by Allen Steele
He watched as the fireball sailed out over the ocean, growing smaller with each passing second. A brief flare as it jettisoned the first stage, and then the second stage ignited, and the rocket became a bright star that finally moved out of sight. By then, the applause and excited yells that had accompanied the liftoff had subsided. Everyone lowered their eyes from the heavens to grin at one another; Santa had come down the chimney, after all.
“To the bar!” Bob shouted. “First round’s on me!”
Laughter greeted this announcement, but when Harry and George started to step away from the railing, Nat stayed behind. He continued to watch the place where the Saturn V had vanished, as if he could actually see Apollo 17 discarding its second stage and going into parking orbit around Earth.
“Nat?” he asked. “What?”
“We can’t let this die.” Nat’s voice was low, choked with emotion. Harry couldn’t tell for certain, but it seemed as if there were tears on his face. “Whatever we do, we can’t let this be the end.”
* * *
“That’s always been a special memory for me,” Harry finished. “Not just the launch, but also because … well, it was one of those few times, once we got older, that your grandfather let us see his real self.”
Kate looked at her watch. If she were going to catch the late-evening train back to Boston, she’d have to hurry. “Look, I don’t mean to be obtuse, but why are you telling me this? What’s that got to do with the Arkwright Foundation?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Harry was quiet for a moment. “You’re going to have to get the rest from Maggie and George. I could tell you, but I think it’s better that you speak with them. Particularly Maggie.”
Kate was a little irritated. She’d come a long way just to hear an old man tell stories. It was clear that Harry was done, though, and she had a train to catch. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, standing up. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
“Nothing at all, thanks.” Harry pulled over his stroller and used it to balance himself as he rose from his chair. “Give Margaret my best when you see her.”
He escorted her to the door, slowly pushing himself along. As she opened the door, he said one more thing. “Y’know, it just occurred to me … you’ve got Nat’s red hair.”
“Uh-huh.” Kate stopped to look back at him. “There’s not a lot of family resemblance, but at least there’s that.”
“But Sylvia doesn’t have red hair.”
“No. Mom was a brunette before her color changed.”
Harry nodded. “Must have jumped a generation. Genes are funny that way, aren’t they?” He turned away. “Anyway, have a good trip home.”
10
It didn’t seem like she was getting anywhere with her investigation, so Kate put it aside to begin her next assignment, an article about the effects of deep-ocean dumping. She’d just begun making her way through a stack of reports from Woods Hole when the phone rang. It was Maggie.
“I hear you’ve been down to Philly to see Harry. Did you have a good chat?”
“If you know that, then you must know what he told me.” Kate leaned back in her office chair. “I guess I’m a bit shocked to know that you and Grandpapa once had an affair.”
“It didn’t last long. Just a few months. Then he met Judith and, well, that was that.” A pause. “I knew Harry would tell you. He got over it a long time ago, but it’s still something he remembers.”
“I bet.” Kate paused, trying to find the right way of saying what she meant to say without being offensive. “Look, Ms. Krough … Maggie … this is all very interesting, but I’ve got a lot going on just now. I have another story deadline in front of me, and I can’t spend more time hearing about my grandfather’s personal life. If you’ve got something to tell me—”
“I do, and I promise that I won’t take up much more of your time. But it’s something I can’t tell you over the phone. Can we get together for lunch?”
Kate shut her eyes. Why did everyone think that freelance writers were never busy? “I can’t come down to New York just now. I—”
“I mean in Boston. I have business up there next week, and I’m thinking we could get together at the Four Seasons. My treat.”
It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. She could afford to take a couple of hours away from the desk, and lunch at one of the best restaurants in town was not something to lightly pass up. So a few days later, she found herself sitting across from Maggie in the restaurant of the Four Seasons hotel, waiting for the lobster salads they’d each ordered. Outside the window beside their table, people walked along Boylston, coat collars turned against an unseasonably chill wind that whipped through the Commons across the street.
