“I’m hopeful his dad will be in touch,” she told Ned, relieved to have the conversation end.

Shelley has always been so hopeful, which is surprising, given her life; she is so hopeful, in fact, that a lot of people might think it’s stupid. Even now, she continues to believe and hope for things and possibilities that are impossible. Her ovaries have stopped working, there isn’t even a uterus in there, and yet a part of her still feels like she ovulates, still feels a surge of desire for a baby, her breasts tightening as if to let down for nourishment. It’s the same part of her that thinks Di and Dodi will drive out of the other end of that tunnel in Paris and then probably break up and go their separate ways, but will be the better for the time they were together, and also, the Challenger will see its mission to the end. In this dimension of the world, Christa McAuliffe comes home and is celebrated in New Hampshire, and lives with her husband and children to this very day. Shelley was Harvey’s age when that happened, and she was sitting in school, watching it all on television. The same teacher who later taught her cursive gasped and made them all get up and run out on the playground. “It blew up,” kids were saying. “They’re all dead.” And she squeezed her eyes as tight as she could and imagined a parachute opening.

Perhaps this optimism is what sees her through. Her mind in childhood was fixed on the image of the house she wished she had, small and easily scrubbed, safe and comfortable and clean, and that’s what she thinks about when afraid. She thinks about that, and she imagines Di coming home from Paris and hugging her wonderful sons before they settle in for the night, and Christa McAuliffe floating safely back to Earth, with her family there to greet her, and all the kids in her classroom have their noses pressed to the school windows on Monday morning when she returns. They wave and hold up a banner with her name written there. Welcome Home, Mrs. McAuliffe!

Lil

March 14, 2009
Newton