Vessel

by Lisa A. Nichols

  Aimee came trotting downstairs in jeans and a T-shirt. “You found the pictures!” She smiled and bounded over. She hovered there, tension rippling through her, as if on the edge of a decision, then reached out to give Catherine an enthusiastic hug.

  “I love them,” Catherine said, returning the hug tightly. This was the sort of hug she’d dreamed of while she was away, unrestrained and affectionate.

  “Well,” David said, clapping his hands together like a master of ceremonies, “now that you’re home, what do you want to do first? Do you need to rest a bit?”

  “I’ve been ‘resting’ for three weeks now.” Catherine smiled. “I’m so glad to be here, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Let’s show you the rest of the house.” David offered her his hand and she took it, twining their fingers.

  “I did live here before, you know,” Catherine couldn’t help but tease, but David’s offer made it obvious: right now, she was still a guest in her own house.

  He recognized his misstep and tried to make a joke of it. “Well, yeah, of course, but . . . I don’t know. This is just so much more room than you’re used to, I want to make sure you don’t wander off and get lost.”

  “All right, all right. Commence with the grand tour.” Catherine played along with him, but couldn’t help but wonder, now that she was home, how long it would be before this really was home.

  4

  AFTER UNPACKING WHAT little she’d taken on the mission with her and calling her sister, Julie, Catherine went downstairs for dinner. She’d been expecting to cook, but when she walked into the kitchen she was greeted by the sight of Aimee at the oven and the scent of roasting onion and garlic.

  “You’re just in time,” Aimee said, setting the pizza on a cooling rack before grabbing a salad from the refrigerator.

  “Oh, that smells good,” Catherine said appreciatively.

  “Thanks!” Aimee said. “How’s Aunt Julie?”

  “She’s . . . good. She can’t wait to get here for your party.” Julie was coming for Aimee’s graduation party in a few weeks. Once Catherine had gotten back in radio contact and learned how close it was to Aimee’s graduation, her biggest wish the rest of the way home was to make it back in time. After so many years away, she was desperate to be there for at least a few of the milestones in her daughter’s life. She had, and even though it was still weeks away, Catherine could barely wait. Along with wanting to celebrate with Aimee, she’d missed Julie desperately, missed that connection to one person who knew her so intimately, and had for so long. Their phone conversation, though . . . it had been rougher than Catherine expected.

  “Have you told her yet?”

  Julie sighed. “The doctors aren’t sure yet how best to approach it. There’s no precedent for this, obviously.”

  “I miss her.”

  “Cath, I see her every few days, and I miss her.” Julie’s voice was soft. “She’s not really there anymore, most of the time.”

  The diagnosis had come about a year before Sagittarius I’s launch, a few months after Nora began to get more and more forgetful and erratic: early-onset Alzheimer’s. Catherine had wanted to back out of the mission. Nora was the one who spelled it out on Catherine’s last visit home. “Cathy, you’re leaving for six years. Anything could happen to any of us during that time. Hell, you know the chances of you not making it back. Whether you go is your call. Don’t change it because of what might happen while you’re gone.”

  And so she’d gone, and nine years later, she’d lost more than she’d anticipated. Her mother was still alive, but so far gone that the confusion of learning that her presumed-dead daughter had returned could be too much for her. Catherine might never get to see her again.

  “Mom?” Aimee interrupted her gloomy thoughts, holding out a stack of plates for her to carry.

  “Yeah, sorry. Julie’s good. She misses you guys.” Catherine quickly changed the subject. “How long have you been cooking?”

  “Awhile . . . And I remember that pizza used to be your favorite, so . . .”

  “It is! And this looks way better than any delivery pizza. This is like magic, I swear.” Catherine gave Aimee a quick one-armed hug, pressing a kiss into her hair.

  “Cooking is just science, Mom.” Aimee was smiling as she said it, her cheeks turning pink. “Um, Maggie taught me a few things, but most of it I learned from you,” she quickly added.

