IAC continued on.

After work, Myrtle and I hopped off the streetcar outside the Amish Market. It was midway between our apartments, and I liked the owners better than at the grocery closer to where Nathaniel and I lived.