Earth Bound (24 page)

He’d tell Charlie later. She’d get the joke.

Hal rarely wasted his sunniness on Parsons alone, but today his smile was wide, there was a spring in his step, and he looked like he might clap Parsons on the back out of sheer camaraderie.

Parsons’s mood instantly clouded.

“What's happened?” he asked flatly.

Hal's smile dimmed. “Why do you always think something’s wrong? Everyone’s frowning, you think something’s wrong. Everyone’s smiling, you still think something’s wrong.”

“Because something always is.”

Hal shook his head. “Christ, but you’re depressing,” he muttered.

Parsons ignored that and walked into Jensen’s office.

“Ah good, right on time,” Jensen said. “This won’t take long.”

Parsons didn’t bother to sit, then. The sooner this could be over, the sooner he could be back at his desk.

Jensen gestured at Hal. “Did you tell him yet?”

“Tell me what?” The hair on the back of his neck rose. But it couldn’t be anything major—Jensen said it wouldn’t take long.

“We’ve finally figured out how we’ll handle our computing needs for the rendezvous mission,” Hal said.

You mean Charlie figured it out
. Why wasn’t she here then? What was going on?

“And our solution is?”

Jensen leaned against his desk. “We’re contracting it out to Maynard. The hardware and the programming.”

“What? But we already have the computing department working on this—”

Hal interrupted. “Maynard has a great team. And they’ll only be taking over the guidance computers for the rendezvous. It will free up our team to work on other things.”

Parsons’s fist clenched against his thigh. Charlie had been working so hard on the rendezvous mission, was so excited about it—and this son of a bitch was going to take it from her.

“Why was this decided?” He sent that out whip-quick. “We have a computing department that’s more than capable. Why bring in industry?”

Jensen shrugged. “We’ve discussed involving industry in certain aspects of the mission before. It was decided this computing project would be a good test case.”

Parsons was a farm boy—he knew the smell of bullshit when it was shoved under his nose.
 

“What about Dr. Eason and everything she’s been working on?”

“She’s my employee,” Hal said. “It’s none of your concern. And besides, she’s been at me to forge better connections with industry, to update our technology. This is practically her idea.”

You idiot. You have no clue.
“No, I’m certain this was your idea, wasn’t it? This isn’t about bringing in industry—this is about you securing a job at Maynard when this is done.”

Hal spluttered. “This… No. No. This is about what’s best for the mission. Industry brings resources we don’t have.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” But Hal couldn't think fast enough on his feet to come up with a plausible excuse.

“Let me help you, then: This has fuck-all to do with the mission and everything to do with your career ambitions. Am I the only one here who even gives a shit anymore?”

Charlie did. She cared as much as he did, killed herself like he did. And they were taking this away from her without a second thought.

“That’s enough.” Jensen’s voice cut between them. “Parsons, I put up with a lot from you—your moods, your rudeness, your abrasiveness—since you’re one of my best engineers. But that’s enough. Handing this off to Maynard in no way endangers the mission. And it’s not your call to make. You’re not the head of computing. Or ASD.”

Parsons took a breath, unclenched his fist. He heard that warning. Loud and clear. He wouldn’t help Charlie—or himself—by continuing to argue. It was done. Her project was gone.

Jesus, Charlie was going to have to hear this from Hal. Maybe she already had.

“Have you told your team this?” he asked Hal.

“Not yet.” Hal checked his watch. “I’m flying to Virginia today. I'll have to tell them tomorrow.”

Charlie didn’t know yet. Which meant Parsons could tell her.

That was going to be miserable, but better she heard it from him than from Hal, that lowlife, bootlicking son of a bitch.

“Is there anything else I should know?” he asked Jensen, unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone.

“That’s all.”

Parsons stalked off before Hal could say anything more and push Parsons’s temper further.

He'd have to tell her. And he’d have to do it before Hal returned. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d delivered bad news before. He didn’t shy from such things.

But all day he kept finding excuses to stay in his office and away from the computing department. Easy enough, with all the work in front of him.

Finally, when he looked up from his paperwork, it was utterly quiet. No feet moving through the halls, no typewriters clattering… Nothing.

It was seven at night, and he was alone. Time to try to find Charlie.

As his feet took him toward the computing department, he told himself that she wouldn’t be there. It was too late—she’d be at home eating her dinner.

He knew he was lying to himself, though. She was there, and he was only being a coward.

He turned into her department, his heart hoping he could put off the moment even as he told it to stop being foolish.

She was there, working at a blackboard, her profile to him. The chalk went
click-click
as she muttered to herself.

“No, not that. I forgot…” She erased the last line and began again.

There was an easiness to her when she thought no one was watching. It was there in the way she cocked her hip, the slouch in her shoulders, and even the faint smear of chalk dust on her forearm.

She paused, pulled the chalk from the board, and bounced the stick in her palm before catching it again. The motion was thoughtful and pleased all at once. She pondered her scribblings and began to chew on her lower lip.

His mouth had been in the exact same spot last night. He’d give anything to return to that moment, when he thought maybe everything was starting to go right. Instead he had to break her heart.

He knocked gently against the doorframe so as not to startle her. She turned from the board and smiled when she saw him. She must have been deeply content as she worked through her calculations.

“Working late?” A silly question, because clearly she was.

She dropped the chalk into the tray and brushed the dust from her hands. “A new compiler.”

He stepped into the room, but not too far. “Wasn’t inventing one enough?”

