Good-byes
Good-byesMarch 12, 1999: What a perfectly unnecessary expense, he thought. Coach got there quite as fast, and at much less expense. He looked about the graciously appointed, wide-bodied, first-class cabin that his pounds were subsidizing. Harrumph. As he continued to look about critically, his eyes eventually came to rest upon the grinning face of his wife, Diane. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You are cheap.” He loved her Australian accent.
“Frugal, my dear.” He gently kissed her discretely on the cheek. It was an old argument. “Just think how many books I could have purchased with the savings if we were riding five meters aft.” Collecting old and rare books was Lawrence Benes’ passion. Perhaps not the very oldest or the very rarest, but ones of honorable years and intent. He did not like at all the current progress toward having books published only electronically on the internet. Electrons were so transient. He should know.
The airplane hit a small patch of turbulence and Lawrence paled under his graying beard. The small, round glasses slid down his sweat-slicked nose to perch precariously at the very tip. Diane lovingly rescued the lenses and dried them on the hem of her long skirt, dried his sweaty nose playfully with her scarf, and then placed the glasses back in their proper location in front of his anxiety-laden light blue eyes. “It’s alright, dear, it’s well within the tolerances of the plane.” She smiled reassuringly at her handsome husband. Dr. Lawrence Benes may well have been in his mid-sixties, but he looked a decade younger. His long daily walks on and around campus helped keep his tall form trim and athletic. His constantly questing imagination was a delight and inspiration to her.
He closed his eyes briefly, swallowed nervously, and patted Diane’s slender thigh. “I am aware of that, thank you,” the asperity in his voice not matching his fretful look. Lawrence was a dreadful flyer, and he knew it. Nothing less than seeing his two youngest daughters would provoke him into leaving the safe confines of his routine. The annual migration Diane insisted upon between Oxford and Sydney was bad enough without this detour to the States. Why did Sandra insist upon traveling so much? She was as bad as her mother had been. That old lament caused Lawrence to physically shake his head and force his thoughts into another direction.
And why did she have to take up with this chap named Peter Rockwell? It was, well, a disgrace. He was British, to be sure, but a pilot and astronaut. Sandra could do better for herself.
Diane started to engage him in a discussion of their plans for this brief trip Stateside. It was her usual ploy to help him cope with the final descent, on this occasion into Tampa, Florida. “Tell me again how you know the president of the University of South Florida?”
“Simon Chenowith was one of my students, one of the brighter one’s in fact. He showed great promise in designing cutting edge microelectronics. Why he went into administration …” Lawrence finished discretely with a tut-ting sound. “He’s been asking for years if I’d pop in when we were in the States. I imagine it has to do with fundraising, it usually does. But, he did turn into a quite helpful collaborator when I needed those parts for the transmitter in a pinch. He has connections with NASA, I suspect, and I believe he’s trying to develop the engineering sciences program. Anyhow, since we were coming to pick up Julia and see Sandra off, I thought it high time to pay off the debt.” The airplane was in its final approach and the sound of the wind breaking over the wings caused his glasses to slide down his nose again. Diane held his hand reassuringly.
The bump as the plane landed was cause for both a heart palpitation and relief. Now, he could focus on his next dilemma.
March 13, 1999: Lawrence and Diane had a free day before he was expected to visit with his former student, and it was not until the day after that that they were due to pick up Julia and see Sandra off at the Kennedy Space Center. Lawrence had never been to Tampa before, and had no real desire to be there now, to tell the truth, but Diane had spoken with the Hyatt’s concierge and had a list of local sights she wished to see. Preferring to stay busy, he allowed himself to be towed along in her wake. While Diane explored the little shops in Ybor City, a strongly Cuban-influenced enclave in downtown Tampa, Lawrence sat on a bench, contemplating the hand-rolled cigars he had purchased as a gift for Simon and thought about what he was going to do. There was, regretfully, no old books store here in which to distract himself. He recalled that the last two times Sandra had left for the moon he had made excuses not to be there to see her off. He had taken her out to dinner the night before and then had been ‘busy’ the next day. That wouldn’t work this time, he sighed.
His thoughts going in circles, he was surprised to hear his stomach grumble as Diane walked up to him bearing packages; it was later than he thought. He looked wistfully at the upscale restaurant nearby, but was disappointed when Diane informed him they were going to have dinner at the Columbia tomorrow after his visit with Simon. Today, she led him to a decidedly more informal place called La Tropicana. He looked about the eclectic décor and sighed. At the very least, they could have found matching chairs.
After lunch, Lawrence found himself staring at the calm waters of Tampa Bay as Diane drove him to a place she promised he would enjoy. He rather doubted it. What would he do about Sandra’s leaving? His attention returned to the present as they pulled to a stop in front of a scruffy but promising old building. He looked at Diane and smiled. She had managed to find a place that almost made the trip worthwhile. A most magnificent edifice, Haslam’s looked just the place where he could lose himself for hours. Shooing his lovely wife off to visit the nearby Dali museum, but only after promising not to spend all the money saved to pay for their trip back home, Lawrence marched through the doors to systematically comb the book shelves for lost treasures. He would figure out what to do about Sandra later.