  Maggie’s a better cook than me. Why am I not surprised? But Catherine forced a smile onto her face. Maggie had been part of the family; ignoring that didn’t do anyone any favors, not even Catherine. She ruffled Aimee’s hair, and Aimee ducked away with a grin. “I’m going to be learning from you now, looks like.”

  “Anytime you want a lesson . . .” Aimee teased.

  They walked into the living room where David was sprawled on the couch. He sat up to make room for them. “Don’t let her fool you,” David said. “A ‘lesson’ means she’ll make you chop all the vegetables while she does the fun part.”

  The three of them spent the evening curled up on the couch together the way they’d spent so many weekend nights when Aimee was younger. Aimee and David stumbled over each other to tell Catherine stories of things she’d missed while they ate dinner.

  “So most freshmen arrive on campus a week before classes start for orientation,” Aimee said.

  “You’re coming with us,” David said to Catherine. It wasn’t a question.

  Catherine laughed around a mouthful of pepperoni. “Of course! Are you kidding? My genius kid is going to MIT—I want to see where she’ll be living.”

  Sitting here with the two of them, Aimee sandwiched comfortably between her parents, Catherine felt ready to throw herself into the busy life of a mom of a college-bound senior. She was looking forward to meeting Aimee’s friends at her graduation party, though the irony wasn’t lost on her that every person there would know her daughter better than she did.

  “Last slice.” David held up the pizza plate. “Who wants it?”

  “Ooh, me,” Catherine said. She’d forgotten how good a hot, greasy slice of pizza could taste.

  Two hours later, it turned out she’d also forgotten how much she could regret that same slice of pizza (or three). Standing in the master bathroom she’d shared with David for years, she was hesitant to open the medicine cabinet. It felt, somehow, as though she were snooping. It wasn’t just pepperoni that had her insides in an uproar. In a few minutes, she would go back into the bedroom to share a bed with someone for the first time in years. She hadn’t even been this nervous the first night they’d spent together.

  David peeked his head in to rescue her. “Antacid is still on the top right of the cabinet.”

  “Thanks,” Catherine said sheepishly.

  “I knew you were going to be in trouble when you ate that third slice,” he teased. “Nice to see some things haven’t changed.”

  “Hey, do you know how long it’s been since I had pizza?” They shared an amused moment, then Catherine made a shooing motion at him. “I’ll be right out.”

  The antacid was exactly where David said it would be. In fact, while she couldn’t be entirely certain, everything looked like it was exactly where it used to be. Nothing had changed. Was that weird? Or was it weird that she thought it was weird? It was hard not to read into it, to wonder what it might mean for them if David hadn’t changed in nearly ten years, when she had changed so much. Even if the mission had gone as planned, it still would have altered her. As it was, she felt . . . new, somehow. As if she’d come out of Sagittarius reborn into someone else’s life, and she wasn’t quite sure where she’d fit into it yet.

  Here. She fit in here. Catherine reminded herself of that sternly. She belonged here.

  She’d brought her pajamas into the bathroom with her, not quite ready to change clothes in front of anyone else, not even David. She changed into them and brushed her teeth, telling herself that this was what she’d looked forward to, and no matter w
hat happened, she and David would work through it together.

  You have to tell him. He has a right to know.

  Ava’s voice again.

  Not yet, Catherine argued. I don’t want to ruin it.

  “Are you going to spend your entire afterlife playing Jiminy Cricket to me?” Catherine muttered ruefully. “I know. I know. Just not . . . not yet.”

  “Cath? You okay?” David’s concerned voice came from the bedroom.

  “I’m fine,” Catherine called with excessive cheerfulness. “I’ll be right out.”

  David was sitting up in bed, and he put aside the book on his lap when she came in. “You look beautiful.”

  Catherine ran a self-conscious hand down her pajamas. They were silk but not revealing, feminine without screaming sex. “I’m a mess.”

  “Yes, but you’re my mess.” There was that grin she’d always loved.