“So what is it that you wanted to tell me?” Kate pulled the straw from her glass of iced tea. The niceties had been dispensed with, the small talk about the weather said and done.
Maggie didn’t respond at once. She gazed out the window, hands clasped together in the lap of her tweed business suit. Kate reflected that, even in her eighties, Margaret Krough was still a very attractive woman. Sixty years ago, she must have been stunning; no wonder both Harry and her grandfather fallen in love with her, if only for a short time.
“As I recall, Judith passed away just a few months before you were born,” Maggie said at last. “That would be sometime in”—she closed her eyes for a moment—“1977, yes?”
Kate blinked. That wasn’t something she was expecting. “Yeah, 1977. I was born on November 10. Grandma was already gone by then.”
“I remember it well.” Maggie slowly nodded. “I was with her and your grandfather the night she died. So was your mother.” She shook her head and sighed. “It was a very bad night for all of us.”
11
There was a small lounge just down the hall from the room where Judith Arkwright lay dying, and this was where Maggie led Nathan once his wife had fallen asleep again. The doctors at Bay State had warned them that the drugs would do this; she would fade in and out of consciousness during her final hours, but in the end, leukemia would claim her life, and there was nothing anyone could do but wait for the inevitable.
Sylvia was on her way to Springfield, but she was probably being held up by midsummer traffic on the pike, so Maggie decided to take Nat to the lounge until she showed up. When Judie’s illness had reached the terminal stage, he’d brought her in from Lenox and since then had been at her side almost constantly. Maggie arrived from New York to find him unshaven and haggard, sitting beside his wife’s bed with her hand clutched in his. He hadn’t eaten or slept in a couple of days and wouldn’t even step into the bathroom to put a razor to his face, but at least he’d listen to his agent and lifelong friend. So when Maggie told him to get up and come with her to the lounge for a little while, Nat obeyed as she’d known he would.
As it turned out, the lounge had a TV, and when they came in, it was showing a late-night news story about the Star Wars craze sweeping the country. The movie had been out for over six weeks, but the lines at the theaters weren’t getting any shorter. Maggie was about to turn it off, but then she noticed that Nat was paying attention and left the TV on. He sat down and stared in fascination at the brief clips from the movie—Imperial fighters attacking the Millennium Falcon, Luke Skywalker handling his father’s light saber, Darth Vader stalking through the Death Star—and Maggie knew that, at least for a moment, he’d been transported away from the tragedy of this long, dark night.
“Have you seen it yet?” she asked.
“Twice. Great movie … even if they stole some stuff from me.” He pointed to a shot of X-wing fighters in combat. “I’ve got ships just like those in the Patrol books, y’know.”
“Yeah, I noticed the same thing. And Han Solo is quite a bit like Hak Tallus, isn’t he?”
“I should sue.” He glanced at her. “Do you think we should sue?”
“You wouldn’t get anywhere. The studio would just sic their lawyers on you, and even
if you won in court, you’d spend more money on the case than you’d get from the settlement.” Maggie forced a smile. “Besides, this could be good for you. Science fiction is hot right now, and you practically invented this sort of thing.”
“Ed Hamilton and Doc Smith invented it. I just improved it.” He was quiet a moment. “You think you might be able to swing a movie deal?”
“I don’t see why not. The books have never been out of print, and everyone remembers the old TV show. Let me get in touch with my contacts in Hollywood and see if I can work out an option for—”
There was a knock at the door, and they’d just looked around when it swung open and Sylvia marched in, all but pushing aside the nurse who’d led her there. Sylvia stared at her father in open-mouthed disbelief.
“I love it. Mama’s dying, and you’re in here talking business with your agent.” She gazed up at the ceiling and shook her head. “Incredible. You’re just incredible.”
Had she overheard the conversation, or did she simply make an assumption? Either way, it was hard to deny what they’d been doing.
