The Astronaut's Wife

by Robert Tine

  “I know,” Nan said as she folded her arms across her chest. “What else did Reese have to tell you?”

  Jillian shrugged and looked away, glancing at the radio as she did so. She could not bring herself to say any more. She could not tell her sister about the tape and Reese’s suspicions that Spencer was a changed man, possibly a completely different man.

  Nan read the fear in her sister’s face. “Oh, Jilly,” she said, “a little freak like that is the last thing you need to worry about. If I were you I would just have Spencer call some of his—”

  Jillian cut her off sharply. “No. No, don’t tell Spencer I saw this. I don’t want him to know.”

  “But, Jillian,” Nan protested, “you yourself said he looked crazy. He might try something crazy.”

  Jillian just shook her head. “You have to promise me, Nan. Promise you won’t tell Spencer.”

  “You can’t keep these things bottled up inside you,” said Nan firmly. “Carrying a baby requires a completely stress-free existence. Even I know that.”

  “And telling Spencer about Reese will up the stress levels around here into the danger zone,” Jillian countered. “Don’t you see? You’re right, that freak is the last thing I need. But if Spencer knows about it it’ll become a whole big thing. You know how men are, they have to do the masculine thing and protect hearth and home …”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Nan asked. “I think it’s nice and old-fashioned.”

  “Well, it’s pretty stupid if there hasn’t been a threat to either hearth or home,” said Jillian. She smiled at Nan. “Look, if Reese bothers me again, then I’ll tell Spencer about it. Okay? Deal?”

  Nan relented and threw her arms around her sister’s neck and hugged her. “Sure, July, whatever you want. I have missed you so much, Jillian. Too much.”

  “And I’ve missed you, Nan.” A sad look came across her face like a light squall. “I wish Mom and Dad were still here. There are so many things I want to ask Mom.”

  Nan forced herself to sound cheerful. “Well, I’m here. Anything you want, just ask. You want me to go and get you a big dish of pickles and ice cream, Jilly, just say the word.”

  Jillian smiled softly. She glanced at the radio. “I’m okay, right now, Nan.”

  “You want anything?” Nan persisted. “Some music,” said Jillian. “Just, um, turn on the radio, okay, Nan? I wouldn’t mind hearing some music.”

  “Music?” said Nan. “That’s great. You want me to put in a CD. I got a bunch in my pack. Heavy metal German music? It’s really cool. I think it’s going to be the next big thing.”

  Jillian shook her head. “No, please, Nan. Just the radio—that will be fine.”

  Nan shrugged and turned on the radio, soft music of the easy-listening variety came out of the speaker.

  “Is this okay?” Nan asked. It certainly wasn’t music suited to her tastes.

  Jillian nodded yes and closed her eyes… That night Spencer insisted on taking Jillian and Nan out to dinner at one of the more chic downtown restaurants, a place at which Spencer knew he could get a table merely by having his secretary call up the maitre d’ and mentioning Jackson McLaren’s name. That got them on the list and assured them a table—but it was almost impossible to get a table at one of these places on time. The maitre d’ invited them to have a drink and said that they would have their table shortly.

  There was quite a press of people at the bar, but Spencer managed to elbow his way through the throng and score a drink order without too much trouble.

  He passed out the drinks. “Champagne for you, Nan,” he said, passing her a flute of golden liquid. “And apple juice for you, Jillian.” He handed over a tall glass with ice.

  “Thank you,” said Jillian taking her drink from Spencer.

  “Apple juice?” said Nan. “That looks suspiciously like a bourbon and water to me.”

  “It might look like bourbon but it is one hundred percent natural apple juice,” said Spencer. “Well, for your information we are having a uncontaminated pregnancy.”

  “So what’s that in your glass, Spaceman.”

  Spencer smiled. “It’s a glass of very pure champagne,” he said. He raised his glass. “Welcome to New York City, Nan.”

  “Thank you, Spaceman,” said Nan.

  Jillian said nothing. They all sipped, Spencer watched as Jillian drank her juice.