  They’d met during one of the initial interview rounds for the Sagittarius program, and Catherine had been charmed by the way he never postured or bragged. David had been a dry wit in the middle of the often macho bluster that permeated the astronaut training program—even among some of the women, including her. She’d been all over the place then, twenty-three and a bit of a hell-raiser. All she wanted was to fly, the higher and faster the better. NASA was the ultimate in high and fast. She wound up sitting next to him during one of the introductory lectures, and his quiet asides had her fighting to keep from laughing out loud. They went out to dinner that night, and from the moment they both moved to Houston for Sagittarius, they were an item.

  Of the two of them, David was the explorer. Where Catherine just wanted to go, he wanted to go see what was out there, figure out how the universe worked. Catherine thought he was so grown up, even though he was her age. He had everything together, his life mapped out. Somehow, she wound up fitting on his map. They worked, mostly. David calmed her down and gave her more focus, and she got him to let go and unclench a little. Sometimes she wondered if the things that made him stand out to her were what made him invisible to their trainers, if someone above them had interpreted his quiet self-assurance as a lack of ambition or drive.

  They’d been wrong. That much she knew. She climbed into her side of the bed, sitting next to David. “Yeah . . . I am. Every messy bit of me.”

  David took one of her hands. “I know we’re going to have to get to know each other again. I’m not going to rush you into anything.”

  “I know. I’ve missed you so much. All I could think about was getting home to you and Aimee.”

  “Come here.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Catherine made herself relax, lean her head against his shoulder, no matter how awkward it felt. They were quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I’m so sorry, Cath. I know how close you and your crew were.”

  No you don’t, not completely.

  She sighed, guilt and grief trying to rise up and swallow her again. “I keep thinking about how young Claire and Richie were.”

  “Richie.” David snorted softly. “Did he ever take anything seriously?”

  “You know, he really did, when it was important. I know you guys didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was brilliant.” Catherine closed her eyes against the ache. “They all were.”

  “Ava was one of the best mission commanders I ever saw.” Leave it to David to get to the heart of her grief.

  “Sh-she was . . .” Catherine trailed off, slipping her arms around David’s waist and relaxing into the luxury of giving in to the grief she’d fought for so long. Grief overrode everything, even her awkwardness about touch. How could she have left them? More than that, she couldn’t help wonder how she’d left them. Were they buried? One image that haunted her over and over was that of Ava and her crewmates staring sightlessly up into TRAPPIST-1f’s sky, maybe forever. The alien bacteria there, combined with the lower oxygen levels in the atmosphere, might prevent decomposition from ever taking hold. They’d be staring up into that crowded sky until the winds managed to cover them with alien dust.

  The thought made her cry harder.

  “Shh. I know, I know.” David stroked her hair and let her cry—something else she’d always appreciated about him. No matter what she was feeling, he gave her room to feel it. He might try to fix it later, but not then. It went on for what felt like forever, but finally she started to run dry, hiccupping in David’s arms.

  He kissed her forehead. “You know, Aimee and I met up with Jana and the kids every year on the day we lost contact with you.”

  “I should call her,” Catherine sniffled. Ava and Jana had been a lot like Catherine and David, two opposites drawn together into a single whole—Jana was exuberantly social, a bubbly schoolteacher who had a knack for drawing quieter people, including her astronaut wife, into the spotlight.

  “She’d love to hear from you, I’m sure.”

  “I just— I can’t help thinking that she blames me somehow, that they all do.”

  “Hey, hey.” David drew away and looked down at her, his forehead furrowed. “Where did that come from? Why would they blame you?”

  “I don’t know.” The words to explain the amorphous guilt sitting in her gut wouldn’t come to her. “Blame is the wrong word, maybe. Resent me. I lived and Jana’s wife didn’t. How can she not hate me a little?”

