by Luanne Rice
“How’s your scar?” his mother asked, peering at him across the refrigerator door. She tried to touch it, but he pulled back.
“It’s fine.”
“It gives you that dangerous look, you know? Like you got knifed on your cross-country motorcycle trip,” his mother teased. He could tell she was in a good mood; she was really trying to pump him up.
“No, I got it trying to get my sister killed.”
His mother pulled back, her eyes all hurt. “Oh, T.J.,” she said.
“That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
“That is not what happened. Josie’s accident was not your fault—not one bit. It was terrible of me to say what I did; I still feel so bad about it. You got hurt trying to save Josie.”
T.J. just stared into the refrigerator. He didn’t even feel like finishing the brownie.
“T.J.?” she asked.
“What.”
“Listen to me. T.J.?”
He looked up, extra defiant. “What.”
“You aren’t to blame for what happened to Josie. I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself. You got that?” she asked, a little desperately, trying to make him understand.
“If you say so.”
“Do you say so?” his mom asked. “I want it to come from you. Please, T.J.?”
“Yeah. Okay,” T.J. said. But even as he pretended to go along with his mom, he could see that she didn’t believe him.
“You’re a wonderful brother, and Josie is lucky to have you. Belinda, too, but I know how you feel about Josie. She’s sad because she thinks you’re mad at her.”
“I’m just busy.”
“I wish you’d tell me about your new girlfriend,” she said, that teasing tone in her voice again. T.J. had the kind of mom he could talk to about girls if he felt like it, but he would never tell her about Alison. That would be a betrayal. He looked down at his feet.
“I’m taking Josie over to visit Granny later. Want to come with us?”
“No thanks. I’m going out.”
“To see Alison?”
“Will you lay off me?” T.J. said.
“Okay, okay. Jeepers!”
T.J. pulled on his wool jacket. He and Alison would probably take a long bike ride, then head for Cathedral Woods. He wanted something nice and soft for her to lie down on.
“Teej,” his mother said, then stopped. He could tell she knew she wasn’t getting through to him; you could see how helpless she felt, and T.J. felt sorry for her. “You know I wish I could take back that stuff I said that night. I’m really sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“Okay.”
“Will you take out the garbage every night for the rest of your life and get straight A’s in school and always be a good boy and never forget to call your mother on Mother’s Day?”
“Okay.” T.J.’s mouth twitched into a smile against his will.
“Okay,” his mom said.
T.J. walked out the kitchen door, jumped on his bike. Riding to meet Alison, he concentrated like mad to wipe his mother’s words out of his mind.
Billy came home from the boatyard in time for dinner. He didn’t want to get too used to this new routine: working days on his boat, home every night for dinner. He’d be sanding a rail, or building the chart table, and suddenly he’d feel hungry. He’d look at the clock, and it would be five-thirty, and he’d lock up the boat and head home. He was never away from Cass for more than ten hours at a stretch. If he let himself get too comfortable at home, he might never go back to sea again.
Life at home was sweet now. Sleeping till six felt luxurious, especially with Cass warm and close, her body right there, pressed against him. At sea he had to make do with her pictures and his imagination.
Last night, he’d imagined a permanent life on shore. He could help Cass and Jimmy run Keating & Daughters. He could run the fleet from dry land. Cass was right, although he wouldn’t admit it, about the difficulties of owning his own boat. He had so many extras to worry about: the high insurance premiums, the fines he’d be charged if he got caught fishing a species with the wrong nets (something fishermen did all the time—he’d done it), the maintenance costs.
Laws of the land didn’t account for the vagaries of water and ice, fish populations, and Japanese factory ships. Let them police the stock market, the automobile industry, slaughterhouses, real estate brokers. How could you regulate the fishing business, the dangers of deep water, ice in the rigging, magnetic anomalies that could screw up a compass?
