Crosstalk

by Connie Willis

  “How do I know that if you don’t tell me who it is?”

  “Fine. It’s somebody I work with at Commspan, C.B. Schwartz. I need to get him a message—”

  “C.B.?” Maeve said, frowning. “But if it’s him you need to get a message to, you don’t—” She stopped short.

  “I don’t what?”

  “Have to look up his number. I’ve got it on my phone. Which one do you want, the lab or at home? I’ve got both. He gave them to me that time he helped me with my science project in case I needed to ask him anything else. Hang on. I’ll find them.”

  She turned her back to Briddey and hunched over her phone, clearly not wanting Briddey to see what she was doing, though it didn’t look like she was doing anything. She was just standing there staring at the phone as if it were a crystal ball. Briddey wondered if she’d forgotten her password.

  After a long minute, she began alternately swiping through screens and typing busily, which meant the numbers must not be on her list of contacts. She’s probably hidden it from her mother, Briddey thought, not blaming her.

  Or else she didn’t really have the numbers and was trying to look them up. Briddey was about to say something when Maeve put the phone up to her ear and said, “It’s ringing.”

  Briddey reached for the phone, but Maeve shook her head. “Hi, C.B. This is Maeve. Remember? You helped me with my science project?”

  “Maeve,” Briddey whispered, motioning to her to hand her the phone.

  “I’m fine,” Maeve said. “No, none at all.”

  “Give me the phone,” Briddey said, reaching for it.

  “Okay,” Maeve mouthed, and said into the phone, “My Aunt Briddey wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone over.

  “C.B.? This is Briddey Flannigan. From work. I’m calling about a matter I need to discuss with you,” she said, trying to sound impersonal and businesslike with Maeve listening—and possibly Trent. And she must have succeeded because Maeve sat down at her computer, put in earbuds, and began playing Cinderella’s Castle Adventure.

  “I assume that Maeve’s still in the room?” C.B. said.

  “Yes, and I don’t have a solution for that problem.”

  “You’re right about that,” C.B. said, amusement in his voice.

  “This isn’t funny—”

  “Sorry. What is it you phoned about?”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Trent is—”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, and she could tell from his tone that he did know, and not just what Trent had said this afternoon but all of it—why he’d suggested the EED and what he was planning to do with the results.

  He’s known all along, Briddey thought. That’s why he kept trying to talk me out of having the EED. And out of telling Trent after we connected. Because he knew what Trent would do with the telepathy if he got hold of it.

  Why didn’t you tell me? she said, but she already knew the answer. She wouldn’t have believed him. You must think I’m a complete idiot.

  “No, I think Trent is, for not appreciating what he had. And I’m so sorry you—”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s trying to get in touch with”—Briddey glanced anxiously over at Maeve, but she was completely engrossed in her videogame—“in touch with Dr. Verrick,” she whispered, “to tell him about the…project. And if he runs tests or scans—”

  “He won’t run tests if he doesn’t believe Trent, and it’s not like Trent has anything tangible to show him.”

  “Yes, he does. This morning, he—”

  “I know. Don’t worry about those tests he had you take. You did great, by the way. I especially liked the whole Angkor Wat petunias thing. But even if you’d written down what you actually sent him, it still wouldn’t prove anything. Look, we shouldn’t be talking about this right now.”

  “Because of—” She glanced over at Maeve, who was busily chasing Cinderella’s mice.

  “Little Miss Curiosity? No, because of your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my—”

  “Well, we can’t let him know that. It’s imperative that he not find out you’re onto him. Right now he’s only able to hear you sporadically, but you were only able to hear him sporadically, and look what you found out. So you can’t think about any of this—about me or the telepathy or what a low-down, rotten, dirty piece of pond scum he is. You’ve got to think things he can hear—you’re madly in love with him and you’re thrilled to be connected and you can’t wait to see Dr. Verrick and tell him what’s happened.”

  “But—”

  “I know. We need to come up with a plan of action. And we will. But not till we can be sure he can’t hear us.”

  Did that mean she shouldn’t have called him? That they weren’t safe talking?

