The Astronaut's Wife

14

Never in her life would Jillian Armacost have guess that there were so many products on the market aimed at children not yet, born. She walked the aisles of a big store in the East Thirties that catered exclusively to newborns, toddlers, and children up to the age of twelve.

The selection was truly astonishing. There weren’t six or ten different, strollers and baby carriages on sale—there were sixty, ranging in price from rock-bottom models to ultra luxurious buggies that seemed to cost as much as a small car.

In addition to cribs and car seats, layettes and bassinets, there was aisle after aisle of toys, acres of brightly colored plastic creations catering to every childish whim and fancy.

Jillian stopped in front of an array of plush animals. There were so many of them she felt like she was facing an audience of bunnies and bears, and fluffy elephants’ and lions and tigers that looked as if they wouldn’t hurt a fly, even if they were hungry.

Jillian smiled and picked up two identical fuzzy teddy bears and looked at them. From now on she was going to have to think in terms of twos, two of everything, no playing favorites… she wondered if she would be tempted to dress them alike, as mothers so often did with sets of twins.

She was sure of one thing, though. No matter how identical her children might be physically, she knew—she could sense in only the way a mother could sense—that they would have distinct personalities. They would be individuals.

Then everything changed. There was a flash of light before her eyes and she dropped the twin teddies as that image came back to her. That New York City street that she had seen once before. There was something terrifying and distorted about it and she shook her head to clear it. But the image persisted.

Jillian wanted to cry. Things were going so well, she could not allow herself to slip. By sheer force of will she forced her way back to the ordinariness of the kids’ store, pushing that cursed street from her mind.

It vanished, and she blinked as if she had just been brought out of a trance by a stage hypnotist. She was sweating and she was scared and she knew she had to get out of there. But as she turned to leave she saw a man standing at the end of the aisle. lie was shabbily dressed and carried a tattered over-stuffed briefcase. He stared at her and she stared back. And she realized she knew him. It was Sherman Reese… well, not exactly Sherman Reese. It was a sort of like looking at a threadbare and bedraggled copy of Sherman Reese.

As he took a step town her, Jillian took a step away, ready to run and scream if she had to.

“Mrs. Armacost?” Reese said. He took another step toward her. “Mrs. Armacost, do you remember me?”

Jillian stopped and forced herself to be friendly. She was in a public place and this man could not hurt her. She rebuked herself for giving in so easily to a hysterical fear.

“Mr. Reese? Is that you?” she said.

Reese walked up to her. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Sherman Reese from NASA…” He looked her over quickly. She could feel his eyes on her body and it made her uncomfortable. “Are you…” He stared at her widening hips and protuberant abdomen. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Julian nodded. “Yes, just a few months. I didn’t realize that I showed that much… Sherman Reese had always been faultlessly dressed and perfectly groomed. She remembered that terrible day when he had come to collect her to take her to the center where she would await news of Spencer’s fate. Even on an awful and disturbing day like that, he had been cool and comfortable. She remembered thinking that his immaculate look had been something approaching an insult to her.

But all that had changed. His clothes were dirty, his shoes scuffed, his tie stained; his once perfectly manicured finger nails were filthy and bitten down to the quick. He wore a three-day growth of stubble on his face. One did not have to be a genius to realize that something catastrophic had happened to Sherman Reese.

“I need to speak to you,” said Reese. “It is terribly important, Mrs. Armacost.”

Jillian felt her fear and suspicion returning, rising up in her like mercury in a thermometer. “You should call my husband, Mr. Reese. You can reach him at— ”

.Reese cut her off. “I need to speak with you, Mrs. Armacost.” He spoke fast and frantically. He spoke in a low and nervous whisper. “I need to talk to you about those two minutes. The two minutes, Mrs. Armacost. You know which two minutes I mean, don’t you?”

“What is it, Mr. Reese?” Jillian spoke almost wearily. Things were going so, well, but she could tell that the appearance of this odd man spelled the end of that.

Reese seemed overly eager to talk, as if he had been silent for a long time. “Mrs. Armacost, have you noticed any change in your husband’s behavior since that shuttle mission?”

Well of course she had, but she had no intention of telling this man about them. Any changes that had occurred in her husband had been explained to her satisfaction. He had been through a horrible and terrifying ordeal. It had affected him. It would have had an effect on anyone. But the shock and the trauma were wearing off now. They were coming out of it together.

“No,” she lied. “I haven’t seen any change in Spencer. Why do you ask?”

Sherman Reese took a step closer. “It’s odd that you haven’t seen any changes on him, because I have been going through these files and I see some striking anomalies and peculiarities.” He threw open the bulging briefcase and pulled out a thumb-stained photocopy of an official NASA document.

He pointed at a line on the piece of paper with a grimy finger. “Like right here. You see? This is your husband’s signature from just before he went on the last shuttle flight. It was a release that all the crew members were required to sign—it’s a secret, you know, that they have to sign a release, but they do. Ever since Challenger—”

“Mr. Reese ”

Sherman Reese realized that he was losing her. “This was the signature that he signed before he left,” he said quickly, “and here is a form he signed on his return. I admit, they are similar but they are not the same… they are not the same signature.”

Jillian did not bother to examine either the before or after documents or the signatures on them. Instead, she frowned at Sherman Reese, looking at him crossly. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Reese?”

“Of course, Mrs. Armacost.”

“Are you in New York on official NASA business?” she asked sharply. Of course, she knew the answer already…

Reese chose to ignore the question. He yanked another paper from his packed briefcase. “These are the results from the medical tests we ran when he got back,” he said, thrusting another grimy document under Jillian’s nose. “See…”

“Mr. Reese!” Jillian almost shouted, cutting him off before he could say another word.