  The head waiter approached diffidently. “Mr. Armacost, your table is ready,” he said. It was a good table, a circular booth in the front of the room, a good place to watch the crowd. It was plain that Nan was thrilled to be in a chic New York restaurant and that Spencer was having a good time, too. Jillian was silent, wrapped up in her own thoughts and worries. She let Spencer and Nan spar and flirt and make fun of the other tragically hip patrons in the restaurant.

  “So there’s no one here that catches your fancy,” said Spencer after they had surveyed the men standing at the bar.

  “Nope,” said Nan.

  “Well, I guess that’s okay,” Spencer replied. “You have your man down in Florida. What’s his name? Steve? Sean? Wasn’t it something like that?”

  Nan guffawed. “Oh. Stan. You mean Stan. Or, better known as the Grand Marshall of this year’s parade of losers. Stan’s gone: Long gone.” She glanced at her sister. “We can’t all be as lucky as Jill here, you know. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in one family like that.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” said Spencer, reaching for his wife’s hand. As he did so a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. Then he moved his hand to her belly. She glared down at his hand, willing it off her.

  “Jillian,” Spencer asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just hot.”

  Spencer picked up her glass of apple juice. “Here, drink some of your juice.”

  Jillian pushed it away. “I think I want to go home… She hardly remembered the cab ride back to the East Side, she vaguely remembered undressing and getting into bed. She slept soundly for a while then. something pulled her to wakefulness. It was the sound of laughter—Spencer’s and Nan’s—coming from the living room. She peered at the glowing red numbers of the digital clock face. It was just after midnight, 12:15 A.M. She slept again for a while, but when she awoke the house was silent. Spencer was not in the bed with her, and there was a narrow line of faint light showing under the bedroom door. Jill got out of bed.

  Spencer was sitting in the living room, and it was almost completely dark there, the only light coming from a single dim lamp. Spencer stood up as soon as Jillian walked into the room. She looked groggy and tousled by sleep.

  “Feeling better?” he asked. She was wearing one of his old soft cotton shirts as pajamas and he reached out to her to do up the top two buttons.

  “It’s your shirt… you don’t wear it anymore… not since Florida, anyway.”

  “And why should I?” He place a dry little kiss on her cheek. “Why should I wear it when it looks so much better on you.”

  Jillian didn’t answer but looked around the shadowy room. “Where’s Nan?”

  “She went out.”

  “It’s after midnight,” said Jillian. “And she doesn’t know the first thing about this city.”

  “She’s young, Jilly. She’s meeting some friends to go clubbing. That’s what you do in New York.”

  “I didn’t know she had any friends in New York,” said Jillian. “She never mentioned them to me.”

  Spencer shrugged. “Well, apparently she has. People younger than us. Remember when we were young?”

  “Were we?” Jillian asked, a trifle archly.

  “Oh yes,” said Spencer. “I remember. We used to be up all night dancing on tabletops… I remember everything…” He got a sly look on his face. “And if you aren’t nice to me I’ll be forced to tell the twins what a wild woman their mother used to be. You know, back in the Middle Ages…”

  Jillian did not laugh. Spencer looked into her eyes and found not a spark of amuseme
nt or pleasure or even affection there. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

  “You were so close there for a while,” he said sadly. “But now you are so far away again.”

  Jillian did not bend. “You ever think about what happened? About Alex? About what happened to Natalie? Does that ever cross your mind, Spencer?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Jillian, please… Let’s not go through that again. I thought we had managed to put things behind us, as if it was all in the past now.”

  “When you were out there, those two minutes, Spencer, when you almost died…”

  Spencer groaned, “Why do you want to go back there, Jillian? We’re happy here now. We have each other, we have the twins. Nan is here. Why do you want to back to that. I know it’s hard sometimes, but can’t you try to be happy?”

  He held her close. “Just stay here with me, okay, Jillian? Please stay here with me. That’s all I ask.”

  Jillian’s voice was very, very soft. “It feels like a dream,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m not still asleep.”

  “You’re awake,” said Spencer.

  “Then I’ll try,” said Jillian.

