The Astronaut's Wife (10 page)

There was a dark corner of the vast room, a niche some distance from the bulk of the crowd. The noise of the party echoed in the space like a far-off
fair and no words could be clearly heard there. There was an occasional burst of laughter, nothing more. It felt very strange to be alone and yet so close to such a large throng of people.

Jillian and Spencer faced each other, very close together. Spencer put his hard, powerful hands up, resting them lightly on the soft bare skin on her shoulders.
“Feel better?” he asked.
Jillian took a deep breath. The air seemed cooler in this dark corner of the room and it cleared her head a little. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “A little better..
_.“
Spencer held her gaze with his eyes, then allowed his hands to slide down her arms until his fingertips were touching her slim wrists. She did not notice that his index fingers touched her pulse for a moment or two before entwining his fingers with hers.
“Spencer...” Jillian whispered.
Her husband silenced her by putting his lips to hers and kissing her lightly. Then he moved his mouth close to his ear and whispered softly to her.
“There’s something I need to tell you. Jill,” he said quietly. “I have to tell you something about what happened back then. Something about those two minutes...”
Jillian was surprised and her eyes widened. “But... you never talk about it.”
“I want to now,” he replied. He smiled softly. “I guess I’ve had enough champagne to loosen my tongue.”
He unclasped his hands and held her palms in his. Their bodies were very close, but they were not touching. Jillian wondered what he would say next.
Spencer’s voice never raised above the level of a Whisper. “After the explosions, our suits began to shut down. The lights went off. The radio went out. It was black. Silent.” He sighed heavily and seemed to shiver. “All there was.., was the cold, Jill. A cold like you have never experienced. No one has, no one had before as far as I know and has lived to tell about it. Alex and me are the only two.”
His hands moved from her palms to her hips, as if looking for warmth.
“But I know. what that cold was, Jill,” he whispered. “It was death. Death had taken hold of me.”
Suddenly Jill had tears in her eyes. The thought of her husband actually dying was too horrible for her to contemplate. Dying out there, as Natalie Streck had said,
alone...
“And then,” Spencer said, “it must have been after the first minute or so, the cold began to fade and I began to feel... warmth.” His hands slid down the hem of her dress, his fingers stroking the inside of her thighs. She put out her hands to stop him, grabbing him by the wrists and looking around worriedly as if someone might see them. But they were in the shadows and far from the crowd.
“I knew what that warmth was, Jillian,” Spencer whispered. “It was the warmth of you.” He slid one hand higher, working his way up her thigh. This time she let him do it. His other hand held
hers, tight and intense, as if trying to telegraph something to her through their interlaced fingers.
“I felt the warmth of your body. I felt the warmth of your hands, Jillian..
_.‘‘
His hand inched higher. “I felt the warmth of the inside of your mouth.” He leaned forward and kissed her. But it was not a paternal kiss on the forehead; this time he opened his mouth and thrust his tongue up against hers.
He moved his hand further up her leg, his fingers brushed the edge of her panties.
“I felt the warmth inside of you,” he said. He pushed aside the silky material and slipped his
fingers
into her, feeling the slick warmth between her legs. Jillian gasped and her mouth opened, her head tilted back, leaning against the cool marble.
“Oh, Spencer,” she said breathlessly.
Beneath her dress, Spencer’s hand moved slowly, working in and out of her. “Your warmth. Jill, I felt it all around me.” They kissed again and she found herself giving in to the hot sensations that were washing through her. She let herself go in the moment and her legs opened and she pushed back against his hand. In rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers her hips swayed and rolled and she could feel the passion growing from somewhere deep inside her...
“Oh, Jillian,” Spencer whispered.

9

It was as if Spencer’s finally breaking down and talking about his brush with death had worked on him like an aphrodisiac. Their lovemaking that night in their big new bed started intensely and then gained in fervor.