  “No, we’re fine. Trent’s on the phone with Verrick’s nurse right now, trying to get her to divulge his whereabouts, and talking out loud like this helps screen your thoughts. And anyway, I’ve got defenses up. But I don’t want to take any chances. So I want you to go home and read a nice, boring book. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. You can tell me how it turns out.”

  But what if Trent decided to come over again? “I’m at my sister’s right now, and I’m sure they’d let me stay for supper.” Or she could go to the Daughters of Ireland meeting with Aunt Oona. They were bound to be having one, and Trent would never think of looking for her there.

  “No,” C.B. said. “The last thing we want to give Trent is any hint of the Irish connection, including overhearing your family talking about ‘foine Irish lads.’ ”

  Or bad boyfriends, Briddey said, thinking of Kathleen.

  “You don’t have to worry about Trent coming over to your apartment. He’s too busy trying to reach Verrick. And if he should decide to head your way, I’ll give you a heads-up so you can get out of there. Go read. Or better yet, take a nap. If you’re asleep, Trent won’t be able to pick up anything at all.”

  “But if I”—she glanced over at Maeve, who was still seemingly engrossed in her videogame—“do what you say, how will you get in touch with—?”

  “Don’t worry about that. And don’t worry about Trent or Dr. Verrick. It’ll be fine. Get some sleep,” he said, and hung up.

  “You’ll email me the report, then?” Briddey said into the dead phone. “Good. I’ll contact you when I’ve gone over the figures. Goodbye.” She gave Maeve her phone back, expecting a barrage of questions, but Maeve scarcely looked up from her game, even when Briddey stood there a minute, memorizing his phone number in case she needed to call him again. “Thank you,” she told Maeve.

  “What are you two doing in there?” Mary Clare called anxiously through the door.

  “Nothing!” Maeve shouted back, and rolled her eyes at Briddey. “Jeez, Mom.”

  “Well, come have some tea, then,” Mary Clare said. “Aunt Oona’s here.”

  Of course she is, Briddey thought, and now how am I going to get out of here? Aunt Oona will insist on going over all the reasons I shouldn’t get an EED and then try to convince me to talk Kathleen into going out with Sean O’Reilly.

  “I need to go,” Briddey said, without much hope of getting away. “The restaurant had my phone, and I need to go get it before they close.”

  “Oh, surely you can stay a few minutes,” Mary Clare began.

  “No, she can’t,” Maeve said. “Carnival Pizza closes at five.”

  “Aunt Oona, convince her there’s no reason she has to leave this second,” Mary Clare said, and Briddey braced herself for the onslaught, but Aunt Oona said, “You don’t want to get there after they’ve closed. It’s hurryin’ off you’d better be. Maeve, fetch your aunt’s coat, won’t you?”

  Maeve hurried to get it, and Briddey, still shocked that Aunt Oona hadn’t tried to force her to stay, put it on.

  “Go on, then,” Aunt Oona said, “and may Saint Patrick and all the holy saints of Ireland protect you on your journey.”

  “Thank you,”
Briddey said, and gave Aunt Oona a grateful kiss on the cheek. She hugged Maeve, whispered, “Thank you” to her, told Mary Clare, No, she didn’t have time to wait for her to wrap up some soda bread to take with her, and was out the door before Mary Clare could hunt up the aluminum foil.

  She would have made a clean getaway if Kathleen hadn’t pulled up and blocked her car, giving Mary Clare time to catch up to her and ask her what she and Maeve had been doing in Maeve’s room all that time.

  “She wanted to show me something on her computer after I made my call,” Briddey said. “And no, Mary Clare, not porn. It was a YouTube video about kittens.”

  “She didn’t have any YouTube videos on her browsing history when I checked it this morning. It was completely empty.”

  I just got an image of a cat from you, Trent said suddenly. Are you still at the mall?

  “I’ve been trying to call you, Briddey,” Kathleen said, coming over. “I have to tell you what I found out about Rich—”

  Are you there, Briddey? Trent said. If you can hear me, turn your phone on.

