A Kiss to Dream On

by Neesa Hart

  With a sweep of her elegant fingers, she’d shown him the scar in her hairline where a receiver had been implanted in the bone behind her ear. Electrodes, surgically implanted in her cochlea, completed the circuit and gave Cammy something she hadn’t known since birth—eighty percent hearing.

  He’d been interested in what she had to say, but even more caught up in what she didn’t say. The long, technical discourse lacked most of the passion he’d seen in her that morning. More than journalistic instinct had him craving answers to the contradiction. Once or twice, he’d seen a glimpse of something deeper, some reservoir of sadness she guarded behind her carefully cultivated civility.

  His gaze left the photo to rest on the background file on his desk. Sheer obstinancy was keeping him from opening it. In that file were all the details he might want about the public aspects of Cammy’s life. Yet, somehow, he sensed she’d resent him for reading it. One of the things that made him good at his job was reading people. Practice had honed his intuition until he rarely missed. There were more layers to Cammy Glynn than met the eye—he was willing to bank on that, but, for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, he resisted the urge, strong as it was, to indulge his curiosity by studying her background file. Something told him that he’d find a lot of public facts and not much of what he was looking for.

  Instead, he studied the pictures Krista had left for his perusal. In the photo, Cammy looked more at ease than he’d ever seen her. Krista had captured her deep in conversation with little Amy Patterson. Cammy’s face reflected unabashed affection. Her normal air of reserve was conspicuously absent. She loved that child, that much was obvious. At lunch that afternoon, Cammy had told him that Amy, abandoned by both parents, lived in a center for special needs children. Her mother’s addiction to crack had most likely caused the birth defect that had stolen Amy’s hearing. She’d come to live at the center as a two-year-old. No one knew where and how she’d spent the first years of her life.

  That she’d evolved into such a loving child was miraculous. Even before he’d heard her story, Jackson had been impressed with Amy’s intelligence and warmth. Her feelings, he noted as he looked at the picture, weren’t directed at him alone. Amy’s expressive eyes watched Cammy with adoration. The black-and-white picture filtered out unnecessary elements of the scene and showed, instead, the clear affection between the two. Cammy was “listening” intently as Amy’s small fingers formed the signs that allowed her to communicate. Jackson had consulted the reference book on American Sign Language he’d ordered from the library and learned that Amy’s hands formed the sign for speak.

  Krista, he decided, had unwittingly done it again. He put a check mark at the top of the photo, then sifted idly through the rest of the pile. The first one was undoubtedly the best. It perfectly captured the essence of the morning.

  One more caught his eye. It showed him watching Cammy as she helped a child form a W with his lips by blowing bubbles through a wand. Jackson knew himself well, and he knew that the expression on his face betrayed more than casual curiosity. Cammy Glynn had captivated him.

  “How’s it going, Jack?” Chris Harris leaned through the door of Jackson’s office.

  Jackson surreptitiously slid the photo into his desk drawer. “All right. I spent the morning watching one of Doctor Glynn’s sessions.”

  “I heard. I just spoke with Mike Costas.”

  “Are you two going to spy on me until I finish writing this series?”

  Chris didn’t bother to deny it. “Mike is a grief specialist, you know?”

  Jackson calmly stacked the rest of the photos on his desk. “You don’t say?”

  “Just thought I’d mention it.” He looked pointedly at Jackson’s hand. The burn scar had begun to tighten the skin, and he’d taken to flexing it to ease the sting. “How’s the hand, by the way?”

  “Fine.” He laid his palm flat on his desk. “The bandage comes off next week.”

  Chris visibly wavered for an instant, then dropped the subject with a brief nod. “Listen, I talked to Sheila. She wants to have Costas and his wife, and you and Doctor Glynn over for dinner. How’s next Friday for you?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re falling into one of your wife’s matchmaking schemes, Chris. I thought you were a better man than that.”

  “She’s not matchmaking. She hasn’t seen Mike and Bess in a while, and thought this would be a pleasant, low-key kind of evening. Give everyone a chance to socialize a little.”

  “Where Mike Costas can casually evaluate me, and where I spend time with Doctor Glynn?”

  “Don’t be so suspicious.”

  “Don’t be so transparent. You want me to talk to Costas. That’s why you put me on this story.”

  “I think maybe you could use some help coping with what happened in Bosnia.”

  “Have you seen anything—have I done anything—to make you think I’m not coping?”

  “You want to talk about why you’re so bristly lately?”

  “No.” He glared at Chris.

  Chris glared back. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Hell, that doesn’t mean I need a shrink.”

  “It’s not a weakness, you know. That kid died. Anyone would have been rattled by that.”

  Inside him, in the place he never looked, something was threatening to explode. He wrestled the door shut, but it took more effort this time. “Of course I’m rattled. But I also know that the best thing for me to do is to go back to work.”

  Chris exhaled a long breath. “You’re not yourself, Jack.”

  “I don’t normally have my boss trying to force me into psychotherapy. When did you start doubting my mental stability?”

  “I’m not doubting it.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because no one can stand to be around you lately. Irene in copy told me you ripped her head off about a misspelled caption.”