Spencer lay between his wife’s legs, thrusting into her with a wild passion, grinding, penetrating her, his buttocks working hard like a machine, pumping into her without thought or tenderness. Jillian’s eyes were hazy and filmy as if she had been drugged. Her lips were dry, her mouth parched. She tried to raise her head but it fell back on the pillow, as if her neck was not strong enough to support it. As she slumped backward, Spencer’s thrusts increased, redoubling his efforts, as if the sex had taken over his brain and he was working on pure animal instinct, as if taking her as deeply as possible was the only thing on his mind, something he was
driven
to do.

Through her foggy brain, Jillian suddenly realized that this was the first time they had made love since the incident in space. And it was not the way they had done it before. Spencer had always been a tender, considerate lover and she had worshipped him for it.

“Spencer,” she said weakly, trying to slow him down. “Spencer, what...”

But Spencer bore down harder on her and put his lips to her ear. “Jillian,” he whispered even as he thrust into her even harder, “Jillian... Jillian..
_.“
Jillian tried to speak through haze, but her throat was dry and the words were hard to form on her lips. “Spencer,” she managed to gasp, “I can’t..
_.“
Spencer was whispering her name over and over but as he spoke the words in her ear became garbled and then changed to a meaningless gibberish. Jillian raised her arm—it felt like it was attached to lead weights—and put her hand to the side of his face. “Spencer,” she said, her voice even weaker now,

“

“Please...
Without halting his powerful thrusts into her, Spencer covered her eyes with his hand.
Somehow Jillian felt that the blackness was impenetrable, the darkness shooting through her and
overwhelming all of her senses.
In the darkness the sounds of their lovemaking seemed to fade away, but the sound of
Spencer’s garbled, unintelligible chatter continued to susurration in her ear.
“Spencer?” Jillian moaned.
And now, Spencer’s garbled speech changed. It
sounded like the screaming, chattering of a hoard of insects, very far off but certainly audible.
The instant she heard it, Jillian felt a bolt of fear shoot through her like a hot bullet. “Spencer?” she said, her voice full of dread. The distorted insect-like screaming seemed to be
getting closer. Spencer did not answer, but kept his hand over her eyes and thrust into her with
even greater vigor, pounding away at her without cease.
The horrible shrieking seemed to fill her head and she tried to shake her head to throw the
sound out of her mind. “Please, Spencer?” she said. “Please..
_.“
The noise continued but suddenly Spencer had stopped. She felt him shoot into her, a hot
streaming orgasm that seemed to fill something in the center of her being.
Jillian found her voice and she screamed.
“Spencer...
!“

Jillian awoke—or, at least she thought she was awake. She was in the bed, naked, alone. But gradually she came to realize that the bed was not in the bedroom. All around her, above her, to the side of her, behind her were stars, millions and millions of stars, as if she were trapped inside a dark dome of stars.

Her eyes were open and she tried to raise her head, but she could not. And then, coming from far away, came that sound. The screaming, chattering shriek, but coming closer and closer...

 

* * *

Jillian awoke. She was in the bed, naked and alone. She was sprawled on top of the sheets. Startled by her own nakedness she grabbed at the blankets and pulled them around her as if for protection. Slowly she explored her body. There were bruises on her ribs and shoulders where Spencer had held her tight. She put her hand between her legs and winced in pain when she felt her genitals. They were hot and the pain was raw, as if she had been whipped there.

She sat up on her elbows and looked around the shadowy room. Spencer was not there. The apartment was quiet and seemed to be as still as the night. But she listened in the darkness, intently, her ears picking up a faint sound. It was a very small sound and it was emanating from one of the rooms of the house. The sound was small, soft but very clear. Jillian trembled when she heard it—it was no ordinary sound, it was
the
sound. That horrible shriek like a cloud of insects.

Jillian swallowed and gathered up all her courage. Pulling the covers around her, Jillian climbed out of the bed and left the bedroom, walking down the long hall toward the sound. It was still soft, but plainly present. She crossed the dining room, approaching the double doors that led into the living room. The sound was a little louder now. Jillian could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her breathing seemed very loud, as if it could be heard yards away..

She stood in the door of the living room and saw Spencer on the far side of the room. He was sitting
in a chair by the tall windows. On the end table next to him was a small AM/FM radio and Spencer was leaning toward it, as if anxious to catch every sound, every note coming from the tiny speaker.

