Page 35 of Quiet Beautiful Things

I smile and open the back door to the car, her gateway to our first outing. We haven’t stepped foot out the front door since she arrived—if you don’t count the trip to the audiologist and the time she almost got run over. It’s the longest I’ve ever gone without leaving my house. I haven’t run since Thursday. Haven’tworked in a week. Dad has been amazing, stepping back into the role he only recently vacated. He hasn’t pressured me in the slightest. But I’m looking forward to going out to the winery this morning, even if it’s only for a few hours.

At the school, there is a line for drop off. But I park and walk Maisy inside. As soon as we go through the main doors, I see Ellie waiting. She looks relieved, as if maybe she thought we wouldn’t show.

Our eyes connect. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since the almost-kiss on Friday. Did she somehow become more beautiful over the weekend? Her hair is pulled back into a clip, tendrils falling to her chin. The blue blouse she’s wearing matches her eyes, and her black skirt clings to her hips. I’ve never seen her in anything but slacks. I’m tempted to stare at her legs, but that would mean popping this magical bubble we seem to be surrounded by where the world falls away and it’s just us—staring… wanting…feeling.

When she finally shifts her gaze to Maisy, her lips curve into a smile as my daughter sees her and runs over.

A woman standing by Ellie’s side says and signs, “Mr. Montana, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Mrs. Kasey. I’ll be Maisy’s teacher for the rest of the spring.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, hoping I got the signs right.

Ellie taps Mrs. Kasey’s shoulder and starts signing. Mrs. Kasey interprets, “Maisy will spend three hours in Mrs. Kasey’s class, then she’ll meet with the speech therapist, then the four of us will convene for our first IEP meeting. Is noon good for you? We don’t want to overwhelm Maisy on her first day by doing too much, but it’s important that we get started with a plan.”

“Noon. Right.” I look down at my daughter then back at Ellie. “Do you think she knows I’ll come back for her?”

“If she doesn’t, she will soon enough. This will be the routine five days a week.”

Right. Everything is about repetition.

I lower to my knees and get on Maisy’s level. “I’ll see you later,” I say and sign, feeling guilty that she probably doesn’t understand. I should have brought drawings showing her coming home after school.

At this point, though, I’m not sure anything I say to her will mean much. She’s excited. Her eyes dart around to the other kids funneling in through the front door.

I look up at the two women. “Do I just leave?”

“We’ll take good care of her,” Mrs. Kasey says. And with that, Ellie takes Maisy’s hand, and the three of them turn and walk away.

The father part of me is upset that Maisy is walking away so easily. Aren’t kids supposed to have separation anxiety about going to school? Then again, she hasn’t even known me for a week. And at this point, she seems much more attached to Ellie.

I don’t even know if my own daughter likes me.

Maisy doesn’t turn around. But Ellie does. She shoots me a look over her shoulder. A look that communicates she understands every emotion swirling through my head right now. She smiles and nods before the trio disappears around the corner.

I blow out a breath. Maisy has only been with me for six days. A better part of that time has been spent with her angry at me because she can’t understand. And most of that time, I’ve been frustrated with her. With myself. But now, standing here after she walks away, I find myself feeling like a part of me is missing.

~ ~ ~

Today has been busy. Catching up on work. Maisy’s IEP meeting. And then… wow, what a transformation. After only onemorning in Pre-K, Maisy is a different little girl. It’s as if her whole world has changed. She came home knowing more signs than I thought a four-year-old could learn in a day. Ellie said she was bright. I didn’t realize just how bright until now.

Maisy asked about Ellie after we came home. Or rather, she pointed to the picture we use when ‘talking’ about Ellie. It’s evident she wants to see her. At the IEP meeting, Ellie told me that between Pre-K and speech therapy, there wasn’t time for the two of them to meet. She didn’t want Maisy to be overwhelmed on her first day. And while Maisy did seem upset earlier that she couldn’t see her, she ate her lunch and immediately went down for a nap.

The doorbell rings promptly at 4pm.

It’s Ellie. She’s swapped the black skirt for a pair of jeans, though she still wears the same blue blouse.

She walks in and looks around.

“She’s sleeping,” I sign.

“Big day,” she signs back.

I love that we can already have short signing conversations without texting.

“The school is amazing,” I say. “She seemed to love it. I told her she’d go back after one sleep, and she was excited. Although I worry what will happen come Saturday when she doesn’t get to go and I can’t explain to her what a weekend is.”

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