Page 33 of Quiet Beautiful Things

We take a break and offer Maisy a snack. While she’s eating, Blake turns on the TV for her and tunes it to a cartoon.

I turn it off, grab her new iPad, and pull up a more appropriate video.

Me: Mainstream cartoons are difficult for the deaf. We can’t read lips of animated characters. Best not to confuse her further.I’m sure she’s spent the last four years watching them. Everything she watches now should be educational. There are plenty of fun videos that will also teach. Are you still okay with her starting Pre-K on Monday?

He nods.

Me: There are some things I should prepare you for when it comes to introducing her into the world of Deaf education. Everyone has opinions. Doctors. Teachers. Administrators. Passion over something can be bad if they throw in judgment or superiority. Some will believe one way of communicating is better than others. Well-meaning friends and professionals will give opinions and may become upset with your decisions. And they’ll all look to you to make choices. What you need to know going in is that there isn’t one way that’s better. And you need to understand that whatever method you choose may not be the method Maisy adopts. Or she may be successful with one method now but choose a different one later. What you need is someone to guide you without bias, and that’s why I’m here.

I watch him as he reads. His eyes seem to glaze over. He’s overwhelmed again. I’m information dumping, impatient because Maisy has missed out on so much already.

He looks up, and our gazes connect, and it’s like I can read everything behind those caring eyes. Despite the complete and utter upheaval of his life, there is a sheer determination in hisexpression I’ve never before witnessed. And it takes my breath away.

It’s hard to tear my eyes from his. It’s like a tractor beam is holding us hostage to each other. Flutters in my gut make me acutely aware of the intensity of the moment. But I have to remind myself the passion in his eyes has nothing to do with me and everything to do with his daughter. Knowing this, I break our connection and type out another text.

Me: Our ultimate goal is for Maisy to be able to communicate her thoughts and be understood. That could happen in a variety of ways. Through speech, cues, signing, or a combination. My point is, take time to gather information before making any decisions. Meet other families with deaf children. Connect with deaf adults and teens. Over time, as she gets older, your decisions may change. The path may twist and turn as she grows and is able to weigh in on those decisions.

Maisy tugs on my shirt and points at the swing set outside. I shrug my shoulders and gesture to Blake, letting her know it’s not my decision. She looks at him and he nods. He points to Maisy’s shoes.

I’m taken aback when she sits on the floor, puts them on, and…tiesthem. She’s four years old and she ties her shoes. It makes me both happy and sad at the same time. Happy because it’s another indication of how bright she is. Sad because, based on the little information I have about her past, she probably taught herself out of necessity. Surely a mother who didn’t even bother communicating with her child wouldn’t teach her to tie shoes.

Blake gets up and goes to the back door, unbolting a deadbolt that is much higher than where Maisy can reach.Is that new?

We move to where we can watch her. I tap his shoulder and sign, “She’s doing a great job.” Then I text it to him. I point to him. “You’re doing a great job.” I don’t bother with a text.

His head jerks quickly left then right. “I feel like a complete failure. Yes, I’m learning signs and stuff, but with her, I’m doing everything wrong. She almost got - - - last night. I can’t even keep her safe.”

I furrow my brows, sign, “Say again,” then text him the same two words.

“She was almost killed. She ran out of the house - - - and a car - - - I - - - her out of the way.”

He’s so frustrated that his words don’t form clearly, and I ask him to text. He tells me the whole story of it. How she wet the bed. How she thought he would be mad about it. How he handled it. How he turned on the chime and had extra locks installed.

Me: Blake, you’re doing everything right. Can’t you see that? I’ll petition the county for a road sign that will alert drivers there is a deaf child in the area.

Blake: See, you know all this shit. I didn’t even have the damn door chime on.

Me: But you do now. You’re learning just as she is. It’s a process. It’s not going to happen all at once. You’re doing everything you can. Tantrums and outbursts are to be expected until she can properly communicate. Even then, they might continue as she’s likely to feel isolated. One of the reasons deafchildren act out is because people are always saying no to them. And no one is filling in the blanks. They are generally left to figure things out on their own. Remember the other day I said you should clue her in to things going on around her that only hearing people would know? The more you do that, the more included she’ll feel and the less she’ll act out.

Blake:It’s not enough. It needs to be more. She needs more. She needs a father. I need her to know who I am. God, I wish she could understand.

I touch his arm. He looks at my lips. I look at his. I wonder if he can hear the air crackle between us. It’s a sound I’ve read about in books, but I swear I canfeelit at this very moment. Passion dances in his eyes. The same passion I feel in my heart. If passion makes a noise, I wonder what it sounds like. In my mind, it’s how people describe the subtle undertone of an ocean breeze.

Kiss me, my heart screams.

Someone walks in the room.

Our trance is broken.

“Mom,” he mouths, his eyes connecting with mine as if he’s as disappointed as I am that our moment was interrupted.

I’m introduced to Mrs. Montana, who I’m delighted to see has also learned some signs. Boy, did Maisy hit the jackpot with this family.

Chapter Twelve

Blake

Tap tap tap.

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