Tara, Lennon, open
"Oh," she said with a slight blink. "Wheelie Francis?" Her brows furrowed slightly. "Is there ... a reason for that or ...?" Maybe that was the statue's name but she also figured if it had an official name, Chase or someone talking on the network would have mentioned. She'd hope, anyway.
"Someone said about three months," she agreed with a nod. "So you'd know ..." She trailed off, because ... Christmas. She could plague him with her questions another time. Not that she supposed it was actual Christmas; it did seem too early. Unless she'd been held in some sort of coma for ... what, a week? But who was to say she hadn't been? "Well, I guess I can plague you with questions later. If you don't mind," she hurried to add. "I don't ... want to be a bother." And really she didn't. If people didn't mind, if people offered, it was one thing. But asking ... somehow inflicting herself on people had always been something she'd tried to avoid. Maybe they didn't mind when they said they didn't, but all the same she tried not to be a burden.
While she still had some unwrapped gifts, she took a minute or two to study the phone. That would be good; it would sort of help things feel a little more normal. Not that any of this was anywhere near normal. She did glance to what he'd gotten before she reached for another package. "Have they ever done ... anything like this before? Gifts? Are they just going to ... I don't know. Take them away tomorrow?" It seemed like something a kidnapper might do, just to mess with someone's head.