The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(64)

I curled the leading edge of the “wings” and held them together so they cupped the air in tandem. Paper planes might be a good project for Mr. Wizard. I could show Rita how to make a wind tunnel. Oh.

I lowered the wings, light peeking through the hole punches in little sparkles.

Oh. I had been thinking about who I would disappoint— What would people think? —but I knew the answer to that. The little girl on the show. The Girl Scouts in their tinfoil helmets. The crayon letter writers. My niece.

What would people think?

Those little girls thought I could do anything. They thought that women could go to the moon. And because of that, they thought that they could go to the moon, too. They were why I needed to continue, because when I was their age, I needed someone like me. A woman like me.

“I’m going to say yes.”

Nathaniel nodded, watching me. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s a launch that week.”

“It’s a supply launch with construction material for the orbiting platform, and unmanned. The team is solid, and I won’t be needed for any press conferences.” He stood up, and even though Basira was right there, he came over and kissed me.

“Nathaniel! What will Basira think?”

“She’ll think that I love you, and she’d be right.”





TWENTY-ONE

ROCKET GROUP TOLD OF RUSSIAN RESPECT

Special to The National Times.





PRINCETON, N.J., Dec. 3, 1956—The International Aerospace Coalition was told today that the “tremendous admiration the people of Russia hold for IAC scientific and technical advances” was a key to future understanding and cooperation between Russia and the IAC.


I flew us into Chicago a day early, and Nathaniel did his level best to keep me well and thoroughly occupied until I went to the studio. As much as I’d been wanting him to delegate some of his work, it was odd knowing that there was a launch happening without him. I never thought we would hit a point where rocket launches were routine, but when you have one or two a month, your views change.

“How about a boat tour?” I stopped by a sign for the Mercury SceniCruiser as we crossed over the Michigan Avenue Bridge.

“That sounds … chilly.” Nathaniel had given up fighting the wind blowing off the lake and carried his hat in one hand. His ears had turned pink with the chill.

He was probably right. The wind had been brutal, but in the rare moments when it wasn’t blowing, the sun was actually fairly warm, and this was December.

The winter might finally be breaking. Of course, then summer would come and never leave. I peered down the stairs toward a boat docked on a walkway right next to the river. “Looks like they have an interior cabin. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“And the fact that it won’t have a pay phone has nothing to do with your interest.”

I tucked my arm into his. “The fact that its lack of a phone is the first thing you thought of is rather telling, don’t you think?”

He laughed and turned us to the stairs. “Busted. Sorry. Really. I am trying not to think about work.”

“I know…” I patted his arm as we started down to the river. I’d already caught him on two different pay phones today. “We can go back to the hotel, if you’d rather.”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “They’re fine. I’m disrupting things every time I call.”

“It’s so touching when they grow up.”

The wind wasn’t so bad when we got below street level. There were some tourists, mostly folks with kids, but not too many given that it was a Tuesday. We only had to wait behind one couple for tickets. As the gentleman talked to the young man in the ticket booth, his wife turned to smile at us, in that way you sometimes do with strangers in a line.

Then she did a double take.

I braced myself. No. That’s not true. I suddenly developed a fascination with the river, as if watching the water and the scum at its edges would keep me from having to acknowledge someone who had clearly recognized me. Yes, I wanted to change the public perception about women and our ability to be astronauts, but I had not wanted to be a pinup girl for spaceflight.

In my peripheral vision, I saw that the woman was still staring at me. There was the intake of breath as she prepared to speak. A hand reached toward me, just a little, to try to catch my attention. “Excuse me.”

“Hm?” I glanced at her, but tried to look like the boat was now the most interesting thing I had ever seen.

“I hate to bother you … only you look familiar.”

I shrugged, and reached for Nathaniel … except, goddamn it, the woman’s husband had finished his business at the window and Nathaniel was stepping forward. I put on a neutral smile, just so I wouldn’t look angry. “I must have one of those faces.”

“Are you Elma Wexler, by any chance?”

Wexler. At the sound of my maiden name, my head snapped around of its own accord. “Yes. Yes, I am.” I didn’t recognize her. Plump and blond going to gray, she looked like someone’s mother. Probably one of the kids staring at the boat was hers. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Oh, it’s been years. I’m Lynn Weyer. I lived next door? In Wilmington?”

My jaw dropped. “Oh my goodness. Lynn Weyer?”