dying an icy death, he could still calm himself by doing this sort of casual, Boy Scout survey, finding everything superficially in place.
His early stargazing had evolved into a narrowed vision that was his strong suit in the groves of astronomy. Although he could construct a decent equation, map out the Doppler shift of a star’s spectra to calculate its mass, that sort of thing, his real talent lay in being an astronomer rather than a physicist. He could look through a telescope, or read a radio image and see something others had missed, particularly what hid within the shadows of stars. This had put him on the receiving end of a lot of material, stuff that had stumped someone and someone else, who then, as a last-ditch gesture, fielded it off to Nick. This ability allowed him, in spite of a spotty attendance record and a few unfortunate incidents at school social occasions, to still occupy a place in the scientific academy. He would never get tenure. He’d run off the rails of that track. He had his doctorate now, but his recommendation letters overflowed with faint praise, and held between their lines invisible-ink warnings about his unreliability, his unpredictable behavior. He wouldn’t get an important job anywhere, ever. They kept him on part time down at the U of C. He might turn out to be a credit to them. In the meantime, they let him teach a basic astronomy course every semester, kept an eye on his student evaluations.
Nobody else wanted him. He was too much trouble. But a lot of people wanted his findings, that was what kept him on the game board. Recently he had scored a succession of grants to go down to Arecibo, the big dish radio scope in Puerto Rico. At the moment he could find what he needed through radio waves. But optical astronomy was still a big player, and poised for huge discoveries. This was its time. NASAhad already launched its big telescope—Hubble. A repair was necessary; a camera had to be replaced, to overcome the spherical aberration of the primary mirror. Once that mission was accomplished, the scope would linger in space, clicking away, capturing pictures not blurred by the earth’s atmosphere, and then the whole of cosmology would probably break wide open. It was a great time to be looking around, but also—for Nick—a little spooky. Like being the first people to stick their toes in a deep and unknown lake of water that was purple, or peach.
And now he didn’t have drugs to buffer this anxiety. Now he had to fall back on carpentry and Olivia as his calming forces. He was a married man now, half of a two-income couple. He worked construction four days a week, taught one day. She cut hair at a neighborhood beauty shop and had a good base of clients. She made decent money. They owned a condo on Addison, near the lake. He drove an Impala that was only two years old. He was getting extremely close to respectability. He had Olivia to thank for this.
Even though the incident was a couple of years back now, Nick was still thinking about how to deal with Horace’s grotesque behavior at the birthday party. Nick had gone back to his parents’ place later that night, but just sat out front in the car. A few days later he bought a gun. He didn’t have a plan, didn’t even have an image of himself being able to use it. When Olivia came across it in the back of his under wear drawer, she said, “This is for your old man? Oh, please. Who is he really? Someone you’re connected to by sperm.”
He was so grateful to be let off the hook. And of course by now, so much time had passed. The longer he thought about how to deal with Horace, the more complicated it became and he had to further refine his message. He thought he’d be ready by the time they got home from this trip. Ready, or nearly ready.
He knew Olivia thought he was weak, but she didn’t seem to care.
“If I wanted tough, I would have married Freddi. Don’t think that wasn’t an option.”
He rolled over, hopped off the
His early stargazing had evolved into a narrowed vision that was his strong suit in the groves of astronomy. Although he could construct a decent equation, map out the Doppler shift of a star’s spectra to calculate its mass, that sort of thing, his real talent lay in being an astronomer rather than a physicist. He could look through a telescope, or read a radio image and see something others had missed, particularly what hid within the shadows of stars. This had put him on the receiving end of a lot of material, stuff that had stumped someone and someone else, who then, as a last-ditch gesture, fielded it off to Nick. This ability allowed him, in spite of a spotty attendance record and a few unfortunate incidents at school social occasions, to still occupy a place in the scientific academy. He would never get tenure. He’d run off the rails of that track. He had his doctorate now, but his recommendation letters overflowed with faint praise, and held between their lines invisible-ink warnings about his unreliability, his unpredictable behavior. He wouldn’t get an important job anywhere, ever. They kept him on part time down at the U of C. He might turn out to be a credit to them. In the meantime, they let him teach a basic astronomy course every semester, kept an eye on his student evaluations.
Nobody else wanted him. He was too much trouble. But a lot of people wanted his findings, that was what kept him on the game board. Recently he had scored a succession of grants to go down to Arecibo, the big dish radio scope in Puerto Rico. At the moment he could find what he needed through radio waves. But optical astronomy was still a big player, and poised for huge discoveries. This was its time. NASAhad already launched its big telescope—Hubble. A repair was necessary; a camera had to be replaced, to overcome the spherical aberration of the primary mirror. Once that mission was accomplished, the scope would linger in space, clicking away, capturing pictures not blurred by the earth’s atmosphere, and then the whole of cosmology would probably break wide open. It was a great time to be looking around, but also—for Nick—a little spooky. Like being the first people to stick their toes in a deep and unknown lake of water that was purple, or peach.
And now he didn’t have drugs to buffer this anxiety. Now he had to fall back on carpentry and Olivia as his calming forces. He was a married man now, half of a two-income couple. He worked construction four days a week, taught one day. She cut hair at a neighborhood beauty shop and had a good base of clients. She made decent money. They owned a condo on Addison, near the lake. He drove an Impala that was only two years old. He was getting extremely close to respectability. He had Olivia to thank for this.
Even though the incident was a couple of years back now, Nick was still thinking about how to deal with Horace’s grotesque behavior at the birthday party. Nick had gone back to his parents’ place later that night, but just sat out front in the car. A few days later he bought a gun. He didn’t have a plan, didn’t even have an image of himself being able to use it. When Olivia came across it in the back of his under wear drawer, she said, “This is for your old man? Oh, please. Who is he really? Someone you’re connected to by sperm.”
He was so grateful to be let off the hook. And of course by now, so much time had passed. The longer he thought about how to deal with Horace, the more complicated it became and he had to further refine his message. He thought he’d be ready by the time they got home from this trip. Ready, or nearly ready.
He knew Olivia thought he was weak, but she didn’t seem to care.
“If I wanted tough, I would have married Freddi. Don’t think that wasn’t an option.”
He rolled over, hopped off the
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