“Sylvia,” Maggie began, “it’s not what you think. We were just talking—”
“Butt out, Margaret,” Sylvia snapped. “This is between Papa and me.” The nurse left, frowning but saying nothing as she quietly shut the door behind her. Sylvia fastened her glare on Nat. “Why aren’t you in there with her? Don’t you care that she’s—”
“Sylvia, calm down.” Nat spoke to her with the resigned patience of a father who’d fought with his daughter so many times that it was hard to remember when they didn’t quarrel. “I’ve been with her ever since she was brought in. She’s sleeping right now, and I needed to take a break.”
Sylvia opened her mouth, but Maggie interrupted her. “It’s true. Your father has been at her side the entire time. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I suggested that he come in here for a few minutes.”
Sylvia didn’t say anything for a moment, giving Nat a chance to rise from his chair. “I’m so glad you came,” he said as he took a step forward, raising his arms as if to embrace her in an awkward hug. Sylvia visibly recoiled, and he stopped himself. “Did you drive yourself, or did Hank?”
“Hank’s downstairs in the florist shop. He’ll be up in a few minutes.” A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “No, he wouldn’t let me drive. The baby’s fine, thanks for asking.”
Her hand ran down the small, round bulge pressing against the front of her dress. Maggie couldn’t help but stare at it. Sylvia was six months pregnant with the child she was having with Hank Morressy, the Boston architect she’d married a couple of years earlier. Nat was looking forward to having a grandchild, but Maggie wondered if he’d ever get to know her. He and Sylvia had never been very close, but Judith had always managed to bridge their mutual animosity. Now that she was going away …
Not for the first time, Maggie regretted the fact that Sylvia didn’t know the truth. She was an adult now, but she still needed a mother, just as the baby would need a grandmother. If only Nat had told his daughter …
“Sit down, please.” Nat offered the chair he’d just vacated. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself. Can I get you some water?”
“No. I want to see her.” Sylvia turned and left the room before her father could stop her; as the door swung shut, Maggie heard her out in the hall, calling for a nurse.
Nat stared at the door. He suddenly looked older, pitiful, no longer a successful, middle-aged writer but a man who’d spent too much time at the typewriter and suddenly emerged from the imaginary world he’d spent decades building to find his wife dying and his daughter resentful of years of neglect.
“This isn’t the way I wanted it to be,” he said softly. “I never thought she—”
His voice broke. His head went down, and his shoulders began to shake. Maggie stood up and, at a loss for what else to do, took him in her arms. It was the first time in many years they’d embraced, but this time it was as old friends, not lovers. She held him and waited until the tears passed, and then she found a handkerchief and let him dry his face.
“All right,” she said once he was calm again. “I’m here for you. Now let’s go see Judie.”
When they returned to the hospital room, they discovered the door was shut and Sylvia nowhere in sight. Hank stood outside, bouquet in hand. He and Nat gave each other a polite nod; they’d never become more than acquaintances, and Sylvia had probably told him nothing but the worst about his father-in-law. Maggie liked Hank; he was courtly, reserved, and completely the opposite of his wife. She suspected that the marriage wouldn’t last.
Maggie went to the door, but before she could open it, Hank stepped in front of her. “She’s awake,” he said to her and Nat, “and Sylvia’s in there with her, but”—he hesitated—“the nurse came out and said that her mother wanted to speak to her in private and asked us to wait out here.”
Maggie stared at the door and then turned her gaze toward Nat. The color had left his face. His mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. Nat looked back at her; no words were necessary, for in that instant, they both knew what Judith was telling Sylvia.
Maggie felt her legs become weak. She instinctively grabbed Nat’s elbow for support. All of a sudden, this was the last place in the world she wanted to be.
The only thing they could do was wait.
The three of them stood together in the hallway, ignoring the hospital staff walking around them, the occasional cryptic announcement coming over the PA system, for what was probably only a few minutes but seemed much longer. Then the door opened, and Sylvia came out.
