Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(94)

Chapter Twenty-Seven


It was instantly obvious to Trisha that something about Emma had changed. And that nothing about her brother had, or about how her own traitorous body—not to mention brain—reacted to him. But this was not the time to indulge her infatuated adolescent self. She returned his courteous nod, watched him move to a corner of the room and lean against a wall, and turned her attention to her patient.

Emma shook her hand. Her grip was tight, her color not terrible. Her vitals were stable.

She gave Trisha a careful smile. “How many surgeries this morning, Doctor?”

Her patients almost never asked about her day and Trisha’s heart warmed toward this amazingly brave, albeit very angry, woman. “Just two. Light day.”

That got her a full-fledged smile.

“How have you been feeling?” Before Emma could get a snarky answer out, she added, “Any change in pain levels?” She had already put her on a pain management regimen. “Your vision altering in any way?”

Emma threw a quick look at her brother, giving Trisha a glimpse of what they must’ve been like growing up. It made her think of Yash, and how he’d always stood up to HRH and Ma any time Trisha was in trouble. Until Julia.

A frown folded between Emma’s perfectly arched brows. “I’ve had a few episodes where . . .” She scratched a spot on the blue hospital gown she was wearing. “Where I couldn’t quite see. Not the usual blurring I’ve been having for months, but just . . . well, everything just disappeared.”

Trisha kept her voice even. “When was the first episode? How long do they last?” She hadn’t expected this so soon.

“A few days ago, and only for a few seconds. It’s happened just a few times.”

“May I?” She shone an ophthalmoscope into Emma’s eyes. But she already knew what it was. The tumor was squeezing the optic nerves.

“You were supposed to call me if anything changed.” She heard the sternness in her own voice and Emma’s frown deepened. She didn’t care. It was important for patients to follow instructions. “As long as you’re under my care, you have to understand that it’s important that you do as I ask.”

Apparently, it was just the opening Emma had been waiting for. “So, about being under your care. The last time we spoke—”

Trisha pulled a stool closer to the bed and sat down. “I’ve done some research since the last time we spoke. I want you to hear me out.”

Her patient opened her mouth then shut it again, which with Emma meant she was listening, really listening.

“You should know that this is a first for me. I’ve never had a patient who has lost their sight before—”

“Aw, I’m your first! What an honor.” Emma smirked, and Trisha had to smile, because, really, a person who retained their humor—however dark—in a situation like this was more badass than she’d ever be.

“Go on,” Emma said with a sigh.

“Have you heard of Jane Liu? She’s an artist from the area. From Monterey actually.” Trisha turned on her iPad and pulled up the pictures she’d taken of Jane’s work. “She’s been blind since birth. Her work is remarkable. She’s one of a handful of artists who’re changing how scientists perceive blindness.”

“That’s nice. But Jane’s never had her vision, so her brain is probably wired differently from mine.” Nevertheless, Emma took the iPad from Trisha and started swiping through the pictures. When she came to the images of the classrooms and the tactile art, she paused.

“She’s not the only blind artist in the world, and not all the ones I researched were blind from birth. There are programs around the world where blind and visually impaired artists are creating some amazing work. They claim to see the images in their head before transferring them onto paper or other material. And study after study shows that the visual cortex in the brain lights up like a Christmas tree in scans when they paint or visualize their pieces.” Jane was participating in a study and Trisha had seen the scans. They were entirely unexpected, completely paradigm shifting.

Emma’s fingers started shaking over the pictures. Her face had gone so pale her freckles turned stark against her skin. DJ walked over and sat down on the bed next to her, studying the pictures as she swiped back and forth. Yet again she stopped on a picture of a classroom, children touching the metal strips swirling and projecting from a baseboard, but she couldn’t form the question she wanted to ask.

“Jane runs an institute where she teaches what she calls tactile art to artists of all ages. They’ve been doing studies that prove we see with more than just our eyes, that our tactile senses can be just as responsible for creating mental images. There are many different ways to process the world. One sense isn’t the be-all and end-all.”

Emma shoved the tablet back at her. “Really? That easy, is it? Which sense have you ever given up? In fact, what have you ever lost? What have you ever had to live without?”

Not much. “You’re right, I’ve been blessed with a great deal. But there are millions of people who have not. Millions of people who live with all sorts of challenges. And they live happy lives. Full lives. Meet Jane once. That is all I’m asking.”

Emma shook her head. There was a violent force to the action, but the eyes that met Trisha’s were filled with doubt. “I can’t.”