Crosstalk (13 page)

“And Dr. Verrick's nurse said she thought we might connect sooner than the average couple because we got such high scores on the battery of tests. She said Dr. Verrick expected us to have a deeper, more intimate level of communication than most couples experience.” He frowned, seeming to notice Briddey's hospital gown for the first time. “Why aren't you dressed? Don't tell me they haven't discharged you yet. I'll go see what the holdup is.”

“No,” Briddey said, reaching to stop him. The last thing she needed was for him to find out about last night from the nurses. “They have some more tests they want to run before they send me home.”

“Why?” Trent said, instantly alarmed. “Did something happen with your EED? Some kind of complication?”

That's one word for it,
C.B. said.

Go
away.
“No,” she said to Trent. “Everything's fine. I love the roses you sent. They're absolutely beautiful.”

But Trent refused to be distracted. “If everything's fine, why do they need to run tests? And what kind of tests?”

If she told him a CT scan, he'd really think something was wrong, and she couldn't think of any benign-sounding tests. “I don't know,” she said.

Bad idea,
C.B. said.

“You don't
know
?” Trent said, pulling out his phone. “I'm calling Dr. Verrick.”

Told you,
C.B. said.

“No. You can't call him,” Briddey said, and then for the life of her couldn't think of any reason why.

He's going to be in surgery all morning,
C.B. prompted.

“He told me he was going to be in surgery all morning,” Briddey parroted.

And he said the tests were just routine
.

“And he said the tests were purely routine for someone who's had an EED.”

No, no,
no
. I told you not to say any more than you have to.

“They didn't run any tests on me,” Trent said. He looked sharply at Briddey. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

Yes,
she thought, and it must have shown in her face because he said, “What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

I wouldn't bet on it,
C.B. said.
Remember that guy who shot his wife, and that was just for failing to connect, not connecting to somebody else. And that's if he doesn't think you're crazy. Remember that hearing-voices study.

“There's nothing I'm not telling you,” Briddey said firmly. “Everything's fine, Trent. Dr. Verrick said so when he was in.”

“Then why is he running tests?”

He's just being extra cautious
.

“He's just being extra cautious,” she said. “That's why he's so sought-after as a surgeon, because he's so conscientious.”

“You're right,” Trent conceded. “All the same, I think I'd better stay here with you while you have them.”

No!
Briddey thought. “No, you…this could take all morning,” she stammered. “You know how hospitals are. Things take forever. What about your meeting?”

Trent already had his phone out and was swiping through screens. “You're more important than any meeting,” he said without looking up. “And if something's gone wrong, there's no point in even
having
a—” He stopped himself, then went on more calmly. “I mean, I'd be so worried about whether you were all right, there'd be no way I could make a decent presentation.”

“I
am
all right. Everything's
fine,
” she said, racking her brain for a reason that would convince him to go. “There's no need for you to stay. And if you cancel the meeting, Hamilton—”

“Might think something's gone wrong,” he said musingly, and then seemed to come to himself. “With the project, I mean. You're right. We don't want him to think that. I'd better meet with him. You're sure you'll be all right here by yourself?”

I'm
not
by myself,
she thought.
More's the pity.
“Yes,” she said. “I'm fine. Go.”

“Okay,” Trent said. “I'll be back as soon as the meeting's over and drive you home.” He started out. “If you're ready to go before then, just text me.”

“I will. Oh, wait, I can't. I don't have my phone. I asked for it back, but—”

“I'll check on it on my way out,” he said. “Text me when you find out what tests they're planning to do. And call me the
moment
you feel any glimmering of a connection, even if I'm in my meeting.”

“I will,” she promised, “but
my
nurse said the swelling from the surgery has to go down, and the anesthetic—”

“I know, I know, and it takes at least twenty-four hours, but I have a feeling we're going to connect very soon.” He stopped at the door. “You're absolutely sure you're okay with my leaving?”

“Yes. Now go. You'll be late for your meeting.” The tech would be here any minute to take her for the CT scan, and if Trent found out she was having that…

“You promise you'll text me the moment—?” he began, and his phone rang again. “I've got to take this,” he said, and started down the hall, saying, “Worth here. What did you find out?”

“Don't forget my phone,” Briddey called after him, but he was already gone.

I don't think he heard you,
C.B. said.

Will you go
away
?

Roger that, Night Fighter. Over and out,
he said, and either he went away or at least shut up for the moment, though she was afraid he was still there. And right about Trent's not hearing her.

But a few minutes later an aide came in bearing her phone and a bouquet of violets. The attached card had two figures clinking champagne glasses on it and read, “Here's to our connecting—the proof our love is real!”

Oh, don't say that,
Briddey thought, wincing, and unlocked her phone.

She already had two texts from Trent—“Have you had tests?” and “Any connection yet?”—and fifty-one from her family.

She texted Trent, “Thank you for the beautiful violets!” and started through Kathleen's messages. Half of them said, “Need to talk to you about Chad! Urgent!” and the other half were articles about EEDs gone wrong, including a TMZ exposé about a
Match Made in Heaven
star whose EED with a Denver Bronco had failed, which quoted her as saying, “I should have known the moment we didn't connect that he was cheating on me. EEDs don't lie.”

I was right not to say anything to Trent,
Briddey thought, and googled “CT scan.”

C.B. had been telling the truth; it only took a picture of the soft tissue of the brain, not of the brain's activity. And when she was taken down to have it done a few minutes later, the technician said basically the same thing. “Everything looks normal,” he told Briddey.

Thank goodness,
she thought.
Now I can get out of here.

But when she got back to her room, the nurse said Dr. Verrick needed to go over her test results before she could be discharged. “Then can I have breakfast?” Briddey asked.

