“Well, this is what I think the color blue looks like right now,” Joan says. “I think that you want to come home and sleep in your warm bed. I think you want to go out for milkshakes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And watch Marlon Brando and Paul Newman movies. I think you want to know what David Bowie is going to record next. I think you want to listen to Joni Mitchell albums with the stereo on low, staring at the ceiling at midnight. And lie down on the grass with a picnic blanket and look up at the stars and wonder if all the answers are up there. I think you want to play Scrabble at a kitchen table with a ten-year-old girl. I think you want to go to weddings and slow dance. I think you want to live in a two-bedroom bungalow, and when the hinges on the cabinet are broken, you’ll fix them. I think you want to take the people you love flying over the Rockies at dawn. I think you want to be here to find out which, of all the things we believe to be impossible, we figure out next.

“And I think the only thing you want more than any of that,” Joan says, “is to know that you did everything possible to save the lives of your fellow crew members.”

Vanessa is trying not to cry, not to break down over the loop.

“And I think that you have to do this,” Joan says. “Because you come from a long line of heroes. And we are lucky that today, we have a hero on board STS-LR9. That’s what I think. Okay? That’s what I am…”

Joan can’t finish her sentence. She tries again: “That’s what I am…” She stops once more.

“It’s okay,” Vanessa says.

But now Vanessa is crying and unable to speak as well.

She can see that Navigator has made it over most of the Pacific, and the California coastline is just ahead. Any moment, the shuttle will hit the dense atmosphere and enter ionization blackout. There is not much more time to set everything right. To make sure everyone can live with whatever happens.

“Will you do me a favor?” Vanessa says. “Please tell my mother that I love her. Tell everyone down there that I loved them. That we loved them—I know Hank and Steve and Griff and Lydia would all feel the same way. Can you tell Donna and Helene and everyone that? Don’t let this hang too heavy, don’t carry it with you all too far down the road. We wouldn’t want that.”

“Vanessa, you…” Joan can’t finish her sentence again.