“Developed,” she corrected. “Not invented. We’ll need a new compiler, I think, if we want the computer to calculate the rendezvous flight path quickly enough.”

He went cold. She was working late on a compiler for a program ASD had already decided they weren’t going to use. She was happily wasting her time here—ASD had fucked her before she’d even begun, and she didn’t know it.

And now he had to tell her.

She smiled again, and the curve of her lips was a blade to his heart. “I never saw you around today.”

“Got stuck in my office.” He was a liar, and her smiles—her
happiness
at seeing him was a constriction around his chest. He cleared his throat.
Stop being a coward
. “I had a meeting with Hal and Jensen today.”

“Oh?”

He was known for his bluntness, but he couldn’t seem to find it right now. “Yeah. We, uh…” He looked away, then back. He owed her eye contact as he did this. “The computing for the rendezvous mission has been contracted out.”

She blinked for long moments. And then: “I'm not going to get to design the computer systems to control the rendezvous?”

Her voice was steady. Almost too much so.

He could only shake his head. Her self-possession was killing him, because he knew this had to hurt.

“All the work I've done—that won’t be used at all?”

He shook his head again. “But there are other tasks the computing department still has—”

“Don’t.” A sharp crack from her as she turned away from him. “Don’t fob me off with that.” She took a slow breath. “Just… Don’t.”

He wanted her to rage at him, to hit him, or to let loose with some cussing—he knew she could—but she didn’t.

Instead, she shut down. Like one of her machines.

“Charlie—”

She spun and sent him a look cold enough to liquefy nitrogen. “Did you agree to this? Did you meet with Jensen and Hal and agree to steal this from me?”

“No. They decided all on their own.” But he hadn’t fought for her. Jensen had jerked his lead rope, and Parsons had fallen into line. All those times he’d told her he would work to get her whatever she needed: He had betrayed each of those promises.

God, he was an asshole.

“Hal said it was your idea,” he said.

“And you believed him?”

“Of course not. I was as blindsided by this as you are.”

“Right,” she said, the word layered with anger and disbelief. “The rendezvous concept has been yours from the
very
beginning, and you had no idea.”

“Do you think I’m lying?” He’d come here to comfort her, and she did this? After what they’d shared last night?

“I don’t know what to think.” She smacked her hand against the blackboard, a mushroom cloud of chalk dust rising from the impact. “But I’m sure some
man
over at Maynard is ready to take over and take all the credit. Why did I ever believe—”

Her shoulders collapsed, and she never did say what she’d believed. She didn’t sob or dab at her eyes or even sniff—she only let herself fold inward.

He’d seen her composed, he’d seen her relaxed, he’d seen her triumphant—hell, he’d even seen her pleasured—but he’d never before seen her defeated. Even when her parents had insisted on belittling her at every turn, she’d never once looked like this.

He didn’t know how to help her. She wanted this project, but he couldn’t give it to her. He had no power here.
 

He didn’t know what to do, but he had to do something. The slump of her shoulders was breaking his heart.

“I know something that might help.” He tried for teasing, but his voice came out too rough.
 

Her back stiffened.

Wrong move. But he didn’t know what else to give her, other than what she had given him when he was hurting. He had nothing to offer her except himself.

“Charlie, we can get out of here.” He let his voice go to pleading. “Forget about all this for a few hours.”

She still didn’t turn.

“Come meet me at the motel. Fifteen minutes. Or we can go together.” He would break the rules now. For her. He would drive her in his car. He would risk being seen. He would take her to dinner. He would bring her to his house, to his bed—whatever she wanted.

He reached for her, but right as his fingers were about to close on her shoulder, she moved away.

Without looking at him, she picked up the eraser and began to clean the board with steady, even strokes, obliterating all of her work.

He left her there, letting her have time to come to terms with what had happened.
 

When she’d thought it through, she’d join him.

He had to believe that.

She wasn’t there.

Parsons walked through the motel room—five steps to the bed, five back to the door—taking in the emptiness of it.

He knew Charlie wasn’t there; her car hadn’t been out front. And yet, he’d still come in. He couldn't say why.
 

He caught sight of himself in the mirror, the same mirror she sat before to apply her makeup. The mirror he’d watched her in.

She didn’t appear there. Only he looked out from it.

It would be cliché and trite to say he’d never hurt like this before. Yes, there was an ache, hollow and raw, in his gut, but it was only a cousin to the pain of losing his brother.

All those years ago, when he’d spied the two uniformed men stalking toward the door, when he’d already known what they were going to report about George’s fate… There had never again been pain like that in his life. Not even now.

For a long time after they’d gotten the news about George, Parsons had harbored the most peculiar delusion. A small one, one he didn’t really believe, but one that wouldn’t leave him all the same: There had been a terrible mistake. And George was actually alive, somehow. Perhaps he was lost in an English hospital, unable to remember his name. Or trapped in a German prison camp.

And one day, he’d come through the front door, smiling as wide as the Oklahoma sky, saying, “Can you believe it? They thought I was dead. But here I am!”

Then Parsons could finally set things right between them.

When had that delusion finally left him?

Probably when he’d first met Friedrich Gerhardt, when he’d come face to face with what had survived the war.

As Parsons had shaken the rocket scientist’s hand, he’d thought,
My brother is truly lost to me.

He had no delusions about what was happening now. There was no plane crash, no missing body. No hope that somewhere, something had been overlooked, that things might yet turn out right.

Just a choice made by Charlie to end it. The choice that she’d always had, the choice he’d always feared she’d take.