  “They’re not supposed to make mistakes like that.”

  “And you’re not supposed to send people fleeing the building in tears.”

  “That’s your job,” Jackson shot back.

  Chris swore. “That’s what I mean. Krista’s the only person who can get along with you lately.”

  “Krista’s competent.”

  “And you’re a real pain in the ass.”

  “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that today.”

  “So when are you going to take it to heart?”

  Jackson leaned back in his chair. He forced himself to get rid of his irrational anger. It had no identifiable source, and Chris Harris was his friend. He didn’t deserve this. “Now, I guess. You sure Sheila wants me in my present state of mind?’’

  “Are you going to rip her a new one if the mashed potatoes have lumps?”

  He accepted the quip as a peace offering. “Considering I haven’t had a decent meal since I got back, I’ll probably get over it.”

  “Is six-thirty okay?”

  “All right. Should I bring anything?”

  “Doctor Glynn?” Chris suggested. “Why don’t you pick her up on your way.”

  Jackson gave his friend a dirty look. “I’ll call her.” When Chris didn’t budge from his post at the door he added, “Now. I’ll call her now.”

  three

  He had the kind of dark good looks that made girls swoon. And even at five years old, he knew it. Cammy shook her head at Trevor Blackfort as he flashed his beautiful smile and signed his invitation. “No, Trevor,” she prompted. “Say it.”

  He rolled his eyes but capitulated. “My dance recital is tonight.”

  “I know.” One of her colleagues from Gallaudet University, the Washington College for the Deaf, had approached Cammy two years ago with the idea for the dance troupe. Using progressive teaching methods and a combination of skill, naiveté, and pure fearlessness, Lynette had founded the Washington Foot Notes—a dance company comprised of both hearing and deaf children. With a grant from the Wishing Star Foundation
and a studio that let them practice rent-free, the group had begun as an experiment and blossomed into a valuable learning environment. Several of Cammy’s patients participated in the program. After two years, Lynette finally had the children ready for a recital. “I got an invitation in the mail,” she told Trevor.

  “Are you going to come see it?”

  Cammy nodded. “Since you asked, I’ll come.” He wrinkled his nose as he stared at her mouth, unable to read the more complex sentence on her lips. She signed her response to him.

  Trevor immediately followed her lead. With flying fingers he began telling her the details of his tap solo in the evening’s performance. He was midsentence when his mother cracked open the door. “May I come in?”

  Cammy greeted Macon Stratton-Blackfort with a warm smile. She held up a hand to interrupt Trevor, then pointed behind him. “Look who’s here.”

  He swiveled in his chair and said, “Hi, Mom.”

  At the perfectly enunciated sentence, Cammy saw Macon’s expression turn misty. “Hi, buddy boy.” She set down her briefcase and held out her arms to him. Trevor raced across the room to fling himself into her embrace. Cammy watched the exchange with a familiar feeling of wistfulness. Every child should have the kind of love and support Trevor enjoyed from his parents.

  Macon released him to sign, “Did you have fun?”

  “Yes. Cammy’s coming to see me dance tonight.” His hands moved in an ever-widening range as he warmed to his topic. “I told her she should bring Mr. Puller.”

  Macon met Cammy’s gaze with a lifted eyebrow. “You did?”

  “Yeah. He was here at the group session last week. He’s writing stuff about Cammy and us for the newspaper.”

  “Jackson Puller?” Macon asked Cammy. Cammy stifled a groan.

  Trevor pulled on Macon’s sleeve. “Mom?” He said the word out loud to grab her attention.

  She brushed his nose with her index finger, then signed, “I’m listening. What did Cammy say?”

  Trevor shook his head. “You came in before she answered.”

  Macon pressed a quarter into his hand. “Why don’t you go play the video game,” she said, indicating the machine in the corner, “and I’ll see if I can talk her into it.”

  Trevor gave her a smacking kiss before he hurried off to fight interplanetary invaders. Macon pinned Cammy with a curious look. “Jackson Puller? Cam, you’ve been holding out on me.”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  Macon eased across the room to seat herself across from Cammy’s desk. “How do you expect me to look? I have to find out from my five-year-old that one of my best friends is keeping time with Washington’s stud of the year.”

  “We are not keeping time. He’s doing a series of articles on Wishing Star.”

  “A series.” Macon grinned. “So it’s a protracted kind of thing.”

  Cammy laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “And insatiable. Spill your guts, kid.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting in an hour and I want details before I leave.”

  “Well, I’ve got another appointment in ten minutes, so you’re out of luck. We’re going to talk about Trevor instead.”

  Macon’s expression turned suddenly serious. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, of course not. He’s doing great.”

  Macon glanced across the room to where Trevor sat with videogame controls defending the future of the universe. “He loves his dance class.”

  “I’m glad. He talks about it a lot. I’m just a little concerned about school.”

  Macon’s breath came out in a long sigh. “Me too. He doesn’t mention it often, but I can tell he’s stressed.”

  “It’s normal. He’s worried he won’t fit in, or the kids will pick on him, or he’ll spill his milk on his shirt the first day.”