He did a sort of glottal stop and looked at her.

“I asked you if NASA knows what you are doing? Do they know you are here?”

Reese waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, they wouldn’t listen to me. They didn’t want to hear. They terminated my employment the first chance they got.”

That was all Jillian needed to hear. “I have to go now, Mr. Reese. If you have something to say to my husband…” She turned and started to walk away, but he followed her like a puppy.

“All I did was show them the facts and they terminated my employment,” he said. “They referred me to a psychiatrist. I told them the facts, Mrs. Armacost, but they could not comprehend it. In fact, they did not want to comprehend it.”

Jillian still marched toward the door trying not to hear, but Reese still followed her.

“Please,” she snapped over her shoulder, “Please leave me alone. Stop following me.”

“I’ve seen Captain Streck’s autopsy report, Mrs. Armacost. He died of a massive stroke. His system overloaded. His body could not take the strain.”

Jillian did her best not to hear. But she could not help but hear the next thing he had to say loud and clear. “I’ve seen Natalie Streck’s autopsy report as well,” Reese said.

That was enough. Jillian stopped and turned on him, the anger showing plain in her face. “Natalie killed herself, Mr. Reese. She committed suicide. I was there. I saw it.”

Reese smiled blandly. “Yes, yes, that’s true. She did kill herself. But… according to the report… when she took her own life she was just three weeks pregnant. Did you know that, Mrs. Armacost? What does that tell you?”

For a moment, Jillian was silent. “What?” she said. “What did you say?”

“She must have conceived just after her husband got out of the hospital,” said Sherman Reese. “She was definitely pregnant, Mrs. Armacost.”

She knew that he was telling the truth and the truth hit her like a hard punch to the face. Jillian started to back away from him. “I don’t want to hear any more,” she said.

“But there is more, Mrs. Armacost,” he said. “There is much more. What do you think happened during those two minutes, when they were alone? What happened?”

Reese was right in her face now and he had pulled a pocket tape recorder out of his suit coat. He was talking fast. “Did you know the space suits your husband and Alex Streck wore had built in recorders? They tape everything they say, everything they hear.” He waved the little black box in her face. “This is a tape of those two minutes.;; those two minutes when they were out of contact.

Jillian stopped and watched, transfixed, as Sherman Reese held the tape recorder high and pressed play.

She heard Spencer’s voice first. “I’m going to rotate the main panel forty-eight degrees. You got me, Alex?”

“Spencer,” whispered Jillian.

Alex Streck’s voice was clear on the tape.”

“Good to go. I need the 9c spanner as soon as… There was a pause and then Streck’s voice came back on the tape. “Spencer? Did you feel that?”

Spencer’s voice was filled with fear. “Alex? Jesus. Alex? What the—”

Alex’s s voice ceased and there was nothing to hear but the hiss of the tape running over the heads. In spite of herself’s Jillian grabbed the recorder and shook it, as if trying to force more sound our of it.

“You heard Streck?” Reese asked. “He felt something. Your husband felt it, too. And what ever it was, it scared the shit out of them. What do you suppose would do that?”

Jillian spoke as if she was reciting an answer learned by rote. “It was an accident. There was an explosion. The satellite—”

Reese shook his head vigorously. “No. They train for explosions. They train for accidents. They train for hundreds of hours. When something goes wrong they have a plan. They do not panic. They do not deviate. They stick to the plan. That’s what they do.” Reese lowered his voice. “Something happened up there that those two men did not train for. What could do that to two highly trained astronauts? Something that would scare them like that… ?”

Jillian’s eyes were wide and she felt fear pulsing in her veins. She started backing away from him, but he grabbed her by the arm and asked the question she had seen avoiding herself. “Can you swear to me he’s still your husband? Can you?”

A security guard wandered into the area’s aware that something strange was going on here.

“Ma’am, is that man bothering you?”

“Yes,” said Jillian. “Yes, he is.”

Jillian pulled her arm away from Reese and pushed by the guard. When Reese tried to chase after her, the man grabbed him and pushed him, back. “Okay, mister, it’s time to leave the lady alone. Understand? No more trouble.” But Reese ignored him.

Sherman shouted after her. “Please, Mrs. Armacost. There’s more. “There’s something else. I have to show you. You have to see it,” Reese yelled.

But Jillian was running for the exit. She looked over her shoulder once and saw the guard restraining Reese. But the guard could not stop his voice from reaching her ears.

“You know,” Reese yelled, “don’t you? You already know that I’m telling you the truth.”

Jillian was going to push through the door when she heard his voice for the last time. “I’m at the Nesbit Arms, Room 323. Please, Mrs. Arrnacost. Please get in touch with me.”

Then she was outside and standing in the street waiting for a taxi. She was still shaking when she got home, but when she put her hand in her pocket for her wallet, looking for money to pay the taxi, she realized she had taken Sherman Reese’s tape recorder with her when she fled from the baby store.

Jillian let herself into the silent apartment and went directly to the most private room in the house, a large walk-in closet that led directly off the bedroom. She sat on the floor of the closet and pressed the play button.

Spencer’s voice was clear. “Alex? Jesus. Alex? What the—” Jillian snapped off the tape reorder. Very methodically, she stood up and took a scarf from a drawer in the closet and wrapped the plastic tape recorder in the material. Then she went to the kitchen and found the hammer they kept in the utility drawer. Then she returned to the closet, sat down on the floor again, and placed the tape recorder in front of her.

She paused a moment, then brought the hammer down on the little plastic box. She smashed it over and over again. And each time she brought the hammer down she said, “No, no, no, no…”