Crosstalk (66 page)

“I don't mean about the crosstalk. I'm talking about you constantly telling me you could read my mind.”

“What do you mean?” he said, bewildered. “I—”

“Because if you could, you wouldn't have made that ridiculous speech just now.”

“Ridiculous? You mean you still want—?” he said, and she didn't need to be able to read his mind to know how he felt. It was all right there in his face.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

He reached for her again.

“Not so fast,” she said, putting up a hand to hold him off. “We need to set a few ground rules first.”

“Like what?”

“Like no more blocking. If you're going to read my mind, I get to read yours, so I'll at least have a fighting chance.”

“Okay, but I have to warn you, it's a cesspool in there. Like right now, for instance. All I can think about is—”

“I know,” she murmured. “Me, too.”

He reached for her again.

“Second,” she said, holding him firmly at arm's length, “you have to promise to teach me how to build those auxiliary defenses.”

“To keep me out?”

“Maybe. Sometimes. Like you said, there can be such a thing as being too connected. But mostly I'm going to need them to keep Maeve out so we can have
some
privacy.”

“I don't know if that's possible. She seems to be able to break through every firewall and barricade ever erected, and she's a whiz at decryption. And she's only nine. What'll she be capable of at thirteen?”

“Saving France,” Briddey said.

“You're right. She's a great kid. Maybe she'll even be able to figure out some way for everybody to experience telepathy—the nice parts, not the bad ones—without destroying the planet in the process. But in the meantime…” He shook his head.

“Don't worry,” Briddey said. “There are other kinds of auxiliary defenses.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” she said, raising her voice slightly so Maeve could hear her, though that probably wasn't necessary, “threatening to tell her mother Maeve's telepathic. And telling her if she doesn't leave us alone when we tell her we need some privacy, I'll tell Mary Clare she's not only been secretly watching zombie movies but
Cinderella.
And
Tangled.
And wants a Rapunzel tiara more than life itself,” and heard a disgusted
Fine!
and a very final-sounding slam of a door.

“See?” Briddey said. “Problem solved.”

“Good,” C.B. said, and reached for her.

She pushed him away. “I'm not done yet. There seem to have been a
number
of things regarding telepathy that you failed to tell me the whole truth about. So what else have you neglected to mention?”

“Nothing at all,” he said, and grinned. “My mind's an open book.”

“I'll bet. You probably
do
have X-ray vision.”

“No, but if I asked Maeve to put her devious little mind to it, I'm pretty sure she could come up with an app.”

“Don't even think about it,” Briddey said. “Besides…” She took hold of the front of his flannel shirt with both her hands and pulled him down onto the couch. “You won't need it.”

“Hang on.” He disentangled himself. “Not here. Come on,” he said, and they were in her courtyard again.

“Why can't we stay in the lab?” Briddey asked. “If you're afraid Maeve will interrupt us, she won't.
Tangled
's her favorite movie in the entire world.”

“Exactly,” he said. “She's temporarily cowed, Oona doesn't know the jammer's up and running yet, which means she's still busy blocking the voices, your sister Kathleen's busy quitting her dating sites, and Suki's too busy looking for her phone to be spreading any gossip. This may be the last chance we ever have to be completely alone, and I intend to make the most of it.”

He grabbed her hand and started for the blue courtyard door, which was no longer latched. Nor barred. It didn't have to be. There were no longer any roaring voices outside, not even a murmur. “So where are we going?” Briddey asked. “Niagara Falls?”

“There isn't time,” he said, opening the door onto the pitch-blackness of his inner sanctum. “I'll take you there on our honeymoon.”

He pulled her through the door, shut it, and let go of her hand. She heard him taking off his flannel shirt and stooping to lay it against the door so the light from under it couldn't be seen, and her heart gave a queer jerk.
I know where we are,
she thought.

“Yep,” C.B. said, and switched on the light. They were in the storage closet. C.B. was standing there in front of her in his Doctor Who T-shirt and jeans, and behind her stood the wooden card file and the oak table, piled high with the
Encyclopedia Britannica.
And behind C.B., propped against the stacks of chairs, George Washington still glared disapprovingly at them.

“Go away,” C.B. said cordially to him, and clambered up the chairs. He turned the painting around and jumped back down to stand in front of her.

“I expected the stacks would be your inner sanctum,” she said lightly to keep him from hearing her thudding heart, her flushed and skyrocketing thoughts. “Since that's where all the hooking up takes place.”

“Not all,” he said. “Plus, your arms weren't around my neck in the stacks,” and took her hand in both of his and clasped it to his chest.

“Oh,” she breathed, and put her free hand to the back of his neck and pulled his face down to hers.
I should have done this the first time we were in here,
Briddey thought.

You're right,
C.B. said,
you should have,
and kissed her.

It was even more dizzying, more drenching than the first time, but now there was a deep current of happiness running through it, and splashes of amusement:
…thought you said connecting didn't have anything to do with emotional bonding…never said that, said it didn't
have
to…you were the one who kept saying we weren't…I know…such an idiot…

I should have known the minute you put your arms around me,
Briddey said.
I felt so safe.

If you'd heard what I was thinking, you wouldn't have,
C.B. said, and they were suddenly surrounded not by water but by golden fireworks and then, abruptly, fire. Flames sparked and flared around them, through them, so hot they couldn't even form their thoughts into coherent sentences:
…no idea how much…me, too…want…love…oh, me, too, me, too…

This time it was C.B. who broke off the kiss. He backed away from her, crashing into the stacked chairs. “What's wrong?” Briddey asked.

“What's
wrong
?” he said. “We practically spontaneously
combusted
. If that's what kissing you does, sex is liable to—”

“Kill us?” she said. She shook her head. “It doesn't work like that.”

“But what if—?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said, and put her arms around his neck.

Someone banged on the door.

Aunt Briddey!
Maeve said.
C.B.! Let me in. I know you're in there. I can't
believe
you guys didn't tell me about Aunt Oona!

THE END

To the inimitable—and irreplaceable—Mary Stewart

Many, many, many thanks to everyone who helped me with this book, but most especially to:

my daughter Cordelia, who gave me invaluable help with the plot,

my friend Melinda Snodgrass, who gave me endless encouragement and moral support,

and the people at my reading at Cosine, who came up with the title.

The Best of Connie Willis

All About Emily

All Clear

Blackout

All Seated on the Ground

D.A.

Inside Job

Passage

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Bellwether

Uncharted Territory

Remake

Doomsday Book

Lincoln's Dreams

C
ONNIE
W
ILLIS
, who is a Science Fiction Hall of Famer and an SFWA Grand Master, has received seven Nebula Awards and eleven Hugo Awards for her fiction. Her other works include
Blackout, All Clear, Doomsday Book, Lincoln's Dreams, Bellwether, Impossible Things, Passage, Remake, Uncharted Territory, To Say Nothing of the Dog, Fire Watch,
and
Miracle and Other Christmas Stories.
She lives in Colorado with her husband, two cats, and a bulldog named Bunter.

conniewillis.net