Aaron stood in her open door. “Catherine, can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure, come on in.”
“Let’s go to my office.”
Catherine’s heart sank. It was worse than she thought. She followed him like a condemned woman, feeling as if every eye was on her as they went down the hall.
Once inside his office, he invited her to sit and then just looked at her. Finally he said, “Was that the first time you’ve been drunk at work?”
Catherine started to argue that she wasn’t drunk, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It won’t happen again.”
“You’ve had a lot going on lately. I won’t ask how you’re doing. I can see how you’re doing.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I know what a hangover looks like when you’re trying to hide it, and you’ve been having a lot of rough mornings.”
“Aaron, I—”
“Catherine, you don’t want to go down that road. I’ve been there. You’d be surprised how many of us have.” He was looking at her with sympathy, and she’d almost rather he was angry with her. “I want you to take some time off.”
“I can’t. I know this is a bad time right now—”
“You said yourself that you’re in a lull right now until Sagittarius reaches ERB Prime. I don’t want to say I’m suspending you, but if anybody’s earned a leave of absence, it’s you.” Aaron gave her a stern look. “Take the time, Catherine. Go to some support meetings if you have to. Get yourself back together. Okay?”
Bitterness flooded Catherine’s mouth and she felt something surging forward, like a tidal wave she couldn’t stop. There was a letter opener on Aaron’s desk.
Pick it up.
The voice wasn’t hers. She remembered wanting to hurt Cal and the engineer in the hallway outside the archives, seeing them as monsters. Oh, not again.
Instead of a sympathetic, concerned boss, Catherine saw a pale, shapeless mass of flesh and had an overwhelming urge to strike out.
Pick it up.
Her fingers itched to touch the cool metal object, already anticipating violence, while part of her wanted to scream. Not here, oh God please, not here . . .
She tore her eyes away from the letter opener with an agonizing wrench and realized Aaron was still waiting for her answer. He was offering it as a choice, but she knew better. “How long?”
“We’ll figure that out as we go. For now, let’s say three weeks.”
God. She’d go mad if she had to sit at home for that long. You almost stabbed your boss with a letter opener. That ship has sailed. She nodded. What else could she do? She was damn lucky he wasn’t firing her. If she wasn’t such a public figure, she had no doubt he would have.
“Okay,” Aaron said, standing up. “Go on home. And if there’s anything I can do to help you—anything—I want you to call me. Day or night.”
Catherine stood as well, and accepted the hand he extended to her. “I will.”
“I mean it. We will do whatever it takes to take care of you. We look after our own.”
He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t altruism, either. Damaged astronauts were bad PR, and that was especially true of her.
21
WHEN CATHERINE ARRIVED back at her apartment, she saw the mess with fresh eyes. There were empty wine bottles everywhere, take-out containers piling up, and something in the trash that needed to go out, now. Catherine sighed and put her things down before grabbing a garbage bag from the kitchen and starting on the worst of the mess.
It must not have taken long for the news to spread around NASA. She hadn’t been home two hours, spending most of that trying to reclaim her apartment, before she got a call from David. Oh Christ, David had been at the meeting this afternoon. She couldn’t bear the thought of talking to him. Or to anybody. She was much too ashamed of herself. He called three times before he stopped, and she wanted to collapse with relief.
The following days were a blur—not because Catherine lost time, but because she spent as much of her time away from work being as drunk as possible. Despite Aaron’s warnings, it was just easier that way. She didn’t go back to the vodka. She comforted herself with that. It was only wine. That made a difference, didn’t it? Either way, the voices stopped. When she slept, she didn’t have any dreams, and there was no suggestion that she was wandering at night, either. While she was awake, she felt . . . peaceful. Hazy but peaceful.
Aimee still refused to return her calls. If that bridge wasn’t already burned behind her, it was smoldering. It wasn’t the only one. David came by and knocked on the door several times, but she told him to go away. She’d sent Julie’s calls to voice mail more times than she could count. Catherine felt as if she were carrying a box of matches around with her, ready to throw lit ones at every bridge she saw, with the slightest provocation. For the first time since coming home, she thought about just . . . leaving everything. Ditching NASA, ditching what was left of her family, and just going. Some days, all that kept her in one place was not having any idea where she wanted to go.
It was a Friday night, and Catherine was sitting on her couch, contemplating what it would be like to live in a trailer in the middle of nowhere. The glass of cheap cabernet sauvignon in her hand was so astringent that she could probably have cleaned her face with it. She’d started going to different stores to buy wine now, hoping to avoid that look from the cashiers, the one that said, “Back already?” It didn’t matter, though; she was warm and glowing inside, halfway to the pleasant haze she was looking for.
A knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. Who would possibly come to see her? Hadn’t David given up already? With Aimee not speaking to her and the only other friends she had either dead or far away from Earth on a spaceship, nobody should be at her door. Wrong apartment, she thought, a little blearily, and ignored it.
“Cath? Are you in there? I can hear the TV going. Come on, it’s Julie. Let me in.”
That cut through her haze. Catherine set her glass aside, blinking slowly, and pushed to her feet. “Julie? What are you doing here? Is Mom okay?” She undid the flimsy locks and slipped the chain, then opened the door.
