I’ll say!” He strode over to Monica and gave her a kiss on her offered cheek. “Tell me,” he said, “what’s a gorgeous girl like you doing with a meathead like him?”
She smiled. “Just lucky.” Then turning to Logan’s Mom, she offered her hand and said, “ O prazer de conhecê-lo, Sehnora MacGregor.”
“Oh, my! That’s—”
“Portuguese, Sehnora . My family is Portuguese.”
“Logan, why didn’t you tell me she was una Portuguesa ?”
Logan smiled and shrugged, knowing he had no worthy excuse.
“From Lisbon?” his mother asked, turning back to Monica.
“North of there, Sehnora . I was born in Braga, but we came over here when I was a baby. I’ve never been back.”
“Well, for starters,” she said taking Monica’s arm, “you can drop the ‘ Sehnora’ and call me Marie. Come sit next to me so we can talk. The men will want to go on and on about rocket ships.”
“Hey, rocket ships need love too!” Monica said, her eyebrows gabled.
“Oh yes, that’s right, Logan said you are an astronaut. How exciting that must be!”
“Yes, it’s exciting sometimes… and beautiful… awesomely beautiful… so beautiful it hurts.”
“Logan, you did not tell me she has the eye of an artist!” She turned her eyes back to Monica. “Tell me about it. I want to know everything!”
“Well, the best times are the space walks. You have to do those inside the ring… so you don’t get hit by passing debris. But when I’m not too busy with work, I stop and float with my back toward Earth. It’s best when you’re in Earth’s shadow—the heavens are brightest then. It only lasts a few minutes because we circle the Earth so fast—a whole orbit every ninety minutes. But in those few minutes you look up at heaven and the stars are brighter than they ever are on Earth. There’s very little Earthshine and no atmosphere so the stars don’t twinkle like they do down here. But they are huge! So big you’d think they might drip on you. And they seem so close, like you need to be extra careful not to bump into one of them. They bring me to tears—not such a good idea in a space suit...” Suddenly noticing the silence, she looked about the breakfast table. Everyone was frozen in time, hanging onto her every word. Even wizened old Matilda, whose hair had been in the same tight bun since Father Junipero Serra first arrived in California, had stopped setting the coffee service on the sidebar.
Mack’s mother finally broke the silence. “Logan, Logan! What’s the matter with you?” She Dutch-rubbed the top of his head playfully with her knuckles. “You go up there all the time but you never told it like that!”
“Easy, Mom,” he said, gently smoothing back his hair. “Every time you do that, a few more come out.”
“So you still have your two eyes—what, you don’t see anything?” his mother asked.
“Monica is the spacewalk artist. When I go up I’m mostly stuck inside the station watching dials, talking to robots. But sometimes I get to look around. Most of the stations have observation domes. But I have to say the views I’ve gotten through an observation dome are nothing like what Monica just described looking out the bubble of her space helmet. Monica, did you ever take pictures—you know, with your helmet cam?”
“Actually I did. The videos where I zoom in and out in slo-mo are the best. I’ll send you some.”
“So, what would you like to do after breakfast?” Mack’s father asked. “I was thinking you might enjoy going for a ride around the property.”
“Ride?” Monica asked. “You mean on motorcycles?”
“Yes, only these motorcycles have four legs and long wispy tails.”
“I haven’t been on a horse in years. Do you have one that is not too energetic?”
* * *
After supper, Mack and Monica sat in the swing chair up on the widow’s walk. The seats and back had soft cushions and the chain made squeaky sounds as they rocked back and forth. The
She smiled. “Just lucky.” Then turning to Logan’s Mom, she offered her hand and said, “ O prazer de conhecê-lo, Sehnora MacGregor.”
“Oh, my! That’s—”
“Portuguese, Sehnora . My family is Portuguese.”
“Logan, why didn’t you tell me she was una Portuguesa ?”
Logan smiled and shrugged, knowing he had no worthy excuse.
“From Lisbon?” his mother asked, turning back to Monica.
“North of there, Sehnora . I was born in Braga, but we came over here when I was a baby. I’ve never been back.”
“Well, for starters,” she said taking Monica’s arm, “you can drop the ‘ Sehnora’ and call me Marie. Come sit next to me so we can talk. The men will want to go on and on about rocket ships.”
“Hey, rocket ships need love too!” Monica said, her eyebrows gabled.
“Oh yes, that’s right, Logan said you are an astronaut. How exciting that must be!”
“Yes, it’s exciting sometimes… and beautiful… awesomely beautiful… so beautiful it hurts.”
“Logan, you did not tell me she has the eye of an artist!” She turned her eyes back to Monica. “Tell me about it. I want to know everything!”
“Well, the best times are the space walks. You have to do those inside the ring… so you don’t get hit by passing debris. But when I’m not too busy with work, I stop and float with my back toward Earth. It’s best when you’re in Earth’s shadow—the heavens are brightest then. It only lasts a few minutes because we circle the Earth so fast—a whole orbit every ninety minutes. But in those few minutes you look up at heaven and the stars are brighter than they ever are on Earth. There’s very little Earthshine and no atmosphere so the stars don’t twinkle like they do down here. But they are huge! So big you’d think they might drip on you. And they seem so close, like you need to be extra careful not to bump into one of them. They bring me to tears—not such a good idea in a space suit...” Suddenly noticing the silence, she looked about the breakfast table. Everyone was frozen in time, hanging onto her every word. Even wizened old Matilda, whose hair had been in the same tight bun since Father Junipero Serra first arrived in California, had stopped setting the coffee service on the sidebar.
Mack’s mother finally broke the silence. “Logan, Logan! What’s the matter with you?” She Dutch-rubbed the top of his head playfully with her knuckles. “You go up there all the time but you never told it like that!”
“Easy, Mom,” he said, gently smoothing back his hair. “Every time you do that, a few more come out.”
“So you still have your two eyes—what, you don’t see anything?” his mother asked.
“Monica is the spacewalk artist. When I go up I’m mostly stuck inside the station watching dials, talking to robots. But sometimes I get to look around. Most of the stations have observation domes. But I have to say the views I’ve gotten through an observation dome are nothing like what Monica just described looking out the bubble of her space helmet. Monica, did you ever take pictures—you know, with your helmet cam?”
“Actually I did. The videos where I zoom in and out in slo-mo are the best. I’ll send you some.”
“So, what would you like to do after breakfast?” Mack’s father asked. “I was thinking you might enjoy going for a ride around the property.”
“Ride?” Monica asked. “You mean on motorcycles?”
“Yes, only these motorcycles have four legs and long wispy tails.”
“I haven’t been on a horse in years. Do you have one that is not too energetic?”
* * *
After supper, Mack and Monica sat in the swing chair up on the widow’s walk. The seats and back had soft cushions and the chain made squeaky sounds as they rocked back and forth. The
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