“Did you laugh?” Eli asked.
Tessa looked at him across the narrow space the alternate operator had taken over. For a moment he wished he had asked differently. It sounded like an accusation, or a test she had been given without knowing the answer mattered.
“When?” she said.
“After the first rescue. In the image. I was checking someone on the floor. There was dust on your sleeve.”
She drew a stool out of the work path and sat where she could still see the station. He stayed standing. Sitting would make this feel like a treatment he had not yet agreed he needed; he knew that was a poor reason, but the knowledge did not put him on the stool beside her.
“I remember being frightened,” she said. “I remember having too much to do. The wounded neighbor needed attention immediately.”
“So it didn’t happen.”
“I can’t say we never laughed for a moment. I can’t place the scene you’re describing.”