  “Listen to me.” He cupped her chin and made her look him in the eye. “The absolute worst part of this whole ordeal was that we knew we might never find out what happened to you. Director Lindholm got the funding for Sag II in part because he pitched it as the only way we had to investigate. With every other tragedy that’s hit NASA, sooner or later, some investigation gave families the answer: ‘This is why your loved ones died. This is how we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ The Sagittarius I families knew we were never going to have that. There was never going to be any closure at all. You’re our closure. The start of it, anyway.”

  “And I can’t remember a damn thing.”

  David pulled her back into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “There’s the ship data, and you’ll start to remember, maybe. But you’re home, and honestly, that’s all I care about.” He leaned down and kissed her, and immediately she felt the difference in his kiss. He wasn’t going to rush her, but he wasn’t going to be shy about his interest either.

  The arms that had been comforting a moment ago now seemed too tight. Catherine looked within her for the same surrender that had let her give in to her grief, but it wasn’t there. How many hours had she spent dreaming of being with him again? Why was this so hard?

  A face drifted in front of her thoughts. Tom. No, no, no, go away. You’re not welcome here.

  David pulled back with the same worried look he’d just given her. “Too soon?”

  “No. I mean— I missed you so much, it’s just—”

  “I understand.” He let her go, but kissed her hand. “It’s been a long time. The NASA docs told us you’d still be recovering physically, too.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Anxiety sat in the hollow of her throat. She was screwing this up. One of the most important parts of coming home, and she couldn’t get it right.

  “Do you want me to sleep in the guest room?” David offered gently.

  “No! No, I don’t want that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Cath—” He halted, and now he was the one fidgeting. “We should talk about Maggie—”

  “No . . . we don’t have to, not tonight.” Please not tonight. Catherine wasn’t sure she was ready for this.

  “I need to.” David’s gray eyes were pained as they sought hers out, and he took her hands in his. “Cath . . . I’m sorry. Maggie and me, we didn’t plan for anything—”

  “Stop; you don’t have to apologize. You thought I was dead.” But again, once the door was open, thoughts rushed out. “I know the two of you have been friends for a long time. Longer than you’ve known me, even. She was always
there for both of us. When you thought I’d died . . . I get it. She’s a great person. Aimee clearly thinks the world of her. I know you love her. I—”

  “Cath—”

  “No, let me finish.” Catherine took a deep breath and pushed on. She needed to give David this chance. “You moved on. You should have moved on; that was the right thing to do. I want you to know . . . I get it. You spent years rebuilding your life, and I never wanted to come back and upend it. If— If you want me to step out of the way . . . I mean, you’re not obligated—”

  “Cath, stop.” David reached up and gently put his fingers on her lips. “What Maggie and I had, yeah, I cared about her. She was there for me and Aimee in ways I still can’t describe.”

  “Then why—”

  “I am obligated. I didn’t stand up with her in front of my family and hers and make a bunch of promises. Catherine, I love you. You’re my wife. You’re alive, and that’s a miracle I don’t fully understand yet. But I’ll take it.” David held her gaze with his, then leaned in and carefully kissed her. A quiet warmth grew in her chest—not desire, not yet, but it could easily turn into that. “I never stopped loving you, not for a second. When they told me you were dead, Aimee was all that kept me going. But between the grief and the publicity, I wouldn’t have been able to keep it together without Maggie’s help. But now I have you back, and . . .” He trailed off and pulled her into a hug. “We can fix this. We are fixing it.” He pulled back suddenly, searching her face. “If you want to, that is. I’m not the only one who went through a lot; if you—”

  “No, I do. I want to be with you.” And she did.

  Are you going to tell him? Ava asked.

  But it would only hurt him, and Catherine didn’t want to hurt him just for the sake of unburdening her conscience. “I love you.”

  “We can fix this,” David repeated, his smile turning soft. He reached up and touched her cheek, and now she did feel that initial spark of desire, finally, after so long.

  That feeling of ease faded as they started undressing, kissing as they peeled away each other’s clothing. David must have sensed it. He paused and drew back. “You okay?”