The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(85)

Betty kept talking, fingers twisting the strap of her bag. “They sent it to me because I was the writer on record. It was addressed to you, but they didn’t know where to send it, and … I could have just sent it with Helen, I guess.”

Inside the Life envelope was another one, in better shape, with an unfamiliar looping signature and Red Gables Home, Red Bank, South Carolina, as the return address. I sat down.

Betty had opened the interior envelope, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care. The curiosity would have been too much for her journalistic heart. I suppose I should be grateful that she didn’t try to hide that she’d read it.

The writing was the same looping, unfamiliar hand from the envelope.

Dear. Dr. York,

I am writing on behalf of one of our patients, who saw you on Watch Mr. Wizard. At the time, she said that you were her great-niece, but called you Anselma Wexler. We assumed that she was confused, as she is quite elderly and not always lucid.

But when Life magazine came out, she saw you there, and again referred to you as her niece. In this article, I noticed that Wexler was your maiden name, so I thought it best to reach out on the off chance that you are indeed related to our Miss Wexler—Esther Wexler.

She had been living with a sister who has since passed away, but to the best of our knowledge has no other living family.

Sincerely yours,

Lorraine Purvis, RN

The page shook in my hand and became impossible to read. I read it again. Aunt Esther was alive?

I pressed my hand to my mouth to try to stop the noise I was making. It was high and thin and rose and fell and I don’t even know what to call it but that my aunt was alive and Hershel and I weren’t alone and I had to call him and then we could go to Red Bank, South Carolina, and get Aunt Esther and—

“Elma?” Nicole had a hand on my shoulder, then pulled me into an embrace. “Elma, sweetie—there, there … shush, now … There, there…”

“I call Nathaniel.” Helen’s words helped me catch my breath a little.

“No—no. I’m fine.” Or at least that’s what I tried to say. Whatever sound I made was enough to stop her, though, and it cut off my keening. I wiped my eyes with both hands, the paper of the letter scraping against my cheeks. “Sorry. That was … that was embarrassing.”

Nicole kept me in an embrace. “Nonsense. Embarrassing is spilling wine on His Excellency, the Prince of Monaco, at a state dinner. This was just a moment of being human, and being human isn’t embarrassing. Well. Except maybe farting.”

I laughed. God. Oh, thank God for Nicole. And then Helen put her lips together and blew out a raspberry. Perhaps my laughter was a little desperate, but at least that breathlessness made sense. Straightening, I wiped my eyes again, leaving streaks of mascara along the sides of my thumb. I must have looked a mess.

“Sorry. It was actually good news. My aunt…” I had to take an unsteady breath to be able to continue. “My aunt is alive.”

*

When I pushed the door to our apartment open, Nathaniel was lying on the sofa reading a report. He lowered it, smiling. “You’re home ear—” He sat up, pages dropping all over the floor. “What’s wrong?”

Five different sentences competed for priority. What won was perhaps the least helpful. “I need to make a phone call.”

Fortunately, Nicole had followed me upstairs after driving me home. She rested a hand on my shoulder. “Everything’s okay, but Elma had a bit of a shock.”

Right. I needed to give Nathaniel context, or he would only worry more. “Betty got a letter from the Life magazine article, only it was for me, and—” I shook my head. None of that mattered. “Aunt Esther is alive.”

“Oh my God.” Nathaniel crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. “That is wonderful.”

I sagged into his chest, and the weight of Nicole’s hand left my shoulder. Behind me, the door closed with a quiet click. Nathaniel rocked me in his arms and let me cry out the past five years of grief.

I’d thought Hershel and I were alone. And yes, there was some small part of my brain that wondered: if Aunt Esther had survived, then who else might have? Maybe my parents were alive? But some of the tears came from knowing that they weren’t. That no one who lived within fifty miles of Washington had survived. But, oh—we had an aunt again.

Sniffling, I pulled back, wiping my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. I fished in my bag to pull out the letter. “I’m going to call the nursing home.”

I had made so many compromises with myself to find happiness. I had sat shiva and gone through the entire mourning process for my family. I had put them in a box and buried them in my memories, in lieu of the earth. This exhumed them, and left a raw scar in the ground of my mind.

But it was a time of great joy, too.

Nathaniel’s eyes were red. He gave a lopsided half-smile. “Well … if there’s ever been a time to say l’chaim…”

L’chaim. To life.

Stepping back, he cleared the path from me to the phone. “Do you want me to go out, or…?”

“Don’t you dare.” Walking to the phone took an unreasonable amount of energy, like escaping the gravity well of grief. “I’ll need someone to hand me tissues.”

“Tissues, check. Confirmed tissues are Go.”