Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [18]
“Do the men who visit always want to sit in the gas chamber?” Gabby asked.
“No, not usually,” the warden said.
I wasn’t sure what Gabby thought of me, sitting there in the gas chamber, in contemplation, a slight grin on my face. But she liked me enough to suggest we go out to dinner after our prison tour. Dinner, at El Charro Café in Tucson, turned out to be great.
When the evening ended, rather than a kiss good night, Gabby gave me a quick hug. I returned to the officers’ quarters at the air base, Gabby drove back to her house, and we both just knew. This was the start of something.
I began coming to Arizona every other weekend to see Gabby. At the time, she was living in a house no bigger than a three-car garage. “If it was any smaller,” I’d say to her, “some little girl would break in and start setting up dolls in here!”
“Well, I like this place,” Gabby said. It was all she needed.
I’d often fly into Tucson in the T-38. That tiny house of hers was in line with the flight path of the air base, and sometimes I’d call her to suggest that she step outside, because I was going to fly directly over her. She got a kick out of that.
“I could even see the word ‘NASA’ on his plane!” she later told her mother.
“Very nice,” Gloria said. “In my time, we’d date boys based on how hot their cars were, not by how supersonic their jets were.”
Gabby’s mom seemed as impressed by my flyover as she’d been by my photo from the trip to China. But Gabby told her that she was falling fast for me, and Gloria noticed that Gabby’s face lit up as she spoke. “I look forward to meeting your astronaut,” Gloria said, figuring that once we met, she’d decide for herself if I was just another suitor or if I was “the one.”
To other people, Gabby said it was “a huge relief” that she had found me, after years of wondering if the right man for her would ever materialize. Gabby felt that she and I were very much alike. We’d both chosen careers in public service, we shared a curiosity about everything, we were both devoted to our families, and we found the same things to be funny. It had been a while since a woman really laughed at my jokes, and I definitely could make Gabby laugh.
Gabby told me she was in love after three or four visits. I took a little longer. Maybe because of my marital history, a part of me was too scared to fully commit myself. I had two young kids and a one-of-a-kind job in Houston. If Gabby and I were to marry, how would it work? Where would we live?
Gabby came up with all sorts of possible scenarios. She and I spent a lot of time on the phone and on e-mail, talking them through. She wasn’t yet thinking about running for Congress, because Jim Kolbe, the popular, long-term representative from her district, had given no indication he’d be retiring soon. But Gabby saw many other options.
Maybe she’d move to Houston and live on a houseboat near my home, so we could figure out our feelings. Maybe she’d come to the University of Texas for law school after she finished her term in the Arizona senate. Maybe she’d stay in Arizona and we’d just turn the long-distance love affair into a long-distance marriage. “There are a lot of ways to make it work,” she told me.
There was one issue, though, that was a likely deal-breaker for Gabby.
“Would you be willing to have more children?” she had asked me, very directly, on our second real date.
It was a big question, and though she asked it somewhat hypothetically, I could see she wasn’t just asking about me. She was asking about us.
I thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t be opposed to having more children,” I said. I knew that was what she wanted to hear. But I was also making a declaration to myself, an acknowledgment of my feelings for Gabby.
In 2005, Jim Kolbe surprised the Arizona political world by announcing that he wouldn’t seek another term in Congress. After Gabby decided to run for his seat, I became the tagalong guy, hanging out at her stump speeches. (“People are excited to meet