closed the door and turned it on.
“Are you there?” Paula said.
“Just a second.” With a staticky whoosh the TV came to life, and through the jumping lines, I could barely make out two blond heads. “I’m looking at a TV that’s circa 1985. The crawl’s completely cut off. Except for . . . wait—did scientists finally discover a way to clone Suzanne Somers?”
“They’re talking about Kelly Kahn,” Paula said. “Shh. I want to hear this.”
“ Again, if you’re just joining us ,” said one of the announcers, “ we’re talking about a new development in the Titan disaster story. The mother of Kelly Kahn—Kelly Kahn, you’ll remember was one of the four passengers killed in last month’s Spaceco accident— ”
The words were on a time lag, a two-second delay. I could hear them coming through the phone, crisply and clearly, then echoing again through the crackling speakers in front of me. All the reverb made them hard to understand. I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
“ —Has confirmed that her daughter was eight weeks pregnant at the time of the launch. The news has taken everyone by surprise. Not even Kelly’s father, the Australian TV tycoon Robert Kahn, apparently had any idea. Now we can’t say anything for sure, but there’s speculation that Kelly was keeping the pregnancy secret until after the launch. A representative has put out a statement saying that, of course, they had no knowledge of this. I’m quoting here—‘all Spaceco passengers are required to complete a physical exam before spaceflight . . . pregnancy is one of many medical conditions that precludes us from allowing a passenger to travel with us.’ Now, Caitlyn ”—she turned to the woman sitting next to her—“ tell me a little about the impact that this revelation might have on the investigation and on Spaceco’s situation in general. ”
Caitlyn was sucking in her breath to answer, but I beat her to the punch. “Not good,” I said. I reached out and clicked off the TV, plunging myself into merciful silence. “I didn’t know she was married.”
“She isn’t,” Paula said. “That’s the thing. No one knew. The news broke about an hour ago, and there’s already all this speculation about who the father is and whether he’s going to come forward.”
No doubt Paula had more details she could tell me, but suddenly I didn’t want to talk about it with her anymore. I turned around and glanced at the conference room door. “I have to go.”
“Jess,” said Paula. “Come on.”
“I’m serious. Thanks for the update.”
“I just thought you should know.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Jess, they’re right. You know that, don’t you? If she didn’t tell them, then it’s on her. She made the call. She took the risk. She —”
“Hanging up now.”
On that note, I have to stop. Try to go easy on the Bengay. The bears will smell you coming from a mile away.
J
From: Jessica Frobisher
Sent: Monday, April 14, 2014 2:12 pm
To: Arthur Danielson
Cc:
Bcc:
Subject: Re: whiling the download away
I know she’s right. I know you’re right. Is that supposed to be some sort of consolation? Because, if so, it fails.
That’s not what I’m looking for anyway. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I think what I want, Arthur, childishly, is for this story to make some sort of sense. I keep latching on to the stupidest pieces of information and brooding about them. Like this morning, for example. I was outside wandering around in the greenhouse-to-be, trying to figure out where I’m going to install the electric outlets, trying to plan ahead for once in my life. Instead I got distracted by thinking about the name Kelly Kahn. Kelly Kahn — what the hell kind of name is that? You think Kelly Kahn , and you get a woman in Minnesota baking snickerdoodles, or a
“Are you there?” Paula said.
“Just a second.” With a staticky whoosh the TV came to life, and through the jumping lines, I could barely make out two blond heads. “I’m looking at a TV that’s circa 1985. The crawl’s completely cut off. Except for . . . wait—did scientists finally discover a way to clone Suzanne Somers?”
“They’re talking about Kelly Kahn,” Paula said. “Shh. I want to hear this.”
“ Again, if you’re just joining us ,” said one of the announcers, “ we’re talking about a new development in the Titan disaster story. The mother of Kelly Kahn—Kelly Kahn, you’ll remember was one of the four passengers killed in last month’s Spaceco accident— ”
The words were on a time lag, a two-second delay. I could hear them coming through the phone, crisply and clearly, then echoing again through the crackling speakers in front of me. All the reverb made them hard to understand. I had to pull the phone away from my ear.
“ —Has confirmed that her daughter was eight weeks pregnant at the time of the launch. The news has taken everyone by surprise. Not even Kelly’s father, the Australian TV tycoon Robert Kahn, apparently had any idea. Now we can’t say anything for sure, but there’s speculation that Kelly was keeping the pregnancy secret until after the launch. A representative has put out a statement saying that, of course, they had no knowledge of this. I’m quoting here—‘all Spaceco passengers are required to complete a physical exam before spaceflight . . . pregnancy is one of many medical conditions that precludes us from allowing a passenger to travel with us.’ Now, Caitlyn ”—she turned to the woman sitting next to her—“ tell me a little about the impact that this revelation might have on the investigation and on Spaceco’s situation in general. ”
Caitlyn was sucking in her breath to answer, but I beat her to the punch. “Not good,” I said. I reached out and clicked off the TV, plunging myself into merciful silence. “I didn’t know she was married.”
“She isn’t,” Paula said. “That’s the thing. No one knew. The news broke about an hour ago, and there’s already all this speculation about who the father is and whether he’s going to come forward.”
No doubt Paula had more details she could tell me, but suddenly I didn’t want to talk about it with her anymore. I turned around and glanced at the conference room door. “I have to go.”
“Jess,” said Paula. “Come on.”
“I’m serious. Thanks for the update.”
“I just thought you should know.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Jess, they’re right. You know that, don’t you? If she didn’t tell them, then it’s on her. She made the call. She took the risk. She —”
“Hanging up now.”
On that note, I have to stop. Try to go easy on the Bengay. The bears will smell you coming from a mile away.
J
From: Jessica Frobisher
Sent: Monday, April 14, 2014 2:12 pm
To: Arthur Danielson
Cc:
Bcc:
Subject: Re: whiling the download away
I know she’s right. I know you’re right. Is that supposed to be some sort of consolation? Because, if so, it fails.
That’s not what I’m looking for anyway. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I think what I want, Arthur, childishly, is for this story to make some sort of sense. I keep latching on to the stupidest pieces of information and brooding about them. Like this morning, for example. I was outside wandering around in the greenhouse-to-be, trying to figure out where I’m going to install the electric outlets, trying to plan ahead for once in my life. Instead I got distracted by thinking about the name Kelly Kahn. Kelly Kahn — what the hell kind of name is that? You think Kelly Kahn , and you get a woman in Minnesota baking snickerdoodles, or a
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