Page 32 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Blake: I know. I practiced signing it all morning and then my hands were full when I answered the door. But they were the only phrases I learned and I was determined to use them. Oh, and I learned the alphabet.

He looks up proudly and starts signing ABCs.

God, that makes him even more alluring than before. Is there anything sexier than a man, a single father, who would do anything for his child?

Single father.Is he?I don’t know the whole story there. He didn’t know about Maisy until earlier this week. Was the child kept from him intentionally? Did the mother pass? He said CPS was called. Is she still in the picture? Will Maisy be the center of a custody battle?

A million questions burn inside my head. But I’m not here as a psychotherapist. And I really have no right to ask about his past.

Me: Well, nice job. You’re picking it up quickly. How have things been going? Where is Maisy?

“She’s getting ready. I told her you were coming.”

My brows dip. Hetoldher?

He takes my elbow and leads me to the far end of the table. The thoughts I’m having about his hand on my skin are not very professional. His large, firm hand that just spelled my name. He lets go and our eyes meet. He swallows and briefly looks at my neckline. Okay, so I’m pretty sure he felt it too—the electricity between us.

He rummages through the dozens of pictures on the table and hands me one. It’s like some of the others: this house with Blake and Maisy inside; the back yard with them on the swings; the kitchen with them at the table. But this one hasmein it. I know it’s me because he drew me in just like Maisy drew me in the other day.

He taps my shoulder to get my attention and says, “All day yesterday, I drew pictures of just Maisy and me. But twenty minutes ago, I drew this. She seemed excited. I pointed to you in the drawing and then to the couch, hoping she’d understand. She must have, because she ran to her room and started going through her closet.” He laughs. “You’d think she was a teenager getting ready for a date. She picked out several outfits. She must really like you, Ellie.”

I’m fascinated by how much I pick up from reading his lips.

He told her I’m coming.Him. A man with zero experience with deaf children. Someone who, before Tuesday, didn’t even know about her. And she understood.

She understood.

Amazing.

This time, my heart doesn’t just skip one beat, it skipsallof them.

He motions behind me, and I turn. Maisy is in the doorway wearing a pink dress with a white bow on the front. Soft blonde spirals frame her innocent face, and her expression doesn’t look quite as distant as it did a few days ago. Her blue eyes are bright and her full lips curve into a smile. And I melt.

She races over and hugs me, and my eyes close of their own volition when her small body wraps around me. I force them open and look over at Blake. He’s smiling too, but it’s full of both happiness and sadness.

Maisy should be hugging him, not me.

I pull back, not wanting to steal all Blake’s thunder. After all, he’s the hero here. He’s worked so hard.

My goal today was to try and teach Maisy her name. But now my goal has shifted. She needs to understand that Blake is her father.

I take Maisy to the table and gather the drawings showing her and Blake in the house. Then I get some things from my bag. A book I found about a single father to a little girl. Flashcards with men, men and children, and men holding babies.

I show her the book. On the cover is a man holding the hand of a little girl. Then I show her the flashcards. Then I point to the drawings. I put my finger on the flashcard of the man holding the baby, being sure she knows I’m pointing to the man. I do the sign for father. I point to the man on the cover of the book and do it again. Then I point to the drawing and the likeness of Blake and do it a third time. Then I point to Blake and do it again.

Maisy repeats the sign.

In my periphery, I see Blake trying to control his emotions. He pulls out his phone.

Blake: Do you think she understands? Or does she think ‘father’ is just the name for ‘man?’ Or maybe she thinks ‘father’ is my name.

It amazes me that he asked the question. It shows just how much he’s invested in his situation. More than likely, Maisy does think the sign for father is the sign for man, but we have to start somewhere. Who knows, though. I taught her the sign for ‘boy’ the last time I was here. Perhaps she understands the difference.

Me:It’s possible she thinks that. With repetition, she’ll come to understand. But she’s signing. Let’s celebrate the small victories.

He nods. And I think he sniffs because I see his nostrils flare. His patience and empathy seem to know no bounds. I’ve met a lot of hearing parents of deaf children before. But never one as driven as this man. I wish I could bottle that resolve and give it to all my clients.

I spend the next hour trying to teach Maisy her name. It’s a long, arduous, and in the end, a futile process. I need her to understand that she’s a girl and I’m a girl, but while we are both girls, we have different names. For all Maisy knows, people don’t have names. Proper names may be something she doesn’t comprehend.

---