are you feeling?”
“What time is it?” Briddey asked.
“A little past three. How are you feeling? Any nausea?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
There were a lot of other questions, and Briddey must have answered them correctly because the nurse said, as Briddey closed her eyes again, “You’re doing really well. You’re going to stay here in the recovery room a little bit longer just to make sure everything’s okay.” And when she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital room with two beds and a window, and the nurse who came in to check her IV said it was five o’clock.
So I must have already had the EED,
she thought groggily, even though she had no memory of being taken into the operating room and the back of her head didn’t hurt. They’d said it was a minor procedure, but she should feel something, shouldn’t she? She tried to feel if there was a bandage back there, but she couldn’t. The IV on the back of her hand restricted its movement. But at least her hand moved, which meant she hadn’t ended up paralyzed.
You were wrong, C.B.,
she thought sleepily.
The surgery went fine, and in a little while Trent and I—
She stopped, holding her breath. She’d heard something.
Trent?
she called, and then remembered that they weren’t supposed to be able to connect till at least twenty-four hours after the surgery.
I must have heard the patient in the other bed,
she thought, but when she raised her head slightly so she could see over the nightstand, the other bed was empty, a stack of linens piled neatly at its foot.
The sound must have come from the corridor, then, but she knew it hadn’t. It had been in here, and very close. It
had
to have been Trent.
Are you there?
she called, and waited, holding her breath.
Yes
, she heard.
But I can’t have,
she thought. The EED didn’t make you able to hear your partner’s thoughts. It only made you able to sense his feelings.
I did hear him,
she told herself stubbornly, but before she could analyze why she was so sure it had been a voice, she was hit with an explosion of emotion: delight and worry and relief all mingled together. Emotions that hadn’t come from her, that definitely belonged to someone else.
It
is
Trent,
she thought. Dr. Verrick had said they’d scored exceptionally high in compatibility, so maybe that had allowed them to connect sooner than twenty-four hours after the surgery.
Trent?
she called.
The burst of emotion abruptly stopped.
But I was communicating with him!
she thought jubilantly, and felt a massive rush of relief. She hadn’t realized how much she’d let C.B.’s warnings that something would go wrong get to her.
I heard you,
she called happily to him.
Can you hear me?
There was no response.
Of course not,
she thought.
I need to be sending him emotions, not words.
She closed her eyes and tried to transmit recognition and love and happiness.
Still nothing, and before she could try again, a nurse came in to take her vitals and ask the same litany of questions that the recovery room nurse had asked. “Any dizziness or nausea?”
“No.”
The nurse wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around her arm. “Any confusion?”
“No. Are you sure…?” Briddey began, but the nurse had already put the stethoscope in her ears.
She had to wait till after the nurse had helped her into her robe and walked her to the bathroom—an ordeal during which Briddey realized that she was dizzy after all—and helped her back into bed before she could ask, “Are you sure it takes twenty-four hours for the EED to work?”
“Yes,” the nurse said, and told Briddey the same things the other nurse had told her about the edema and the anesthesia. “You’ve only been out of surgery for a few hours. Nothing’s going to happen till at least tomorrow.”
“But I thought I felt—”
“You were probably dreaming. The anesthetic can cause all sorts of strange dreams. I know you’re eager to make contact with Mr. Worth, but you need to
“What time is it?” Briddey asked.
“A little past three. How are you feeling? Any nausea?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
There were a lot of other questions, and Briddey must have answered them correctly because the nurse said, as Briddey closed her eyes again, “You’re doing really well. You’re going to stay here in the recovery room a little bit longer just to make sure everything’s okay.” And when she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital room with two beds and a window, and the nurse who came in to check her IV said it was five o’clock.
So I must have already had the EED,
she thought groggily, even though she had no memory of being taken into the operating room and the back of her head didn’t hurt. They’d said it was a minor procedure, but she should feel something, shouldn’t she? She tried to feel if there was a bandage back there, but she couldn’t. The IV on the back of her hand restricted its movement. But at least her hand moved, which meant she hadn’t ended up paralyzed.
You were wrong, C.B.,
she thought sleepily.
The surgery went fine, and in a little while Trent and I—
She stopped, holding her breath. She’d heard something.
Trent?
she called, and then remembered that they weren’t supposed to be able to connect till at least twenty-four hours after the surgery.
I must have heard the patient in the other bed,
she thought, but when she raised her head slightly so she could see over the nightstand, the other bed was empty, a stack of linens piled neatly at its foot.
The sound must have come from the corridor, then, but she knew it hadn’t. It had been in here, and very close. It
had
to have been Trent.
Are you there?
she called, and waited, holding her breath.
Yes
, she heard.
But I can’t have,
she thought. The EED didn’t make you able to hear your partner’s thoughts. It only made you able to sense his feelings.
I did hear him,
she told herself stubbornly, but before she could analyze why she was so sure it had been a voice, she was hit with an explosion of emotion: delight and worry and relief all mingled together. Emotions that hadn’t come from her, that definitely belonged to someone else.
It
is
Trent,
she thought. Dr. Verrick had said they’d scored exceptionally high in compatibility, so maybe that had allowed them to connect sooner than twenty-four hours after the surgery.
Trent?
she called.
The burst of emotion abruptly stopped.
But I was communicating with him!
she thought jubilantly, and felt a massive rush of relief. She hadn’t realized how much she’d let C.B.’s warnings that something would go wrong get to her.
I heard you,
she called happily to him.
Can you hear me?
There was no response.
Of course not,
she thought.
I need to be sending him emotions, not words.
She closed her eyes and tried to transmit recognition and love and happiness.
Still nothing, and before she could try again, a nurse came in to take her vitals and ask the same litany of questions that the recovery room nurse had asked. “Any dizziness or nausea?”
“No.”
The nurse wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around her arm. “Any confusion?”
“No. Are you sure…?” Briddey began, but the nurse had already put the stethoscope in her ears.
She had to wait till after the nurse had helped her into her robe and walked her to the bathroom—an ordeal during which Briddey realized that she was dizzy after all—and helped her back into bed before she could ask, “Are you sure it takes twenty-four hours for the EED to work?”
“Yes,” the nurse said, and told Briddey the same things the other nurse had told her about the edema and the anesthesia. “You’ve only been out of surgery for a few hours. Nothing’s going to happen till at least tomorrow.”
“But I thought I felt—”
“You were probably dreaming. The anesthetic can cause all sorts of strange dreams. I know you’re eager to make contact with Mr. Worth, but you need to
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