Chapter Thirty-Nine

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

COUNTDOWN TO ZERO HOUR 20 MINUTES

IN THEIR FINAL minutes together, Matt and Steve were quiet. Following Joss down the hallway, they simply walked side by side, Matt taking larger-than-usual steps, trying to match his dad’s stride. Reaching the end of the hall, Joss gave a nod to Steve and said she’d be right in there when he was ready. Then she closed the door quietly, and father and son were alone.

Steve dropped to one knee in front of Matt, who stared at the floor.

“Take off your shoe,” Steve said.

Matt looked up. “What?”

“I need your shoe.”

Matt took off his tennis shoe and passed it to his dad. Wincing, Steve started to remove the lace. “Your fishing pole,” he said. “Do you remember why it’s broken?”

Matt shook his head.

“The reel jammed,” Steve said as he continued to unlace the shoe, “because the line was tangled. Do you remember why the line tangled?”

“I wouldn’t tie the knot you told me to tie,” Matt said, remembering now.

Steve smiled. “You know, the dumb, dangerous ideas you get from me. But the stubbornness?” He looked up with a raised eyebrow. “ That you get from your mother.” Steve set down the now lace-less shoe. “You wouldn’t let me tie the knot because you wanted to tie it yourself with a clinch knot. I told you a clinch knot would make the lure swim sideways and eventually tangle the line. But you were so proud of your clinch knot, you refused to let me tie the one that would work.” Steve touched his thumb to his pointer finger, making an O . “Do this.”

Matt did. Steve took the lace and folded it over. Then, step by step, using Matt’s fingers like the eye of a hook, he showed his son how to tie a uni knot—the knot he should have used on the hook that day. The knot that wouldn’t have made the line tangle. The knot Matt would need to know the next time he went fishing.

“See?” Steve said, tugging the shoelace knot against Matt’s fingers. “Here,” he said, untying it and holding his own fingers out in an O . “You try.”

With Steve talking him through it, Matt clumsily tied the knot around his dad’s bandaged fingers. The son looked up, proud. The father smiled, prouder. “Good,” Steve said. “Do it again.”

Matt tied the knot again. And then again. Finally, the last time, Steve untied the knot and laid the lace in Matt’s hand.

“The reel is still jammed,” Steve said. “You’ll need my tools in the swing-out cabinet under the workbench. Those are your tools now. You’re going to have to take it apart and fix it yourself.”

Matt looked down, his voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

“I know,” Steve said, holding it together for both of them, the last fatherly act he would do for his child. “There’s going to be a lot of things you don’t know how to do. That’s okay. It’s okay not to know. Ask for help. People will help you. Let them.”

Matt nodded, letting himself be scared. It was the last childlike act he would do for his father. He started to cry. Steve lifted his chin.

“Let them help you. You are already twice the man most men will ever be. You have nothing to prove to anyone, ever. Do you understand me?”

Matt wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and the two hugged for what would be the last time. They held each other for a long time, but it wasn’t long enough.

It never would be.

The mood in the control room was somber. Controllers occupied themselves with their own version of busywork—monitoring, checking gauges. Ethan was on the emergency line updating Marion on what was happening so he could then pass the information along to the community. His voice was tired. He was tired. The emotional impact of the day was starting to creep in along the edges.

“So,” Ethan said with an exhausted sigh, running a hand down his face. “That’s the plan.”

Marion made a noise of understanding, a promise to pass the word along, and a statement of gratitude for all he, they, had done that day. As they were about to hang up, Marion asked who they’d chosen to open the gate.

“Oh, I thought I said,” Ethan said. “Steve. Joss went with him to swipe him in. He’s saying goodbye to his son now.” Ethan cleared his throat, covering his emotion, thinking of that moment, imagining what it would be like if he had to have that moment with his own son. Ethan wasn’t sure he was that strong. Actually, he knew he wasn’t.

“Right,” said Marion. “But who’s the second?”

In the silence of Ethan’s lack of a response, he could almost feel Marion sit up straighter.

“There are two wheels. Side by side,” Marion said. “They have to be opened at the same time to release the pressure on the gates evenly. If they’re not, the pressure builds to the point that neither will open.” He waited for Ethan to say something. “It can’t be done alone. It can only be done by two people.” There was still no response. “Are you there?” Marion said finally.

Ethan wasn’t listening. He was staring at the blueprints lying on the table, remembering Joss hunched over, studying them. He was remembering the look in her eyes as she slumped down in a chair and stared off into space. He hadn’t understood that look then.

He did now.

Ethan sprinted out of the control room and down the hall, burst through the building’s exit, and ran across the campus as fast as his legs would carry him while a stunningly gorgeous early-spring sunset exploded across the sky behind him. He ran past rubble and wreckage, fire trucks and aircraft parts. A stitch in his side intensified as he gasped for air, only then realizing he wasn’t wearing any protective gear, not even a mask. He didn’t care. He kept going.

Rounding a corner onto the scene of the aircraft tail jammed flush against the building, he saw Joss and Steve approaching the door at the far end. Ethan screamed her name just as she swiped a badge through the door’s security panel. Steve turned. Joss didn’t.

“Joss! Stop !” Ethan cried out as his feet pounded the grass while he watched Joss enter the security code. He was almost there, he had almost caught up—when he saw a little green light on the panel blink on. Joss ripped open the door, pushed Steve inside, followed him in, and slammed the door shut behind them just as Ethan arrived.

“No!” he cried, pulling uselessly on the handle, pounding on the locked door. Inside, Joss, in her full hazmat suit, watched him through the glass pane in the door.

Ethan went for his badge on the retractable lanyard on his hip, but it wasn’t there. Patting all around his waist, frantic, he saw movement and looked up to see Joss pressing his own badge up against the window.

“No… no, please. Joss, no!” he screamed, pounding his fist against the door, pulling on the door handle. “Please don’t do it. It shouldn’t be you. Let me go. Please. Let me be the one.”

But they both knew he was only saying that because it was already done. It was her, not him. That much had been decided the day he didn’t get on the plane and go with her to Washington. Joss held her hand up to the glass on the door; her way of reminding him they’d both chosen their own paths long ago. Her way of saying it was okay.

“No,” Ethan said, shaking his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s not. It’s not okay.”

Joss smiled, her cheeks pushed up by the mask, loving that after all these years, they still didn’t have to talk to communicate. She nodded.

Yes, yes, it was okay.

They stayed that way a moment longer, trapped somewhere between what could have been and how it had turned out. Finally, Joss brought her hand down. Ethan kept his up. And just as he had at the airport all those years ago, he watched her walk away and not look back.