  I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s supposed to be at Carnival Pizza, Briddey thought, and tried to go into her courtyard, but Kathleen was saying, “I looked him up like I told you, and you’ll never guess what I found out—”

  “You need to move your car first,” Briddey said, and Kathleen trotted off obligingly to do it. Now if I could only get rid of Trent and Mary Clare as easily.

  I can’t hear you, Trent said.

  “Why wouldn’t there be anything on her browsing history?” Mary Clare asked. “It doesn’t show her being online at all.”

  “A few days ago, you were complaining that she spent too much time online,” Briddey said.

  “I know, but she obviously has been on. And why would she delete a kitten video?”

  “I don’t have time to talk about this now,” Briddey said.

  “You can’t leave yet,” Kathleen said, returning. “I have to tell you about Rich first. And Landis. Remember how I told you he was a hedge fund manager? Well, he isn’t. He works for a hedge-trimming company, the big liar—”

  This is exactly the kind of conversation C.B. said you shouldn’t have, Briddey thought. If Trent hears your thoughts—

  What did you say? Trent said. I heard you say “thoughts” and then lost you.

  “And that’s nothing compared to what I found out about Rich,” Kathleen said. “He’s an even bigger liar than Landis.”

  “Why don’t you call me later? I really need to go,” Briddey said desperately, and tried to get into her car, but Mary Clare was blocking the door.

  I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon, Trent said.

  “There’s been nothing on Maeve’s browsing history for the last two weeks,” Mary Clare said.

  “Rich is engaged!” Kathleen said. “And he seemed so nice!”

  “What’s Maeve hiding?” Mary Clare demanded.

  This is as bad as Zombienado, Briddey thought.

  You need to concentrate, Trent said.

  No, what I need is to get out of here.

  “Mom! Telephone!” Maeve called from the house.

  “Who is it?” Mary Clare said, stepping away from the car, and Briddey was in it—and into her safe room—like a shot.

  “Call me,” she said, shutting the door and starting the car. “Both of you.”

  “But I thought you lost your phone—”

  Exactly, Briddey thought, and I intend for it to stay lost. “Which is why I’ve got to go,” she said. “To get it. ’Bye.”

  She drove off, blessing Maeve for coming to her rescue again. As soon as she was out of sight, she pulled over to enter C.B.’s number into her phone before she forgot it, and then decided she’d better not, scrawled it on the torn-off lid of the empty Wheat Chex box, and stuck it in her pocket.

  I need to tell her to delete his number from her phone, she thought, driving on, although it probably wasn’t necessary. She was obviously already hiding the movies she watched and the books she read—and the computer sites she visited—from her mother, and that was why she’d turned her back when she was looking up the number, because she didn’t want Briddey to see how she’d encrypted it.

  But Maeve hadn’t been typing during that interval. She’d just been standing there motionless, as if she were…

  That’s impossible, Briddey thought. But what if Maeve’s computer log was empty not because she’d deleted the files but because she hadn’t been on her computer at all? Or reading? What if she’d been using the books and the movies as a cover for what she was really doing?

  She got in trouble at school for not paying attention, Briddey remembered suddenly, and when Mary Clare asked her why, she said, “I was thinking about something else.”

  You’re being ridiculous, Briddey told herself. She was probably only thinking about Xander. But his picture hadn’t been anywhere on the walls of her bedroom, and Maeve had volunteered the information about her crush on him right after Briddey had wondered if she was keeping secrets. And I wondered it to myself, not aloud.

  And Maeve had wanted to go to the park instead of the crowded mall. And had shown up immediately after Briddey’d arrived at the house—out of breath, as if she’d run all the way home from Danika’s. And shown up on Briddey’s doorstep just in time to save her from Trent.

  But she can’t be. She’s only nine. She remembered C.B.’s saying what a precocious kid she was—and Mary Clare’s conviction that Maeve was keeping something from her.

  What if she is? Briddey wondered, thinking of Maeve standing there looking defensive when Briddey’d asked her about the marshmallows in Lucky Charms. Why? Because she was who C.B. had gotten the list of marshmallow shapes from? He’d said he’d looked them up on a library computer, but the offices had been locked. He didn’t text her to tell her to cover for us, she thought. He didn’t have to.

