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He did and gave a shrug. “And?”
“And you stood completely normally. Without tactility.”
“But not without sensation,” he suddenly got it. “I’m aware of the weight on my prosthesis. When I lift my foot, I’m aware of the lack of weight.”
“And with the new prosthesis, you’ll receive impulses between it and your body, integrating and learning so that in time, you may not experience tactility in the artificial limb, but you’ll move as if you do.”
The memory opened a wound that wasn’t healing inside him. Georgie had been missing for twenty-eight days. Despite her promise to Naomie, she hadn’t contacted Naomie once. The last they heard, she was checked into a hotel, in her own room.
Then…nothing. No texts, no calls and no one at the hotel had any information. Georgie had checked in, and on checkout day her keycard was on the nightstand and she was gone.
Riggs didn’t want anyone to know the depth of his fear for her, but he was pretty sure his family was clued in on that.
“Any luck with the chip?” he asked as he turned and reclaimed his seat.
“I wish. I know I stored the number somewhere. If I could just remember where?”
“Well, it was a while back,” Russell said. “You’re human, honey, and we humans sometimes forget.”
“I don’t forget,” her voice was uncustomarily gruff. Riggs knew it was from worry. Naomie and Georgie were like sisters, and like him, Naomie feared Georgie might be in over her head.
“No one’s blaming you, Naomie,” Riggs was quick to point out.
“What about that boyfriend?” Russell asked. “Any sign of him?”
“Not a blip,” Naomie answered. “I asked a couple of friends to run his credit cards, see where he is, and there’s been nothing in two weeks. It’s like he dropped off the map.”
“And took Georgie with him?” Riggs asked.
“God, I hope not.”
“We have to find her, Naomie. Give me a place to start with this chip thing, and I’ll call in every favor I’m owed. What do I need to know about it?”
“The damn identification number!” She threw her hands over her face and then calmed. “What a time to have a mental block. Why can’t I remember what I did with that number?”
“I don’t know. When was the last time you remember seeing it, and what was it on? A piece of paper? A card? Was it typed or handwritten? What time of day was it? Were you inside?”
Naomie stood at a sound from Robby, knelt by his cradle, put her hand on him, and spoke softly. “Hey, Butterbean.”
The happy squeal alerted everyone that nap time was over. Naomie lifted Robby into her arms and carried him over to her chair. “My turn,” she said to Riggs.
He smiled and returned to the conversation. “Back to where we left off…”
“I know where it is,” she said and grinned. “Your rapid-fire interrogation sparked the memory.”
“And?” Russell asked.
“And it’s on my parent’s farm, in my old bedroom, the bedroom that became Georgie’s.”
“Then we need to go to Kentucky.”
“No, we just need to call my mom.”
She pulled out her phone, but Russell’s question made her pause. “And once you have the number, how does it help you find her? What do we use to search for a signal of—of a device that’s twenty years old, and where do we even begin to search?”
“I have an idea,” Naomie announced.
“Why does that not bring comfort?” Russell asked.