At the end of the day, Billy came through the back door into the kitchen. He walked over to Cass, standing at the stove, and kissed the back of her neck. “I’m home,” he said.
“Hi,” she said, leaning back, her head against his chest. When she turned to hug him, he lifted her off the ground, onto the counter.
“See?” she said. “If you’d quit fishing and become an insurance salesman, we could do this every night. We’d have you in traction in no time.”
“You’re light as a feather,” he said.
She slung her legs around his waist, kissing him. Something in a skillet on the stove beside them sizzled. She reached around him to turn down the heat.
“What’s that?”
“Caper butter. For the haddock.” She nuzzled his neck. “I’m making Potatoes Dauphine. You eat like that at sea?”
“If I ever served fish, my crew would throw me overboard. Meat and potatoes, all the way. The kids home?”
Cass stopped kissing him. “Belinda and Josie are,” she said, hopping down. “T.J. went to visit his girlfriend. Does he seem okay to you?”
“Moody,” Billy said.
“I’m hoping it’s because he’s in love,” Cass said. “Or because he’s fifteen.”
“She’s making him crazy,” Billy said, hooking his thumbs through Cass’s belt loops. “Every second. She’s all he can think about.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there,” he said, pulling her pelvis against his. “I remember fifteen.”
Cass gave him a wide, sexy grin. “So do I.”
“Hmmm.” Billy’s eyes roved the stove, wondering whether the dinner preparations were at a crucial point or whether he could carry Cass up to bed.
Belinda scooted through the kitchen, calling, “Hi, Daddy,” over her shoulder. He caught Cass laughing to herself as she slowly stirred something.
“What’s so funny?” he asked into her neck.
“I’m remembering being fifteen.”
“Hi again,” Belinda said, racing past.
Cass grabbed her hair in mock frustration—or maybe it wasn’t mock at all. Billy kissed her right hand, clenched against her head.
“How was Josie’s speech lesson?” he asked. He tasted the butter sauce. He felt starving, it smelled so good.
“I think it went well,” she said, sighing. “Zach didn’t let me sit in. But I think I can next time. From now on, I guess.”
“It went well? Really?” Billy asked. It amazed him that Cass would have this reaction. He had expected her to say there wouldn’t be another lesson.
“You look surprised,” she said.
“I guess I am. You really think she needs it?”
“Now you sound like my father,” Cass said. She seemed hurt, but then she laughed. “I take that back. You don’t sound like him.”
“Thanks,” Billy said.
She stirred the sauce, thinking. “I don’t know if she needs it, but she does seem … easier, doesn’t she?”
“She hasn’t flown off the handle the last couple of days,” Billy said, feeling uneasy. “Maybe it’s her medication.”
“She’s not on any medication, Billy. That stopped at the hospital. My God.”
“Sorry!”
“Anyway, we can sit in at her next session with Zach.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Billy said. “I’m trying to get the boat ready. Get out there and make some money.” The truth was,
the idea of watching Josie learn sign language made him feel squeamish. He didn’t know exactly why, but it reminded him of something both clinical and too personal. He hadn’t minded watching Dr. Parsons fit her with hearing aids, and he had met with Mrs. Kaiser more than once. He’d never minded taking his kids to the pediatrician, so he didn’t understand his discomfort now.
“After you get the boat ready, then,” Cass said, briskly. She checked the potatoes, then started setting the table, clearly dismissing him. He knew he’d disappointed her, and now she was pushing him away.
He went to the refrigerator and took out a beer. “Want one?” he asked Cass.
She shook her head.
“Another difference between fishing and home,” he said, opening the bottle. “I never have beer out there.” He waited for Cass to say something, but she just kept setting the table.
“It’s called denial,” Zach said. “It’s really common.”
“He’s never denied Josie’s hearing problem,” Cass said. They leaned against the kitchen counter. If she craned her neck, she could see Josie playing down the hall. Josie had made a nest of dishtowels, pretending to be a mother duck. She kept shifting on her haunches to see whether Barbie and her new doll had hatched yet. Cass felt like jabbing Zach, so he’d see how cute Josie looked. But he was intent on what he was saying.