  “What?”

  “I’ll try to be happy,” said Jillian.

  Spencer nodded and smiled. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s go to bed, Jillian.” Spencer was gone by the time she woke the next morning. She showered and dressed and prepared to go out when she discovered her sister Nan passed out on the living room couch. She was wrapped in a blanket. She wondered if Spencer had given it to her or if she had wandered drunkenly around the apartment during the night looking for and finally finding a linen closet.

  Jillian looked down at her sister for a moment and then changed her mind about going out. She decided to stay in and make some phone calls first…

  16

  The phone was answered on the second ring. “Nesbit Arms… What?”

  “Room 323, please,” said Jillian.

  “Wait a minute.”

  There was a moment of silence, then the sound of the extension ringing.

  “Yes?” She recognized Sherman Reese’s voice instantly.

  “Mr. Reese, this is Jillian Armacost…” She paused a moment to gather her thoughts and her courage. “The autopsy on Natalie Streck, what did it say about the baby?”

  Reese did not answer.

  “Mr. Reese?” said Jillian. “Are you there? Mr. Reese? Please speak to me.”

  Reese’s voice slightly louder than a whisper and he seemed to speak through clenched teeth. “Not on the phone, please, Mrs. Armacost. Not on the phone…”

  But Jillian was insistent. “Please, you have to tell me. What did the autopsy report say about the baby.”

  “Mrs. Armacost… It is not safe to—”

  Jillian’s voice rose and she shouted at him as she interrupted. “Mr. Reese! What did the report say about the baby.”

  Reese’s voice was very soft and quiet. “Babies, Mrs. Armacost. It was babies.”

  “What?”

  “Natalie Streck was pregnant with twins, Mrs. Armacost,” he said. “She was carrying twins.”

  Jillian felt as if she had been hit in the stomach and it took her a couple of moments for her to digest what she had just heard. “What’s happening to me, Mr. Reese?”

  “You are, too, aren’t you, Mrs. Armacost? You are pregnant with twins, too, aren’t you?” Instinctively she touched her belly and swallowed hard. “Natalie’s babies, Mr. Reese, please… what did the autopsy say about them? You have to tell me.”

  Reese spoke quickly. “There’s something I have to show you, Mrs. Armacost. Something you need to see. Do you understand me, Mrs. Armacost?”

  Jillian paused a long time. And when she started talking again she sounded like a second grade teacher, light and airy and full of roses and perfume. But she told a story that was hardly fit for the innocent ears of a class of second graders.

  “Do you know the story of the princess whose beloved prince dies in battle?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Armacost, I have something you need to see. Do you understand me?”

  Jillian ignored him. “The enemy prince, after overrunning the castle, finds the princess and forces himself upon her. Months later the princess is with child. But whose? It’s either the child of her enemy, the man who killed her husband, the man who raped her. In which case, she will kill herself and the child. Or is it the child of her prince, the only thing she has left of her beloved, a part of him still alive in her, kept safe in side her. In which case… But how will she know until it is too late? How will she know until the child is born and she can see its eyes?”

  The enigmatic message got through to Reese loud and clear. “Meet me right now,” he said urgently. “Somewhere public. Leave your apartment. Meet me now.”

  “Where?”

  “The subway…”

  When Jillian emerged from her bedroom she saw that Nan was awake, sort of. She was sitting at the kitchen counter, still wearing the clothes she had slept in, drinking a cup of coffee and nursing a colossal hangover.

  Jillian smiled. “Well, don’t you look the picture of health this morning.”

  “Jilly, don’t be cruel,” Nan muttered. “They certainly like to party in this town.”

  “Well yes, that’s the reputation…” She headed for the door. “I’ve got some errands to run. Why don’t you take it easy this morning and we’ll do something later.”

  The suggestion was music to Nan’s ears. “I’ll take it easy this morning and we’ll do something later. I love it.”

  “Bye,” said Jillian and left.