“I'll check,” the nurse said, and Briddey moved her bed up to sitting position and resumed calling to Trent. But even though she listened intently for an emotion he might be sending or some sense of his presence, she didn't hear anything.

Though she didn't hear C.B. either, which meant her efforts must be having some effect in weakening their feedback loop—or, if she was lucky, eliminating it altogether.

Now all I have to do is establish a new one to Trent,
she thought, and redoubled her efforts, but she still didn't get anything. Except hungrier. Where was her breakfast?

She asked the nurse who came in to check her IV and the aide who came in to make her bed, but it was clear the same thing had happened to her breakfast as to that blanket last night. She tried calling to Trent some more—to no avail—and then unlocked her phone and went through the rest of her family's messages. Mistake. Mary Clare had decided that Maeve was definitely talking to terrorists online. “It explains everything. She spends all her time in her room, and she changed the password on her phone. When I ask her what she's doing, she refuses to tell me.”

I don't blame her. Every time she does, you go off the deep end. Poor Maeve,
Briddey thought, feeling guilty for having inflicted this on her niece, though the idea of terrorists had at least kept Mary Clare's attention off her during these critical two days. And it was obvious from the changed password that Maeve could take care of herself.

But it still wasn't fair to her.
I'll talk to Mary Clare about it as soon as I'm successfully connected to Trent. And out of here.

But it began to look as though that would never happen. Ten o'clock and then ten thirty came and went without either breakfast or Dr. Verrick's okay. It was nearly eleven before a brand-new nurse appeared to say, “You can go home. We're processing your paperwork. Is your fiancé coming to pick you up?”

“Oh, we're not engaged yet,” Briddey started to say and then decided it didn't matter. What mattered was getting out of here and then connecting with Trent.

“Yes,” she said instead. “Should I call him now?”

The nurse nodded. “Tell him it'll take about half an hour to get you ready.”

Briddey phoned Trent. She got kicked to his voicemail; he was probably still in his meeting. She texted, “Call me,” and then tried calling to him mentally, saying,
They're ready to discharge me. Can you come?

There was no answer to either message, and it was a good thing because the half hour stretched to forty-five minutes and then an hour.Lunch was served, which she didn't get either, and at twelve fifteen a student nurse poked her head in, inquiring, “Did you ask for an extra blanket?”

Yes,
she thought.
Last night.
“No,” she said. “I'm supposed to go home. Can you find out what's happening?”

“I'll check,” the student nurse said. “Be back in a minute.”

She wasn't back, and after ten minutes Briddey phoned Trent again. Still no answer. She texted, “Call me,” and when he didn't, called his office.

His secretary answered. “Hi, Ethel, this is Briddey Flannigan,” Briddey said. “Is Trent still in his meeting?” and when Ethel said yes, “I need you to get a message to him. I think he must have accidentally turned off his phone.”

“He doesn't have his phone with him,” Ethel said.

“What do you mean? He
always
has his phone.”

“It's a secure meeting. No laptops or smartphones allowed.”

“Then can you take a message in to him?” Briddey asked.

“I'm afraid not. That's not allowed either.”

Management must really be worried about leaks where the new phone was concerned.

“Is there anything
I
can do for you?” Ethel was asking.

Send someone to pick me up,
Briddey thought, but if Ethel did, all of Commspan would know about it. She debated asking Ethel to come herself. She didn't spread rumors. In fact, she was the
only
one at Commspan who didn't, and she'd do anything to help Trent. But if someone saw her leaving in the middle of the day, they were bound to wonder where she was going, especially given the secrecy surrounding Trent's meeting. Which meant it was bound to get back to Suki.

“No, that's okay. Just have him call me when he gets out of his meeting,” Briddey said, and ended the call.

The nurse came in with Briddey's clothes and a sheaf of papers for her to sign. “Did you reach your fiancé?” she asked.

“Yes, but he's been detained. It's not a problem. I'll just drive myself.”

The nurse shook her head. “No driving for twenty-four hours. Dr. Verrick's orders.”

But Trent was allowed to drive,
Briddey thought. “I'll call a taxi, then.”

“You don't have anyone else who could give you a ride?”

If I say no, does that mean you won't let me go?
Briddey wondered. “I could call my sister,” she said. She could tell her Kathleen was on her way and she was meeting her downstairs, and then call a taxi from the lobby.

“Tell her she can pull up to the main door and call the desk,” the nurse said, “and we'll take you down to her.”

“I don't really need—”

“Hospital rules. We have to take you down to the lobby in a wheelchair.”

So there went that plan. Who could she have come get her? Obviously not anyone from Commspan. And not Kathleen or Mary Clare or Aunt Oona. Or the Daughters of Ireland.
It's too bad Maeve's not old enough to drive,
she thought, racking her brain to think of someone she could call.
Trent, this would be a really good time to get out of your meeting and talk to your secretary
.

The phone rang.
Thank heavens.
She snatched it up.

“Why haven't you been answering your phone?” Kathleen demanded. “I've been calling you since yesterday.”

“I've been in conferences.”

“All
night
?” Kathleen said, and thankfully didn't wait for an answer. “I needed to talk to you. I took your advice and broke up with Chad, and now Aunt Oona's trying to fix
me
up with Sean O'Reilly. What am I going to do? It never
occurred
to me that—”

“Listen, Kathleen,” Briddey cut in, “I need you to do me a big favor. I—”

“Here we are,” the nurse said, reappearing with a wheelchair. “All ready to go?”

“Hang on a sec, Kathleen,” Briddey said, pressing the phone to her chest so her sister couldn't hear her. “I'm still trying to find someone to take me home.”