himself, trying to get his erection back. She looked so vulnerable; he didn't want her to think he was rejecting her.
"Tell me if this hurts," he said as he climbed on top of her, making sure that his own arms and legs were bearing almost all his weight; he wasn't the least bit fat, but he was still much heavier than he'd been before the rollback. He maneuvered carefully, gently, looking for a sweet compromise between what his body was now capable of and what hers could endure. But after only a single thrust, one that seemed oh-so-gentle to him, he could see the pain on her face, and he quickly withdrew, rolling onto his back on her side of the bed.
''I'm so sorry," she said, softly.
"No, no," he said. "It's fine." He turned onto his side, facing her, and very gently held her in his arms.
-- Chapter 14 --
Sarah had leapt from her chair in the basement on that fateful night all those years ago, and Don had hugged her, and lifted her up so that her feet weren't touching the ground, and he'd swung her around, and he kissed her hard, right there, in front of the kids.
"My wife the genius!" Don declared, grinning from ear to ear.
"More like your wife the plodding researcher," replied Sarah, but she was laughing as she said it.
"No, no, no," he said. "You figured it out—before anyone else did, you figured out the meat of the message."
"I've got to post something about this," she said. "I mean, it's no damn good if I keep it a secret. Whoever announces this publicly first is the one who..."
"Whose name will be in the history books," he said. "I am so proud of you."
"Thanks, darling."
"But you're right," he said. "You should post something, right now." He let her go, and she started to move back to the computer.
"No, Mom," said Carl. "Let me." Sarah was a hunt-and-peck typist, and not a very fast one. Her father, back in Edmonton, had never understood her wanting to be a scientist, and had encouraged her to take all the typing she could so she'd be ready for a secretarial career. A single typing course had been mandatory. It was the one class in her whole life that Sarah had failed.
She looked at her teenage son, who clearly, in his own way, wanted to share in this moment. "Dictate what you want to say," Carl said. "I'll type it in."
She smiled at him, and began pacing the length of the rec room. "All right, here goes. The meat of the message is..."
As she was talking, Don ran upstairs and called an overnight news producer at the CBC. By the time he returned to the basement, Sarah was just finishing dictating her report. He watched as Carl posted it to the SETI Institute newsgroup, then Don said, "Okay, hon, I've got you booked for a TV interview in one hour, and you'll be on both The Current and Sounds Like Canada in the morning."
She looked at her watch. "God, it's almost midnight. Emily, Carl, you should be in bed. And, Don, I don't want to go downtown this late—"
"You don't have to. A camera crew is on its way here."
"Really? My God!"
"It pays to know the right people," he said with a grin.
"I—um, well, I look a mess..."
"You look gorgeous ."
"Besides, who the hell is watching TV at this hour?"
"Shut-ins, insomniacs, people channel-flipping looking for nudity—"
"Dad!" Emily had her little hands planted on her hips.
"—but they'll keep repeating the report, and it'll be picked up all over the world, I'm sure."
"We'd been so wrong ," Sarah told Shelagh Rogers the next morning. Don wasn't the Toronto sound engineer for Sounds Like Canada —Joe Mahoney was doing that these days—but Don stood behind Joe as he operated the board, looking over Joe's shoulder at Sarah.
And, while doing so, he reflected on the irony. Sarah was in Toronto, but Shelagh was in Vancouver, where Radio One's signature program originated—two people who couldn't see each other, communicating over vast distances by radio. It was perfect .
"Wrong in what way?" Shelagh's voice was rich and velvety, yet full of
"Tell me if this hurts," he said as he climbed on top of her, making sure that his own arms and legs were bearing almost all his weight; he wasn't the least bit fat, but he was still much heavier than he'd been before the rollback. He maneuvered carefully, gently, looking for a sweet compromise between what his body was now capable of and what hers could endure. But after only a single thrust, one that seemed oh-so-gentle to him, he could see the pain on her face, and he quickly withdrew, rolling onto his back on her side of the bed.
''I'm so sorry," she said, softly.
"No, no," he said. "It's fine." He turned onto his side, facing her, and very gently held her in his arms.
-- Chapter 14 --
Sarah had leapt from her chair in the basement on that fateful night all those years ago, and Don had hugged her, and lifted her up so that her feet weren't touching the ground, and he'd swung her around, and he kissed her hard, right there, in front of the kids.
"My wife the genius!" Don declared, grinning from ear to ear.
"More like your wife the plodding researcher," replied Sarah, but she was laughing as she said it.
"No, no, no," he said. "You figured it out—before anyone else did, you figured out the meat of the message."
"I've got to post something about this," she said. "I mean, it's no damn good if I keep it a secret. Whoever announces this publicly first is the one who..."
"Whose name will be in the history books," he said. "I am so proud of you."
"Thanks, darling."
"But you're right," he said. "You should post something, right now." He let her go, and she started to move back to the computer.
"No, Mom," said Carl. "Let me." Sarah was a hunt-and-peck typist, and not a very fast one. Her father, back in Edmonton, had never understood her wanting to be a scientist, and had encouraged her to take all the typing she could so she'd be ready for a secretarial career. A single typing course had been mandatory. It was the one class in her whole life that Sarah had failed.
She looked at her teenage son, who clearly, in his own way, wanted to share in this moment. "Dictate what you want to say," Carl said. "I'll type it in."
She smiled at him, and began pacing the length of the rec room. "All right, here goes. The meat of the message is..."
As she was talking, Don ran upstairs and called an overnight news producer at the CBC. By the time he returned to the basement, Sarah was just finishing dictating her report. He watched as Carl posted it to the SETI Institute newsgroup, then Don said, "Okay, hon, I've got you booked for a TV interview in one hour, and you'll be on both The Current and Sounds Like Canada in the morning."
She looked at her watch. "God, it's almost midnight. Emily, Carl, you should be in bed. And, Don, I don't want to go downtown this late—"
"You don't have to. A camera crew is on its way here."
"Really? My God!"
"It pays to know the right people," he said with a grin.
"I—um, well, I look a mess..."
"You look gorgeous ."
"Besides, who the hell is watching TV at this hour?"
"Shut-ins, insomniacs, people channel-flipping looking for nudity—"
"Dad!" Emily had her little hands planted on her hips.
"—but they'll keep repeating the report, and it'll be picked up all over the world, I'm sure."
"We'd been so wrong ," Sarah told Shelagh Rogers the next morning. Don wasn't the Toronto sound engineer for Sounds Like Canada —Joe Mahoney was doing that these days—but Don stood behind Joe as he operated the board, looking over Joe's shoulder at Sarah.
And, while doing so, he reflected on the irony. Sarah was in Toronto, but Shelagh was in Vancouver, where Radio One's signature program originated—two people who couldn't see each other, communicating over vast distances by radio. It was perfect .
"Wrong in what way?" Shelagh's voice was rich and velvety, yet full of
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