  An angry honk behind her jerked Briddey back to the present. She was sitting at a light that had been green for who knew how long. She drove through the intersection and down the block, parked, and then went back into her courtyard so Trent couldn’t hear her. And C.B. couldn’t either.

  C.B., who’d said, “Listen, Briddey, about Maeve, there’s something I—” and who’d been certain something bad would happen to Briddey if she had the EED done. And who’d been utterly convinced that telepathy was inherited, but who’d instantly dismissed Aunt Oona’s “Sight” as bogus—because he hadn’t wanted Briddey thinking about the possibility that someone else in her family might be telepathic.

  C.B., who’d gone periodically silent, as if he were listening to someone else, and had been off somewhere when the voices attacked her at the theater and in the storage closet. Who’d said, “I’m so sorry. I was—” and then bitten off his words mid-sentence.

  Like Maeve had when Briddey had told her she needed to contact C.B. “Oh, if it’s him you need to get a message to, you don’t—” she’d said, and stopped without finishing her sentence.

  “You don’t have to call because I can ask him myself,” Briddey said, finishing it for her. She had to talk to Maeve. She started the car and headed back to Mary Clare’s.

  You don’t have to do that, Maeve said. We can talk anyplace.

  “Then look for me by moonlight.”

  —ALFRED NOYES, “The Highwayman”

  That’s the great thing about telepathy, Maeve said. You can talk to people anywhere. And any time.

  Not while they’re driving in traffic, Briddey said.

  You can so, Maeve said. I’m talking to you and doing my math homework.

  That is not the same thing, Briddey said. Don’t talk to me till I’ve had a chance to pull over. And to think what to do. C.B. had told Briddey not to talk to him telepathically when Trent might be listening in, and she obviously had no business talking to Maeve either.

  It’s okay, Maeve said. Trent can’t hear us. I know because I’m listening to him. He’s wondering why he can’t hea
r you. He thinks you’re not trying hard enough. What a creep!

  I agree, Briddey thought, turning off Linden onto a side street, but just because he can’t hear me right now doesn’t mean he won’t be able to a second from now.

  Yes, it does, Maeve said confidently, because—

  Shh, Briddey said firmly, pulling over to the curb and parking. She turned the ignition off, went into her courtyard, and said, C.B. says I’m not supposed to be talking about you-know-what—

  C.B. can’t hear us either. He’s busy listening to Trent, and now Trent’s busy yelling at somebody about why can’t they find Dr. Verrick, so it’s okay. And I have to talk to you. It’s important!

  I don’t care. If you want to talk, you need to call me on the phone.

  I can’t call you. I’m over at Danika’s, and her mom’s almost as bad as Mom. That’s why I have to talk to you right now, to tell you you have to promise not to tell Mom about this!

  Maeve— Briddey began, wishing fervently there was a way to hang up on her. In another minute Maeve would say the word “telepathy,” and Trent—

  No, I told you, he can’t hear us. This is a secure channel. My zombie gates are shut. He can’t get in. I’ve got the moat up and everything.

  A moat and zombie gates? What on earth did Maeve’s safe room look like?

  The moat and zombie gates aren’t in my safe room, Maeve said, as if that were obvious. They’re in my castle, and that’s in my secret garden, which nobody can get into without the key. I’ve got the key on a chain around my neck. And inside the castle is Rapunzel’s tower, and inside that is my safe room, but we don’t need to go in there. We’re safe here. And anyway, Trent can’t hear hardly anything, even when he’s trying to.

  Which was good news, but—

  So do you promise not to tell Mom? You have to. If she finds out I can do it, she’ll figure out a way to do it, too. I bet she’d even get an EED just so she could listen to me all the time.

  She won’t have to, Briddey thought. If Trent manages to do what he’s planning, Mary Clare will be able to do it on her phone. And she would jump at the chance to know exactly what Maeve was thinking—and all the moats and zombie gates and towers in the world wouldn’t be enough to keep her out. Maeve was right. She wouldn’t have any privacy at all.