Julie stood there with just her purse, no sign of luggage, and her eyes wide. “Cath, what the hell is going on? I got calls from both David and Aimee. David said you wouldn’t answer the door. They’re worried sick about you.”
“I’m fine.” Catherine swung the door open to let Julie in. “We just had a fight.”
“You don’t look fine.” Julie gave her the worried big-sister look. “You’ve been dodging everybody’s calls. I came to check on you.”
“From Chicago.”
“Yes, from Chicago. Cath, I don’t think you know how freaked out everyone is. Why are you avoiding our calls?”
“Does David know you’re here?” Catherine bristled, feeling defensive. Were they all going to gang up on her now?
“I called him before I left Chicago. When you wouldn’t talk to me either, I didn’t know what else to do. What’s going on?”
“Haven’t felt like talking.” Catherine turned to go back to her seat on the couch, stumbling over the coffee table. “Bottle of wine on the counter if you want a glass,” she said, picking hers up. “It’s kinda shitty, though. I wouldn’t.”
“You’re drunk.”
Catherine lifted her glass in salute. “End of the week. Time to celebrate.”
Julie came around the table—managing not to trip—and sat next to Catherine, plucking the glass out of her hand. “You look like hell,” she said brusquely. “And David said you showed up at work drunk.”
“Well . . .” Catherine reached for the glass, but Julie wouldn’t hand it over, so she just went to the kitchen for a new one. “Turns out I was a shit astronaut, then I came home and found out I was a shit wife. And guess what? I’m a pretty shitty mom, too.” She came back and took a sip from her new glass. “Can’t pick wine worth a damn either.”
Julie sniffed
the glass she was holding and wrinkled her nose before setting it on the coffee table. “So, you’re throwing yourself a great big pity party?”
“Just until I figure out what else I wanna do.”
“Meanwhile, your kid’s not talking to you.”
“I don’t blame her. I walked out on her for nine years. Then you know what I did? I hit her. Slapped her right across the face.” Catherine blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. “I wouldn’t wanna talk to me either.”
“Did it occur to you to apologize?” Julie asked.
“I tried.” The truth was, Catherine had started to dial Aimee’s number dozens of times more than she actually managed to call. The times she didn’t chicken out and actually made the call, Aimee didn’t answer. She was almost grateful. She couldn’t bear the thought of Aimee hanging up on her.
“Catherine, you’re the grown-up here. If you let this go, you are going to lose her.” Julie touched her arm. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, Catherine turned to look at her big sister.
“Have you talked to your therapist about this at all? Any of this?”
Catherine shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since Aimee was here.”
“And you didn’t call her?”
“Didn’t see the point. I was wrong. I don’t need a professional to tell me that.” She could just imagine how Dr. Darzi would tsk at her over the whole mess.
“No, but a professional might give you some ideas on how to fix things. Why don’t you call her?”
Uh-oh. Catherine knew that tone in Julie’s voice. In about a minute, Julie was going to offer to make the call for Catherine, but either way, neither of them was leaving this room until someone called Catherine’s therapist.
“Julie . . .”
“Catherine . . .” Julie said in the same tone. “You know I’m right. Where’s your phone?”
“It’s Friday night; she won’t be available.”
Julie didn’t relent. “Then we’ll leave a message.”
“I can’t call her. I’m drunk.” Catherine had a line of excuses ready to keep throwing out.
“I’m sure she’s gotten drunk calls from clients before. Come on.” She stood up. “Don’t make me call David and get the number from him. Phone, now.”
God, they were ganging up on her. She could hear the smug tone in David’s voice already. Catherine sighed. “My purse. Hand it here.” She pointed vaguely in the direction she remembered leaving it.
Julie handed it to her and she dug out her phone. There was no way out of it now.
Dr. Darzi insisted on seeing her the next morning, even though it was a Saturday. And then, to make sure she didn’t avoid it, Julie drove her to JSC for the appointment. Which was probably just as well. Catherine’s hangover wasn’t the worst she’d had, but it was bad enough.
“I was wondering when you’d come see me,” Dr. Darzi said. “I was concerned when you canceled your last appointment.”
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“That sounds like an understatement. I heard about you and David. I’m so sorry, Catherine.”
Catherine wasn’t surprised that she knew. “That’s not the worst of it. I . . . I had a terrible fight with my daughter.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Catherine didn’t want to. But this was why she was here, wasn’t it? “She was at my new place, helping me unpack groceries, and something just . . . snapped. She got mad at me.” Some of the truth bubbled out of her before she could stop it. “She said I didn’t need anybody. That’s close to what David said the day we split.”
“Do you think he said that to her?” Dr. Darzi’s voice had that tone that said she knew Catherine was getting close to something major.
“I . . . I don’t know. She said . . . she said it was easier when she thought I was dead.” Catherine’s throat ached, and her eyes were stinging with tears that she hadn’t let fall, that she couldn’t. If she started crying now, she’d never stop. “She said she wished I had died.”
“That must have been incredibly hurtful.”