  “I’ve talked to his teacher—”

  Cammy held up a hand. “Macon, every kid in America worries before the first day of kindergarten. It’s normal.”

  “It’s really hard not to fight his battles for him.”

  “I know. But that’s got Trevor worried. He wants the chance to fit in on his own. He’s afraid you’re going to be overprotective.”

  “Who me?” She frowned. “The original Smother Mother?”

  Cammy laughed. “You and Jacob should be really proud of yourselves. A lot of kids in Trevor’s position would be terrified. He knows his family adores him, so he’s a little more secure about taking chances.”

  “I just hope we’re doing the right thing. Jacob felt really strongly about sending Trev to public school.”

  The couple, Cammy knew, had spent months making the choice between public school kindergarten, where Trevor would need an interpreter, and a private school for deaf children. “There’s not a right or wrong answer, Macon. You made the choice you felt was right for your child. If it doesn’t work out, you can always change your mind. Trevor is very gregarious, and he’s a natural leader. Give him two weeks, and he’ll be class president.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Cammy nodded. “I think so.”

  She watched as Macon struggled visibly with her doubts. For all Macon’s professional and personal accomplishments in the fast-paced world of Washington politics, she still had a healthy share of maternal insecurities. As a media consultant, she’d managed countless political clients with award-winning confidence and success. But when it came to Trevor, she showed a rare vulnerability. She and Cammy had become fast friends the moment Macon and her husband had brought their son into her office. Cammy considered herself privileged to know a side of Macon that few others had ever seen.

  Macon was watching her dubiously. “You’re sure?”

  Cammy assured her. “He’ll do great. Just give him a little space to grow.”

  Macon’s eyes drifted momentarily shut. “If he comes home in tears, I’m going to die.”

  “Before or after you swat the kid who upset him?”

  When Macon opened her eyes, amusement sparkled in their depths. “Swatting is Jacob’s department. I just sit in the corner and wither.”

  Cammy gave her a wry look. “Am I seriously supposed to believe that?”

  “Okay, maybe I don’t exactly wither.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “All right, all right. I confess. Usually, Jacob has to peel me off someone before I inflict mortal wounds.”

  “That I believe.”

  Macon glanced at Trevor once more. “You’re sure he’s doing okay?”

  “He’s great. We talked a little about the possibility of a cochlear implant.” She tapped the receiver behind her ear. “He’s not sure he wants one.”

  “We’re still struggling with that. It’s hard to think about subjecting your five-year-old to a four-hour operation that may not even work.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “But you think we should do it?”

  “No. Not necessarily. Just because I had it done, and it worked for me, doesn’t mean I think every deaf child needs an implant. It may not be right for Trevor. You and Jacob and Trevor are the only ones who know that.”

  “But you think he’d take to it?”

  Cammy shrugged. “I think his personality is well-suited to the risk.” At Macon’s frown, she laughed. “Okay, in laymen’s terms, I think that Trevor is a very secure and happy little boy. He’s doing very well with his verbal skills, but the longer his brain goes without auditory stimulation, the more you run the risk of deterioration to his auditory nerve. His brain may, or may not, be able to effectively process the information he hears. Unfortunately, it’s not an exact science. No one can make you a guarantee.”

  “The more research we do, the more confused I get.”

  “I know. It’s frustrating. How does Jacob feel?”

  “Like I do. We want to give Trevor every chance we can, but we don’t want to take unnecessary risks either. I’m worried that Trevor will put too much pressure on himself. If he ha
s the operation, we’re afraid that he’ll think he’ll have to set some record in language development just to please us.”

  “He might.”

  “But he might not.” Macon looked at Cammy for confirmation.

  “The more you affirm him, the more time you spend with him, the more likely he is to take the adjustment in stride. If he knows you and Jacob aren’t disappointed with whatever progress he happens to be making, he won’t feel as frustrated.”

  Macon’s expression turned plaintive. “You know, I have made million-dollar campaign decisions that weren’t this complicated.”

  “I know.”

  “And Trev’s doctor keeps pressuring us. He’s convinced we should move ahead immediately.”

  “It’s a big decision, Macon. You and Jacob and Trevor need to be committed to it before you proceed.”

  “You don’t think we’ll do irreparable damage if we wait to see how he makes out in kindergarten?”

  “I think you’d do worse damage if you all rushed into this.” She glanced at Trevor. “It should happen sooner rather than later, but he needs to be sure about it, too.”

  “You’re right.” Macon gave her a grateful look. “As usual.” She glanced at her watch. “You didn’t know you were going to get to conduct two therapy sessions today, did you?”

  Cammy smiled. “My pleasure.”

  “I’m sure it was. You were delighted to distract me from interrogating you about Jackson Puller.”

  “I see I failed.”

  “Dismally. You didn’t think I’d drop something like that, did you?”

  “A girl can always hope.”

  “No way. You’ve still got three minutes until your next appointment. Just hit the highlights for me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” At Macon’s speculative look, she shook her head. “I swear. Mike pulled some strings at AW to get the story, and they sent Jackson Puller.”