March 14, 1999: Simon was called out of the reception room by his secretary. Lawrence looked about the university president’s well appointed residence; he was always glad to see a former student do well for himself. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought he could just hear just a trace of a British accent left over from those years Simon had spent in Oxford on his Rhodes Scholarship. Simon returned with an unseemly amount of excitement in his bearing for a man of his years and position.
“Dr. Benes, didn’t your wife do some work on the Eagles?”
“Yes,” if you called leading the engine design team that allowed the machines to fly ‘some’ work.
“Well, an Eagle has landed smack dab in the center on campus! It’s one of Joseph Evans’ grad students making a stir. I bet the old geezer is mortified at all the fuss!” Simon did not appear at all disturbed at that prospect.
“Oh dear, won’t that cause an upset?”
“Heaven’s no! This will be the best thing to happen to USF this semester, think of all the free publicity we’ll get! Neither Florida nor Florida State will be able to beat this.” Simon turned quickly to give directions to his secretary to call the local press and television stations. He beckoned Lawrence to follow.
“Americans,” muttered Lawrence as he followed Simon out the door.
By the time the car arrived at the center of campus, security had already cordoned off a wide area around the Eagle the bore the marks that identified it as being based on Moonbase Alpha. Stepping out of the back seat, Lawrence could feel the heat radiating off the rear engine bells. Simon obviously wanted to be able to see inside the craft and was surprised at Lawrence’s lack of enthusiasm. He did not know that the older man had been inside one of the things many times, shown about by an enthusiastic Diane whenever an Eagle visited Sydney. She always had carte blanche with the pilots who let her poke around at will.
He stood next to Simon, trying to lend an air of dignity to the almost beside-himself USF President. Oh dear, Lawrence thought, Simon must have been one of those ‘want-to-be’ astronauts when he was a lad. He had seen the symptoms before. An aid hurried up to speak with her superior in whispered tones, Simon nodding frequently. Simon gave some equally whispered orders, and the young lady rushed off. Always in a hurry, these Americans, Lawrence thought with mild disapproval.
Simon walked over, visibly trying to collect himself Lawrence saw with relief. “It’s one of the astronauts from the Lunar Commission defending his thesis.” At Lawrence’s raised eyebrow Simon continued. “We signed up to participate in their program to encourage research in space related fields by the men and women who have been in the actual conditions. Most of the applicants have submitted their work by optical chips, e-mails and teleconferences. Apparently old Prof. Evans is still in the nineteenth century and demanded that his student show up in person for the final defense.” Simon shook his head at the absurdity of the demand in this day and age. “Oh well, it couldn’t be helped as he’s the only person we’ve got who could properly chair a committee for theoretical population genetics.” Simon looked briefly bemused at such an odd area for an astronaut to be working in. “He should be done soon; for better or worse, Evans never takes long to decide if the candidate has passed or not.” And with that, Simon sent another of his aids off to find refreshments for himself and his distinguished guest. For Simon, this was turning out to be a grand day!
It took about an hour during which Lawrence performed his expected role and socialized with the movers and shakers on campus. He was also introduced to several influential donors who had arrived from town as the news spread of the unusual happenings. He ratcheted up the Britishness of his speech a bit. He knew that was always popular with the Americans. Simon appeared to be in his element.
It was the Australian accent that immediately caught his attention. A refreshing change and very uncommon to hear in the States among all the local flat vowels and atrocious examples of grammar. Lawrence was at the far side of the crowd when the young astronaut had finally made his appearance, accompanied by a singularly unpleasant looking fellow of Lawrence’s own years. Professor Evans, he surmised. By the smile on the tall, blond-haired man’s face, Lawrence suspected he must have been granted a pass. Good for him. The press of the crowds kept him from actually greeting his wife’s countryman.
Simon made sure the press took many photos and recorded the event for posterity and the recruitment brochures. Lawrence just sighed and sat down alone under one of the flower covered arbors to await the return of his host from the tour of the Eagle he was now receiving. Being a Nobel Laureate just didn’t seem to mean as much as it once did.
March
in Florida was a delightful time, Lawrence thought, and the cool breeze kept
the crowded air fresh with the scent of jasmine. He admired all the tall, thin
palm trees as well as the majestic live oaks about. There were flocks of beautiful
and almost domesticated snowy egrets dotting the landscape. Very different
from Oxford, but acceptable on its own terms. He even saw a charming reflecting
pool graced by stylized metallic water molecules atop long poles, or, on second
look, were they actually the silhouettes of that rodent’s head that seemed to
abound in this state? He shook his head and sighed. Julia was spending the
day with Sandra in Disneyworld, an end of holiday treat from Sandra.