Catherine stared at her hands. “I slapped her across the face. I’ve never hit her before, not ever. We didn’t spank her as a kid. I don’t know what got into me.”
“You were upset, and you’ve been going through a lot.”
“I know, but I hit my child!” Catherine made a frustrated noise, thumping her fist against the couch cushion. “That damn Lindholm. He’s trying to trot me out like I’m some big hero, but all I am is a drunk who hit my kid. I’m so fucking sick of it.”
Dr. Darzi let her drop the subject of Aimee. “Director Lindholm is just doing what he thinks is best for NASA.”
“I get that. I know that. I just—” She cut herself off. Dr. Darzi waited as the silence became too much for Catherine to cope with. Catherine started again. “Ever since then, he wants me to take on more of a spokesperson role, deal with more media, make more appearances talking about the Sagittarius program.”
“You’re the logical choice to be the face of it to the public, especially since the launch.”
“But I’m not,” Catherine argued. “I’m a fucking mess. Look at me. My marriage has fallen apart, my kid isn’t talking to me . . .”
“Was that why you came to work drunk?” Although her tone was soft, the words were harsh, painful to hear. “Were you looking to get fired?”
“What? No. No, I just . . .” It was on Catherine’s lips to tell her about the violent impulses, the voices. But she knew it was too much, too far.
“You just what?”
At first, Catherine was determined to sit in silence and not answer the question. And she tried. She really tried. But Dr. Darzi was better at this game than she was. It was her job, after all. “I’m having nightmares,” Catherine finally said. “About my crew. They’re so overwhelming sometimes, they’re almost real. Could they be memories?”
“They may be. Or they may be ordinary nightmares.” She leaned forward. “But what I’m hearing is a woman who feels desperately out of control. You’re still trying to focus on the past and the present at the same time. No human being has ever experienced a trauma exactly like yours, Catherine. Survivor’s guilt would probably be one of the best outcomes we could expect in such a situation.”
Catherine lowered her head to her hands. “But what do I do?”
“Let it go. That’s what we’re working on here, you and I. Catherine, I’ve said it before, but you need to focus on your life here and now. Today is what you can control. That’s all.” When Catherine didn’t respond, Dr. Darzi continued. “Listen, I know. It’s easier to worry about what happened in the past. You’re going to be much happier if you focus on rebuilding your life now, fixing your relationship with Aimee, getting back on an even keel.”
It sounded so reasonable, but why did it feel so wrong? “But to fix things with Aimee, I do have to look back. I never should have hit her.”
Dr. Darzi waited to see if Catherine would say anything else, then asked, “So when you’ve made a mistake with someone in the past, what have you done?”
“You’re telling me I need to apologize to her. I know I do.”
“So why haven’t you?”
“She’s not answering my calls. If she won’t talk to me then what do I do?”
“You keep trying. You give her time and try again.” They went on to talk about some possible methods she could use to approach Aimee, how best to apologize.
As they were wrapping up, Catherine couldn’t help it. She asked again. “If the memories are coming back, how do I tell what’s true and what isn’t?”
“You don’t.” Dr. Darzi stood, and Catherine stood with her. “Catherine, you’re in a very dangerous place. There’s no benefit to going down that path. If you don’t believe me, think about Iris Addy. She couldn’t let things go either. Travel through ERB Prime has side effects. We know that. You don’t want to end up like Commander Addy. I don’t want to see that happen t
o you.”
It was a warning, a stern one. Catherine couldn’t tell if Dr. Darzi was telling her that she would lose her place at NASA if she pushed, or if she . . . went mad, or whatever it was that happened to Addy.
Either way, the message was clear. If she let things go, she’d have all the help she needed to move forward. If she didn’t let things go, she was on her own.
Sagittarius I Mission
DAY 1137, DAY OF THE EVENT
TRAPPIST-1F, TWILIGHT LANDING AREA HABITAT
They were on their own.
Tom had been working on the comm system for three days. He said he couldn’t fix it, but maybe he just didn’t want to fix it. That was the problem, wasn’t it? They had no way of knowing if he was actually trying.
The irony wasn’t lost on Catherine. Tom was out and about in the ship—albeit under constant supervision—while she was trapped in quarantine, and would be for another week. She spent her time cataloging some of the planet’s biological samples that Claire provided, but God was she bored.
The rest of the crew came to visit her regularly, except for Tom. Catherine suspected they had some sort of visiting schedule set up, but the only pattern she’d spotted was that she never had a meal alone.
“I feel like it’s my fault you’re in there,” Claire was saying, leaning against the glass between them. She’d come to visit for lunch. “If I’d been paying closer attention, the wreck might not have been as bad.”
“Stop that,” Catherine said. “It could have just as easily been you in here. I just got the short straw.” She leaned forward and glanced out the window to see if anyone else was around. No one was. “How’s it going, really?” she asked. “How bad is it?”
Claire sighed and put down her fork. “It’s pretty bad. Izzy and Richie want us to abort and go back, but Ava refuses to do that until either we hear from NASA or things are too untenable to continue here. And Tom is . . .” She shook her head. “Every time we let him out he’s like a kicked puppy. Perpetually guilty-looking, trying to be friendly with everybody.”
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