Somehow he sensed her standing there and quickly, but not frantically, he turned off the radio. That soft, distant insect sound stopped abruptly. He turned and looked at his wife. She was leaning against the door frame, the covers clutched at her throat. She stared at her husband, as if trying to focus on him.

“Spencer,” she said, her voice groggy and fatigued. “What are you doing?”

He stood up and walked toward her. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said calmly. “So I came out here. I was just listening to some music on the radio.”
He slipped his arms around her and held her close, feeling her body through the blankets. “Jill, I... I might have had too much to drink tonight and...” He swept a hand through his hair.

_“....
Well, it had been so long since we made love. If I got out of hand there, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
He kissed her softly. “Forgive me?”
Jillian nodded. “Oh... I feel so awful,” she said. “I think I had too much to drink tonight, too.”
Spencer put his arm around her shoulder and started to lead her back toward the bedroom. “Come on,” he said gently. “let’s get you a couple, of aspirin.”
As they left the living room, Jillian glanced over her shoulder and looked at the radio. It was sitting
silently on the table, bathed in the moonlight coming in through the window.

Spencer carefully remade the bed and then put Jillian in it, like a parent settling a child for the night. Then he went to the bathroom and got his wife two aspirins and a glass of cool water. He handed them to her and stood over her, making sure that she took her medicine. Jillian put the pills on her tongue, then took a couple of gulps of water.

“There you go,” Spencer said. “Those will help with the hangover in the morning.” “Thank you,’ ‘she said, as if thanking a stranger. He took the glass from her, set it on the bedside table, then climbed into bed with her. He snapped off the bedside light and then cuddled up next to her.
“Good night, Jillian.” He kissed her softly, then closed his eyes, dozing
off,
his arms around her.
There was no sleep for Jillian. She lay in the dark, her eyes wide open, feeling a vague fear.

10

Spencer had left for work by the time Jillian awoke. She was pleased to realize that she had no hangover, no effects from the evening before except for a slight soreness between her legs. That, she knew, would go away.

Bright sunlight flooded into the apartment and it raised Jillian’s sprits just enough to get her out of bed, into the shower, dressed, and ready for work.
As she was about to leave for her job, she noticed the radio, still sitting on the table as it had been the night before. Jillian walked over to it, stopped, and looked at it for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached out and turned it on. From the speaker came some tinny-sounding pop music. Just pop music...
“So much for that,” she said aloud in the empty apartment. She turned the radio off and left.

The second graders sat at their desks hanging on Jillian’s every word. It was the best time of the day—it was story time. Jillian read beautifully, putting real emotion behind the story. And today’s story was a favorite, a real crowd pleaser because it called for a considerable amount of audience participation.

”...Then she began to guess the little man’s name.“ she read, making her voice sound sad and far away. “‘Is it Conrad Pepper Mill?’ she said. And the little man said...” Jillian glanced expectantly at her students.

“No!” they shouted in unison.

“‘I know, I know!’ “Jillian read aloud. ” ‘Is it Sir William Doorknob?’ And the little man said...”
“No!” the class yelled again.
“‘I have it,’” Jillian said, clapping her hands. “‘Your name must be Little Ribs of Beef.’ And

the little man said..
_.“
“No!” they all shouted.
“‘It couldn’t be Rumpelstilskin could it?’ “Jillian said.
_“
‘What did you say?’ cried the little

man. ‘I said, it couldn’t be—’
_“
And the whole class shouted. “Rumpelstilskin!”
“And the little man screamed,” Jillian said.
The entire class screamed with glee.
“And he stamped his little foot,” Jillian concluded.
Pandemonium erupted in the classroom as two dozen second graders screamed and stamped

their feet. Jillian did not do either. She sat on her little chair, the book closed in her lap, her mind far away, thinking of other things.

School was over by two o’clock and Jillian was faced with returning to her empty apartment. In order to delay the inevitable, she lingered in the teachers’ lounge, working through the few papers that been placed in her cubbyhole.