The Astronaut's Wife Read Online Free Page B

in her driveway.
“Please, Mrs. Armacost,” said Reese quietly. “Captain Streck’s wife is already over there. Any questions you have will be answered down atthe—
Jillian turned and ran back into the house, Reese following in her footsteps.
“Mrs. Armacost, please don’t make this more difficult than it is already.” Jillian vanished into the kitchen. It was here that Reese found her, gazing at the television set while Nan wrapped Jillian’s sliced opened finger.
“Mrs. Armacost,” said Reese, “the Director wants...”
“Shush,” said Jillian. She did not even so much as glance in his direction.
There was a reporter on the television set, microphone in hand, standing in front of the chainlink gate at the security checkpoint at the entrance to the Cape. It was odd that the reporter would be doing his standup from outside the complex; there was an elaborate press room inside the space administration building. It could only mean that there had been a complete press lockdown on the story.
The television correspondent more or less confirmed the suspicion. “All we know for sure— and
we don’t know much—is that both men were outside the orbiter, performing repairs on a communication satellite. The condition of Armacost and Streck, as well as the well-being of the rest of the shuttle crew, is unknown at this time . . .
While the reporter signed off and threw the story back to the network, Jillian turned to Reese and looked him square in the eye. Her voice was eerily calm.
“Is my husband dead?” she asked.
Reese shook his head apologetically. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the condition of your husband. I have been sent here by the Director to—”
“Is my husband dead?” July asked again, her voice edged with a tinge of hysteria, as if the false calm was melting away and she was just barely holding on to her feelings.
Reese shrugged. “To be honest, ma’am, I just don’t know. Details are very sketchy.”
“If you don’t know,” Jillian said coldly, “take me to someone who does. Now.”
She looked at the man’s starched shirt, as stiff and as spotless an officer’s whites, his crisp perfectly cut suit, that smooth shave, and the shine on his shoes and felt contempt for him. He was down here whole and healthy while her husband was deep in space, far beyond rescue, dead in the silence of space.
Reese shrugged. “That’s what I’m here to do, Mrs. Armacost. Captain Streck’s wife is already there.”
Nan grabbed her sister roughly by the sleeve and tugged her toward the door. “Come on, July, let’s get over and there and find out what the hell is going on.”
Sherman Reese stepped between then. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he were genuinely sorry. “I only have security clearance for Mrs. Armacost.”
“Then you better get security clearance for Mrs. Armacost’s sister, mister, because—” Reese looked beseechingly at Jillian. “Please, Mrs. Armacost, could you tell your sister—”
Jillian nodded and tried to stand straight. It was odd; she did not feel the desire to cry—not yet, anyway. She turned to Nan.
“It’ll be okay, Nan,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?” Nan’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m sure . . .“
The radio was on in the no-frills government car that carried them through the quiet suburb.
“NASA is now officially confirming that Commander Spencer Armacost and Captain Alex Streck were outside of the space shuttle Victory when there was an explosion on the communication satellite on which they were doing repairs . . .“
Reese looked worried as the words spilled out of the radio, but the young woman did not appear to be listening to the grim report. Rather, she was engrossed in the world beyond the window of the car.
It was a fine Florida summer evening. People were sitting on their lawns, laboring over barbecues, lazing in swimming pools. Kids rode bikes. Life was