The tour finally finished with a flurry of activity and then it seemed the young man had to be off. Lawrence was not at all distressed to miss an introduction to an astronaut: one was much like any other. They were smart, brave and inevitably cocky. He did regret, though, missing the opportunity to chat with a fellow Commonwealth citizen. Americans were just not his cup of tea.
Simon finally returned to gather up his overlooked Nobel Laureate, and after a pause to watch the Eagle launch itself and take off in an easterly direction, went off to find Mrs. Benes and the promised dinner.
Later that evening at the Columbia, during a dinner as elegant as even Lawrence Benes could wish for, Dr. Simon Chenowith made a mental note to himself to call his old fraternity brother, the Governor. He wanted to make sure that nice young astronaut didn’t face any problems. After all, who cared at all about some patches of scorched grass?
March 15, 1999: Diane was almost finished dressing in their Cape Canaveral hotel. It would very soon be time to see the girls. Standing and looking out the window toward the choppy Atlantic Ocean, Lawrence took off his small, round glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and sighed. No, he just couldn’t do it. He disapproved of Sandra’s choice to return to Alpha for a third tour. One had been sufficient, two had been excessive, and a third was down right….. well, unnecessary. She had proved her point. She had made it where her mother had been unable to go.
Ah, Elisabeth. How he did still miss her. Their marriage had been frowned upon by both sides of the family, and Elisabeth’s traditional Burmese family had rather disowned her over the scandal. He had met her several times as he had flown about the U.K. and Europe; she had been a pilot for the small company that Oxford contracted to provide charter flights. After one flight into London he had asked her out to dinner, and they had seen each other frequently after that. She had left an arranged engagement for his sake.
The three children from his first marriage had grudgingly accepted their father’s new wife. They were young enough to still need a mother, but regretfully never became completely comfortable with the situation. He blamed his parents for that. His father had not hid his bias about the unsuitability of ‘marriages between the races,’ and the children unfortunately picked up on that. Poor little Sandra had paid the worst price of all. He had watched a bright, lively and sensitive toddler become reserved and withdrawn whenever the families visited. Eventually, that stress and others had caused Lawrence and Elisabeth to separate for several years. Sandra had gone with her mother and had traveled extensively, essentially growing up in the cockpits and cabins of airplanes. When they reconciled, Sandra was eight years old and spoke with that distinctly non-British accent of hers. At least he had had eight more years with Elisabeth before……
“Drive me to the Space Center?” asked Diane. She disagreed with Lawrence’s decision not to see Sandra off, but was not going to let it hinder her. Maybe if he saw Sandra from the car park he might change his mind. She straightened Lawrence’s bowtie, put the keys in his hand and wrapped his fingers about them. She headed outside, trusting her husband to follow.
He watched Sandra from a distance, sitting still inside the rented car as he saw his girls arrive. Blond-haired Julia fairly bounced out of the taxi while Sandra exited more sedately, Elisabeth’s grace in every movement. She seemed not that much larger than she had been that day years ago when they had sat together on the park bench, her nattering on about her cross-stitch patterns, when the inspiration hit that led to his work on the interstellar transmitter.
Sandra laughed at something Julia said and gave her a mock curtsey. She was as beautiful as her mother. He thought of the last time he had seen Elisabeth, walking up the short ramp into the Lear jet. He was glad they had not argued that day of all days. So many losses. He could not bear to think of losing Sandra like that. To be awoken in the middle of the night and told that terrorists had shot down the airplane and that there were no survivors, that no bodies could be recovered. No, it would break him to go through something like that again.
The girls collected their luggage, mostly Julia’s it seemed, and Sandra showed her security badges to the guards at the front entrance to the secure sector of the Space Center. They were waved through. Lawrence bristled as he watched the guards watching his girls. Damn Yanks didn’t have the proper respect.
For the next hour, Lawrence waited and questioned his decision, frequently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in nervous reflection. He longed to hold his girls in his arms and keep them safe from harm; especially his strange, quiet child who wanted to touch the stars; perhaps, most especially her. He was reaching into his satchel to pull out his security badge when he saw a shuttle pull up to the gait and stop to allow Diane and Julia to exit.
“Papa, you missed Sandra!” Julia ran into his arms and hugged him with the exuberant ferocity of a nine year old. “I remembered to give her the photos we found. And I added one from Disneyworld. I think she’ll like them.” Julia took each parent by a hand and happily led the way to watch the launching Eagles.
Maybe he had made a mistake. No… he couldn’t bear to see Elisabeth’s ghost walk away again. He’d be there waiting when Sandra landed on Earth in December. Wherever that turned out to be, he would be there waiting. And he’d think of something nice to do for her in the meantime. Maybe something with her needlework. Yes, that was what he would do.
MGK