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Rebecca pushed aside the nurse's outstretched hand and climbed up onto the table without assistance, then positioned herself face down on the table exactly as she was told. Once in place, however, she refused to lie still. She kept twisting around to readjust the back of her gown. Dr. Laurence noticed the problem, and stepped forward to intervene.
"Ms. Morgan, you have to lie down or we can't do this."
"But the gown doesn't stay closed."
"I assure you, Nurse Peters and I have seen plenty of gaping gowns in our time. Don't let it bother you."
"It's not you I'm worried about."
Three pairs of eyes trained their gazes on Desmond.
"I can leave— "
"No!" Rebecca grabbed for his hand. "Don't leave. Just don't look."
"All right. I won't." He stepped around to the front of the table, and looked at the nurse. "Can I sit over here?"
Nurse Peters traded glances with Dr. Laurence. At his nod, she fetched Desmond a molded plastic chair. He sat down, his face on a level with Rebecca's, and looked into her wide gray eyes. Normally the silver-gray of moonlight on white roses, panic had darkened them to the color of weathered driftwood.
Holding her hand, he focused on calm and soothing thoughts, hoping she would absorb his mood. Her eyes gentled, no longer wide with fear, and lightened to their normal color. He felt her thoughts begin to line up in an orderly progression, before they slipped behind her own mental wall.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
She nodded, and released the gown.
"All right, Ms. Morgan," the doctor said. "Time to get started. I'm going to give you the first shot of anesthesia now. You'll feel a little pin prick, but that's all."
Rebecca twisted her head to see what was happening behind her, but the nurse stopped her with a light touch.
"It's better if you don't turn and look."
Rebecca nodded, and focused her gaze on Desmond. When the doctor jabbed her hip with the first needle, her breath hissed out and she closed her eyes. But she quickly opened them and smiled grimly.
"That wasn't so bad."
Desmond smiled back, encouraging her, even though he wanted to leap up and throttle the doctor for hurting her. And it wasn't only because the sharp pain had knifed through his shields before he could block it.
In the face of her stoicism, any words of encouragement he could offer would be trivial. But maybe that was what she needed, trivial conversation to distract her from what the doctor was doing.
"Have you been to see the Painted Desert yet? The scenery is really quite remarkable."
She frowned, her forehead furrowing in confusion. Then her expression cleared and a radiant smile broke through, like the full moon coming out from behind a cloud. "No, not yet. I was planning to drive through it on my way up to Flagstaff, after I left here. I heard there's some sort of cathedral cut into the stone that's supposed to be very impressive."
They discussed banali
ties of travel and tourism, and she told him about the article she was writing. Through it all, he held her hand, giving her his physical support as he tried to keep his expression smiling and relaxed. He couldn't let her see any of his apprehension at the larger and larger needles being used by the doctor. Finally, Dr. Laurence picked up something that looked more like an awl than a needle, and interrupted their conversation.
"I'm about to go into the bone. You're going to feel a bit of pain, but it will be over quickly."
"How quick— Oh!" She clenched her hand, bruising Desmond's fingers, and the color drained from her face. She let out her breath in a sudden puff, her fingers tightening. Desmond's body would repair any damage she might inadvertently do, but in the meantime, it still hurt.
"Rebecca?" he whispered. He didn't want to disturb the doctor during the most delicate part of the operation. "Could you ease up a little on the grip?"
The color came back to her face, and she let go of his hand with a self-conscious laugh. "If that's a bit of pain, I don't want to know what you think a lot of pain is, doc."
"Well, it's all over now," Dr. Laurence reassured her, tying off the last of the bandage. "But I'd like to keep you here for observation. When the anesthetic wears off, we might need to give you something more for the pain."
"Keep me here? That's not part of the program. I'm supposed to be able to go home." She turned to Desmond, her expression just short of pouting. "You promised."