“He didn’t have to deny it before, because your goal was for Josie to hear. All your efforts went into that: the best hearing aids, Mrs. Kaiser for speech therapy …”
“Billy’s not like that,” Cass said stubbornly. “He doesn’t expect her to be perfect.”
“Mrs. Medieros, many parents of deaf kids don’t expect anything at all.”
Now Cass felt glad Billy was working on his boat, and wasn’t here to hear this. Since Zach had started working with Josie, it was like Josie had opened a door, stepped into someplace wonderful. For that, Cass felt grateful. But Zach had an overenthusiastic manner that bordered on rudeness, as if he liked to play out of bounds.
“You know, sometimes you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cass said coolly. “We expect plenty for Josie.”
“Like what?”
“Kindergarten, for starters.”
Zach shook his head. He took off his glasses, held them to the light, cleaned them with his shirttail. “Josie doesn’t belong in kindergarten.”
Now that Josie was making some progress, holding her temper in check more and more, Cass had let herself look forward to Josie starting kindergarten at Mount Hope Elementary next September. It would be the same classroom where Cass, her sisters, T.J., Belinda, and their cousins had gone: finger-paintings on the wall, the bathtub-sized stone turtle well in the middle of the floor, the story corner.
“She has ten months to get ready,” Cass said.
Zach didn’t say anything. He leaned forward to watch Josie playing in the hall. Now she was pretending her dolls had hatched, transforming themselves from duck eggs into ducklings; she duck-walked down the hall, dragging the dolls along.
“You think she should be in that special class?” Cass asked. “I’ve seen it. It’s actually a warehouse where they throw in every little kid who has a problem. One teacher and ten kids with birth defects, autism, Down syndrome, hyperactivity. What kind of help will Josie get there? How’s she going to think of herself? She’s been eligible for a year, but I’ve kept her out, getting her ready for kindergarten.”
“You’re right about that special class,” Zach said. “But kindergarten in Mount Hope would be just as bad. Kids will make fun of her—you know they will. Do you want that?”
“Of course I don’t want kids to make fun of her. But I want her educated.”
“She needs a total communication program.”
“Oh, you mean deaf school?”
“It’s not …”
“What’s wrong with kindergarten in Mount Hope?”
“She won’t learn. She won’t develop a”—Zach waved expressively, painting the air—“a richness of language.”
“Dry up, buddy,” Cass said. “She’s going to kindergarten.”
T.J. and Belinda walked in, single file, and T.J. continued up the stairs without saying hello to anyone.
“Hi, T.J.,” Cass called after him.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Zach,” Belinda said, twinkling. Her crush couldn’t have been more obvious if she had had a big Z emblazoned across her chest. Cass fought back a smile.
“Hi, Belinda,” Zach said. “I’m arguing with your mom.”
“You’ll never win,” Belinda said. “No one ever does.” She stood with her feet apart, as if she were straddling a line. Cass could actually see her swaying back and forth, a worried frown on her face, trying to make up her mind about something. At thirteen, Belinda was beautifully transparent; Cass would bet anything Belinda had promised someone she would do something after school, but now she’d rather stay here with Zach.
“I’m supposed to help Emma study,” Belinda said. “But it’s really cold out. I’d freeze riding to her house.”
“Have her come here,” Cass said. “I’ll bet Bonnie would drive her over.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Belinda said, tearing upstairs to use the phone.
“A little word like ‘freeze,’” Zach said. “If Josie goes to Mount Hope Elementary, ‘freeze’ probably won’t find its way into Josie’s vocabulary. She’ll have one word for ‘cold,’ one word for ‘hot,’ one word for ‘fast.’ She won’t have words to draw from.”
“Won’t you keep working with her, Zach? That’ll help her.”