  It was only half an hour later that Nan realized that she had been outsmarted by her sister. She was sure Jillian was going to meet that weirdo Reese. She wondered what she could do about it. She had to stop it because she was sure it was a bad idea…

  It was Jillian’s first ride on the New York City subway system, a simple ride on the Number Six Lexington Avenue Local from the Upper East Side to the stop at Fifty-first Street. Following instructions Reese had whispered hurriedly to her on the phone, she rode in the front car of the train and got out of the station at the exit farthest downtown, the one that led out on to the corner of Fiftieth Street and Lexington Avenue.

  When she got out of the car she walked along the platform to the exit, following the grime-streaked tile tunnel that led to the exit stairs and the street above.

  She reached the end of the tunnel, pushed through the turnstile and started climbing the stairs. It was a long set and she had to climb a bit before the street at the top of the stairs came into view. She climbed a few more and saw Sherman Reese standing there at the curb, clutching his tattered briefcase, as if he was just another midtown businessman waiting to cross the street As Jillian rose toward him, Reese looked down at her and half smiled.

  She had ten steps to go when she saw a look of absolute shock cross Reese’s features. Up there at street level he had seen something that had startled and stunned him so that for a moment he looked as if he was about to make a run for it. Then he seemed to get control of himself and he looked down to the subway steps and shook his head at her—-it was a slight but definite movement of his head. It said: “no.”

  In spite of herself, Jillian took another step or two up toward daylight and once again she was shaken off by Reese, he even risked a little wave of his hand, as if attempting to push her away. This time Jillian stopped dead, her head just inches be-low street level. She was looking up at Reese when she saw someone else—Spencer walking along the sidewalk just above her. She gasped and retreated a step, flattening herself against the dirty wall, desperate not to be seen by the man she was supposed to be in love with, the man who loved her.

  Spencer did not see her, but he had definitely spotted Sherman Reese. He walked straight up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Sherman Reese,” said Spencer. “Well, I’ll be damned. What are you doing here in New York?”

  Reese smiled as best he could. “Com
mander Armacost. What a surprise… Of course, you’re living up here now. I had quite forgotten about that.”

  “Really,” said Spencer. “I’m as surprised to see you. I saw you across the street and I said to myself ‘Is that Sherman Reese?’ So I trotted on over here arid yes, here you are.”

  Jillian still hugged the wall. She had not retreated at all, but had not gone up a step, either. She could see and hear her husband and if he should happen to look down the staircase he would see her, too. She could feel her heart pattering in her chest.

  But Spencer did not look down. He focused all his attention on Sherman Reese. “Are you in town on business?” Spencer asked. “NASA business?”

  “I am not with NASA anymore,” Reese said stiffly, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  Very casually Reese put his briefcase down, placing it just at the base of the concrete railing that encircled the entrance to the subway station.

  Spencer nodded and looked sympathetic. “I had heard that,” he said. “I just thought it was one of those nasty agency rumors that crops up every so often. It’s sad to see it’s true. Should you need a recommendation, I’m the man to ask.”

  “I appreciate that,” Reese said.

  Spencer rested his hand on Reese’s shoulder. “You know, it’s funny running into you like this. I was just thinking about you, Mr. Reese. Just yesterday.”

  “Really,” said Reese casually. “That is something of a coincidence. Can I ask what you were thinking?”

  “It was about those tests you wanted to do on me after Alex Streck died. Remember those? Look, Sherman, do you have some time right now?”

  “Actually,” said Reese reluctantly. “I was just about to—”

  Spencer cut him off. “Come on now, Sherman. You’re a man of leisure now. You’ve got nothing but time…”

  Jillian stood transfixed, straining to hear every word. Then a train thundered into the station beneath her, obliterating all other sound. She saw Spencer lean over and yell something in Reese’s ear. Then Spencer took Reese firmly by the forearm and walked him away from the entrance to the subway station. Jillian’s heart leaped when she saw the abduction and she almost cried out when she realized that Reese had left his stuffed briefcase behind, resting against the railing of the subway station entrance. It was obvious that she was supposed to take it. She took a tentative step up the steps, a hand out to grab the case. But before she could lay her hands on it she heard her husband’s voice again.