“No, don’t apologize. I understand. It’s easier for you that way. I’m just glad that we have had this time.”

Sidney sat up and ran a hand through her short blonde hair as she yawned. “Now that I know you’re okay, I think I’ll head home. Thanks for tucking me in last night.”

Bette gave a timid smile. “Of course.”

Sidney walked around and kissed Bette on her forehead. “I’ll see you later, Pretty Lady. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Bette nodded and then Sidney was gone. The front door closed softly behind her and then Bette heard the locks slide closed. The house instantly felt empty and quiet. She went to the bathroom before showering and finding some jeans and a nice, short-sleeved shirt. She noticed that this Bette had lots of pumps and dressy shoes, but very little in the way of relaxation clothes. Maybe she’d have to go shopping.

She was antsy and wanted to get out of the house. She found a key fob in a large, silver bowl in the living room and grabbed it. As she headed for the front door, she heard the knock that had distinctively become Dana’s. She met the brunette in the master bedroom, happy to have company. Even if her guest was a residual of dimensional overlapping.

“You look great, Bette,” said Dana.

Bette smiled shyly. “Thanks. So does this mean I can have that information download now?”

Dana nodded. She gestured to the bed. “I don’t know how your body will react, so please, lie down.”

Bette slipped off the black, leather driving shoes she’d found and lay back on the bed, her unruly dark locks covering the pillow. Dana lay beside her and held her hand.

“You ready?” asked Dana.

Bette nodded and tried to keep her breathing even. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Dana squeezed her hand and then a flood of memories began. Bette remembered her four years at UCLA and her Stanford MBA. She remembered years of dating with Sidney. Flashes of art and visits to museums flew by. She remembered each and every place she ever lived. She remembered the day she opened The Porter Gallery. The memories kept coming. They were factual, but not emotional. Like flipping through a book while having a photographic memory. The sheer volume of information was somewhat overwhelming and after what was really only 15 seconds, but which felt like 15 years, the information load was over.