Undetected (33 page)

“Have you ever thought about teaching?” he asked. “Seminars, one-week concentrated classes, something on a topic you love?”

“And if I had a speech freeze?”

“It hasn't been a problem lately.”

“It's a mystery when and why it happens, but I still try to avoid situations where it's going to be an embarrassment to me and others if it occurred. Besides, teaching isn't my thing.”

“I've got a lot of questions, Gina, that I've never asked and would like to about your speech. Let me give them to you, and you can decide if there are some you might be okay with answering, or not.” She shrugged, but nodded, so he asked what would help him to know. “Do you feel it start? Do you have any warning? What are you thinking during those moments when you can't talk? What does it feel like as the words return?”

She smiled briefly at the scope of the questions. “I have a thought I want to express and find I can't. I think my jaw begins to lock up, the muscles around my throat begin to feel
stiff, and the words shut off. They get tangled up, and then it feels like everything that goes into talking is simply frozen. It's deeply frustrating.”

“Scary?”

“When it lasts a while. I'm actually more alert and aware than normal when it's happening. Speech is a no-thought-needed kind of action, much like breathing. When it stops working, and I'm mentally trying to remember how to speak, to intentionally move to make sounds, it's nearly impossible to get my body to cooperate. I feel a sense of adrenaline and panic, frustration, a lot of embarrassment.”

“Is there anything you would prefer I do if it happens?”

“You handle it well, Mark. You relax and wait. That's what I need to do as well, relax and wait for the problem to clear itself. But I find that very difficult. I feel like I should be able to fix what's wrong, but I don't know how, particularly when I don't know what just went wrong.”

“What's the longest it's ever lasted?”

“About 17 minutes. I was 15 at the time. Even Jeff was beginning to cry when I got so emotional about it. The panic was probably why it lasted so long. If there is a trigger, I think it's being put on the spot to say something, having others waiting on me to answer. I need some time to organize what I want to say, then say it clearly, and when I get to feeling rushed—” she waited a moment, then finished—“it's like my words trip over each other and stop. The only word I can find to describe it is
freeze
.”

He tightened his hand on hers. “I'm so sorry it happens.”

“So am I. Being in college at 14 didn't help matters, though I've never had a doctor directly come out and tell me that was one of the reasons this developed.”

She pointed to the building up ahead. “I wouldn't mind seeing if Professor Glass is in town. He teaches chemistry. His sub-specialty is high-energy particles, and I find his personal library very useful.”

“Sure.”

If she decided to stay in Chicago, she'd be returning to this campus as part of her routine. She was known here, and he watched as people came over to say hello, to ask her questions, and fill her in on details about research topics that quickly went into depths he couldn't follow. She had a place here and belonged. She would need that if her answer was to stay in Chicago, and he was glad to see it for himself. He would prefer she be in Bangor with him, with Jeff, but at least Chicago was an option that would be familiar ground to her.

Part of the equation he was quietly sorting out was how to give her the best future possible. What was needed in their lives was what was best for them both. He wouldn't mind teaching military history if the best for him was to retire from the Navy. Part-time professor, spend some hours working with Bryce, find a business they could dig into and build together. Maybe locate a leadership forum where he could serve as a speaker. Being a civilian would be a workable transition for him.

“What are you thinking about?” Gina asked.

“Life.”

“You were smiling.”

He squeezed her hand. “Life is good. Tell me about Professor Glass. You had him for a class?”

“Four classes, when I was 15 to 17. And he let me spend a summer semester as his grad student when I was 18. I love
chemistry, how atoms build objects, and how atoms themselves are built. Chemistry has some of the best mathematics of all the sciences. All of it is interesting—there are no boring parts.”

Mark laughed. “I saw some of your molecule models at the house. I could tell you liked building them.”

“Colored balls and straws—chemistry construction sets were my version of kids' building blocks. The objects that got built actually meant something, and that's what always fascinated me. I could shape the molecules that made up wood, then imagine my model shrinking down in size to be one small spot on the tabletop. From chemistry I learned a love of microscopes, and then the opposite direction—telescopes. Things get very small and very large. I love that about creation. It's never just about the obvious you see. Everything is made up of more parts.”

“Tell me more about your summer as a grad student,” he said, slowing their pace down a bit. “What did you work on?” Mark found it fascinating how Gina changed when she talked about science. Her voice grew more animated, and she relaxed further. She might be young, not comfortable on more general topics, but she had a solid confidence about her work. She needed that confidence on personal matters too, and he wanted to be part of helping her find that.

“You're smiling again,” Gina said. “Come on, give. What are you thinking about?”

They had reached the top of the stairs into the building. He reached over and opened the entry door for her, saw the hall was empty on the other side, and took the opportunity to lean over and kiss her. “I love you,” he replied. “I was thinking about that, and the fact you have a face I never
tire of looking at. I also like listening to you talk about your science.”

She didn't know how to respond. His hand on the small of her back directed her inside. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

He smiled. “Say yes. You won't regret it.” He saw a directory for the building on the facing wall. “Which floor do we need?”

She glanced around, blinked. “Two.”

“That I can get you this flustered should tell you something, Gina.” He chuckled, and her blush deepened as she headed up the stairs. He caught up and slipped his hand around hers again. “Sorry.”

“I didn't mind. Only stop doing that.”