“Mrs. Medieros, things will get harder for Josie. Even at home, where people accept her, it’s hard for her to learn. She doesn’t like to play with children—that’s because they make fun of her, don’t understand what she’s saying. Kids are mean to kids outside their peer group.”
“So what wonderful place would you like me to send her?”
“It’s called North Point Academy.”
“You’re kidding,” Cass said, shocked because it was the place her mother was always mentioning.
“Why? You’ve heard of it?”
“Only a little.”
“It’s an incredible place,” Zach said.
“My mother’s been mentioning that place for two years,” Cass said.
“And it scares you,” Zach said. “That’s natural.”
It seemed odd to Cass—vaguely amusing—that such a young guy would be reassuring her that her feeling was “natural.” “Wait till you have kids, Zach,” she said.
Suddenly, Josie screamed. Her arms flailed above her head, and she flung Barbie against the wall. Cass started down the hall, but Zach held her elbow to stop her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Cass threw him an impatient glance and hurried to Josie.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Head, head, head, head, head!” Josie screeched.
Cass tried to hold Josie still, to examine her head. Her scar, her ears looked okay. Cass reached out, feeling Josie’s head for bumps, but Josie slapped Cass’s hand away.
“Barbie,” she cried. “Head, head.”
Now Cass saw the problem. Josie had removed Barbie’s head and gotten it stuck in the new doll’s hand.
“Give me the new doll,” Cass said clearly, trying to hold Josie still.
“Eh, eh, eh,” Josie began.
“What are you doing?” Zach asked, standing over them.
“What does it look like?” Cass snapped. Then, to Josie, “I said, give me your doll.” She acted out fixing Barbie’s head, wondering whether Zach would be impressed with her improvised sign language.
“Eeeeeh!” Josie screeched, her face beet-red.
“Leave her alone,” Zach said.
Cass snapped around to look at him. “She’s frustrated.”
“Would you let Belinda and T.J. get away with behaving like this?” Zach asked. “You’re singling her out because she’s deaf.”
Cass
yanked Barbie’s head out of the new doll’s hand, started to repair Barbie, but it was too late. Josie was ripping her own hair, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“No head, no head!” Josie cried. “Fix, fix!”
When Cass finally calmed Josie down, rocking her in her arms, she turned to Zach, to tell him he was out of line. But he was gone. She heard his car start up in the driveway, then pull away.
17
What do you think of eloping?” Nora asked Willis one late-October night. Frost was forecast; they huddled under her down comforter on her balcony loveseat, shivering together as they watched the lighthouse beacon traverse the sky.
“For a couple of runaway kids, it’s fine. For us, I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a wonderful family that loves you, Nora. They’d be devastated.”
“They would not,” Nora said, knowing they would.
“Your sisters would never speak to me again.”
“Oh, Willis.” Nora tingled as he played with the hair on the nape of her neck. If only he wasn’t so old-fashioned, she wouldn’t feel in such a hurry.
“We have to put on a beautiful wedding, to make up for what happened to Josie at our engagement party. The accident’s what they’ll think of when they think of us together unless we block it out with something beautiful.”
“You’re a real romantic.”
“Do you ever think about having kids, Nora?”
Nora closed her eyes, feeling him tickle her neck. A long time ago she had wanted children. When Cass and Bonnie were both pregnant for the first time, Nora had felt so jealous she couldn’t stand to see them. They’d be comparing notes on maternity clothes, nursery color schemes, whether or not to breast-feed, and Nora would have to leave the room so she wouldn’t cry.
But watching her sisters raise their kids, seeing how devoted they had to be, at the mercy of their children’s schedules, Nora had realized she liked her life. She liked working late at night and waking at noon; she loved doting on her nieces—taking them to Providence or Boston shopping—then dropping them off at their own homes.
“I’m lucky,” Nora said. “I have five nieces and nephews. I guess I put my maternal energies into them.”