She stood for a moment in the doorway, her face just as pale as her father’s. No one spoke for several seconds, and then Nat stepped forward.
“Sylvia, I … I’m so sorry, I—”
Her hand shot up. She slapped him across the face. “That’s for never telling me,” she said, her voice an angry croak, and then she turned to Maggie.
Maggie braced herself, but while Sylvia’s hand trembled, it remained at her side. Instead, she looked at Maggie, her mouth opening, closing, and then opening again. Maggie waited for her to speak, and at last the words came.
“That woman in there is my mother,” Sylvia said. “It’ll never be you.”
12
Kate stared at the woman seated across the table. “That can’t be true.”
“It’s true.” Maggie’s expression couldn’t have been more serious. “I can show you the birth certificate. I’ll even consent to a DNA test, if you insist.” She paused. “Or you can call your mother. Sylvia will confirm everything I’ve told you now that she knows that you know.”
Kate looked down at the table. Sometime in the last few minutes, the waiter had delivered their food. The lobster salad was utterly revolting. The room felt too warm, and the other restaurant guests sounded as if they were shouting at one another. Bile, acidic and bitter, rose from her stomach into her throat; realizing that she was about to be sick, she shoved back her chair, stumbled to her feet, and hurried out of the restaurant.
As luck would have it, the ladies’ room was vacant. Kate slammed open the door of the nearest stall and, bracing her hands against the wall, leaned over the commode and opened her mouth. But nothing came out. She gasped for air and willed herself to throw up, but either there was nothing in her stomach or the panic attack was beginning to subside.
After a couple of minutes, her breathing returned to normal, and her heart no longer pounded. Kate went to the sink, where she rinsed her face and tried to comb her hair as best as she could with her fingers. Then she straightened her blouse and skirt, took a deep breath, and went back to the restaurant.
Margaret Krough was still seated at their table. “Are you okay?” she asked when Kate returned. There was a look of concern on her face that could only be described as grandmotherly. “I thought about coming to see if you were all right, but, well, I figured you might want to be alone.”
Kate
nodded as she sat down. The lobster salad was still there, but she’d lost her appetite; she covered the plate with her napkin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No.” Maggie shook her head. “I should be the one to apologize. I hit you hard with something you weren’t expecting. There was no other way to tell you, but I can’t blame you for being upset.”
Kate gazed at her, trying to see her in a different way yet having trouble doing so. She’d never known her grandmother—or rather the woman she’d grown up believing to be her grandmother—but nonetheless, it was difficult to accept the new truth with which she’d been confronted: her grandmother was alive, and sitting across the table from her.
“So what am I supposed to call you?” she asked. “Grandma?”
“If you’d like, but I think we’re past that now. Maggie is fine.” A sad smile. “To tell the truth, though, there were times when I wished you knew me and could call me that name. But that’s the choice I made, and I had to live with it.”
“Why did you do it?”
Maggie let out her breath as a quiet sigh. “Please understand, when I discovered that I was pregnant from my affair with Nathan, I was in my early twenties and working as an assistant editor at Street & Smith. I had my eye on a publishing career, perhaps even starting my own literary agency. Even while I was having a relationship with your grandfather, I was coming to realize that getting married and having a child was the last thing I wanted to do, and in fact, I never did. But having an abortion was…” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “Well, it wasn’t a pleasant prospect. They were far more dangerous back then than they are today. So I was between a rock and a hard place.”
She absently ran a fingertip around the rim of her water glass. “Fortunately, Nat took responsibility for what had happened. We’d just broken up when the doctor told me the news. It really was just a fling, although for a little while, I’d thought it was serious enough that I made the mistake of writing a letter to Harry, but Nat accepted the fact that the child was his, and it was up to him to do something about it. He and Judith had met by then, and their relationship was serious enough that engagement was inevitable, but she’d already accepted me as an old girlfriend who was still one of her beau’s best friends.”