He laughed again but did his best to talk only about the school as they continued the tour.

Gina followed the puppy through the snow as she walked beside Mark, the moonlight reflecting on the piles of white pushing back the darkness.

She had said no to Daniel Field because she thought it was the best decision for him. She had wanted to fall in love with Daniel, and she finally had to accept it wasn't going to happen.

Saying no to Mark Bishop as well . . . she didn't want to take that step. She didn't want to say no. But she wasn't ready to say yes either. She glanced over at him, walking beside her with his hands in his pockets, a calm, relaxed certainty about him. He'd handle whatever she decided, about the photo, about his proposal. He had a steadiness she envied.

She liked him. A lot. She trusted him. But
love
? That was the crux of the problem. She didn't love him. Maybe he was right, and it was a matter of timing. She didn't love him
yet
. Maybe she
could
love him. Or maybe it was going to be months of time with him, and she'd reach the same conclusion she had with Daniel. Wanting to love him, wishing she could, but never reaching that point.

She'd never imagined a man like Mark as her husband. She was still struggling to get her mind around the possibility. The few times he'd kissed her, she'd wanted to lean in against him and just let him fold her in his arms and hold her. She'd once thought that if she let him, he was the kind of guy who would take charge of her life, take the decisions and the weight of it for her. He'd protect her. The idea had great appeal tonight. And yet she couldn't embrace it. He was a good man. He was convinced they could have a good marriage. But he was so far ahead of where she was in her thoughts and emotions.

She could avoid the conversation for another day, but it would only delay and not change what she needed to say. She was turning down good guys and it was breaking her heart. “I've made some decisions, Mark.”

He reached over and took her hand. “I know.”

She heard the quiet steadiness in his words, but felt his tension in the hand that gripped hers. She was oddly comforted by that fact. “You're moving too fast for me,” she whispered. “I hear the words
I love you
, and I know you mean them. It breaks my heart that I can't say the same in reply. I don't love you, at least not yet, Mark. You're too far ahead of me. I can't accept your marriage proposal right now.”

He stopped walking, and she saw him close his eyes. Then
his hand holding hers tightened. “You're not saying an absolute no.”

“I want us to see each other until you have to go back on patrol in May. I need more time. I'll give you my answer before you deploy.”

He turned and folded her into a hug, let his chin rest against her hair. He didn't say anything for a long time. “You've got a boyfriend and a steady date from now until May,” he finally replied. “Just promise me you'll give me as much of your time as you can over these next months. Don't run scared, and don't over-think it. Don't walk away from something good because it seems like too much of a risk.”

She nodded because the words weren't there to reply. She wanted to cry, because she was breaking this man's heart. He knew she was stalling and tipping toward telling him no.

He nudged up her chin and gently kissed her. “I promise I'll do my best to play fair. You can trust me, Gina, with your heart
and
your future. Give us a chance. A good chance.”

“Can I keep wearing your ring?”

“I'd like it a great deal if you would.” He eased back a step, visibly forced himself to relax. “Come on, you're cold, and the puppy is going to bury himself in a pile of snow.” He put his arm around her and turned them back toward the house, holding her close against the cold.

They arrived at the house, stepped out of boots and pulled off coats, while the puppy shook himself, then raced into the living room. Mark led her into the kitchen. “I don't know about you, but snow burrows the cold right into my bones.” He pulled out a stool for her, got mugs down, poured some of the remaining coffee for himself, made hot chocolate for her. The temperature had been cold enough to numb fingers, and
she appreciated the warmth of holding the mug. She caught his gaze when he smiled at her, this man who wanted to be her husband. She felt the warmth of that smile and offered one of her own, still tentative but genuine.

“Will you agree to show the photo to the Navy?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” She drank the hot chocolate, grateful to have it to occupy her attention. “And given that—tell me the plan. What happens next?”

If she felt nervous, he seemed calm, as if he'd already absorbed her decision about marriage and adjusted his plans. “We'll fly to Bangor, show Rear Admiral Hardman the photo. He'll have some questions.”

“An understatement,” she offered under her breath.

Mark heard her and smiled. “What I'll need is for you to write a paper, maybe create a video, similar to the last two presentations. Hardman will take the photo and paper to the SecNav. Then the goal will be to refine the process to generate the photo in the shortest amount of time possible. You'll need access to the various satellite data feeds, with computing power at your disposal, and, at the right time, we'll identify the people skilled enough to take this over—that's going to be my priority.” He set aside his coffee. “You should come back to Bangor, Gina,” he suggested. “Jeff is at sea. You can stay at his place, and your pets can stay with me.”

“I was thinking I could stay in Chicago,” she said, “write the paper here, create the video to explain what this is, then transition to Bangor to work on the algorithms and the processing speed.”

He thought about it and nodded. “That works too. You and I could go out to Bangor for a two-day trip, show the
Navy the photo, then come back here for a few weeks—spend Christmas and New Year's in Chicago. I'm sure my sister would be willing to take care of the pets while we're gone. We could drive back to Bangor in early January, take the animals with us then. I'm going to predict that in about six months you'll have your work finished and handed off to a skilled group of people able to create the photo. Then you'll only be needed if something unusual occurs.”

She thought a moment, then nodded. “When my job winds down, yours will just be getting started—what to do with the information contained in a photo when it prints.”