Page 37 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Then I put my hand on the speaker in the passenger door and turn up the radio until I feel the music. Then I turn it up even more. Blake’s reaction is typical of what a hearing person looks like when something is too loud. He winces, almost like it’s painful. Even after all these years of people telling me about it and learning about it in school, it’s still amazing to me that sound can cause pain. How is that even possible?

I turn to Maisy, point to the speaker next to her car seat, and do the sign for ‘touch’—something she’s learned over the past week because we’ve taught her what sheshouldn’ttouch.

She touches the speaker with her fingertips, and her eyes double in size. She lays her hand flat against it. Her mouth goes slack, and she looks at me, her face slowly morphing into a smile.

Maisy has the most amazing smile. It doesn’t come out much because she’s frustrated a lot of the time, but when it does, it lights up the room. Her alabaster skin, platinum blonde hair, and white party dress make her look like an angel. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an incredible sight.

When we stop at a light, Blake turns to me and I sign, “She’s beautiful.”

He glances in the rearview and smiles. Then he points to me. “You’re beautiful.”

The light turns green. He lightly brushes his hand against my arm then begins driving. I look down at my arm, the skin still tingling at the memory of his touch, not to mention his words.

It isn’t much longer when we turn down a road at a large sign readingMontana Winery. I’ve never been to a winery before so this will be exciting. And other than Maisy going to school, this is her first official outing. I wanted her to see whereBlake and his family work. She’s already met most of his family, so it shouldn’t be too stressful for her. It’ll be an easy outing compared to say, taking her to a mall, which is also on my list.

The list is long. Based on my interactions with Maisy the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize just what a sheltered life she’s lived. My goal is to introduce her to all the things in life most people take for granted but that she’s most likely never experienced. Parks, restaurants, a fire station, a pool.

My eyes are glued to the side window as we wind our way down the street. As far as the eye can see over the rolling hills, there are rows after rows of grapevines that look like short little trees. But they aren’t full of grapes.

We’re driving slow enough that I feel it’s safe to sign. “No grapes?”

He turns his head enough to keep an eye on the road but also so I can see his lips. “It’s spring. The vines have just - - - from - - -”

I’m not sure if it’s the angle of his face or if he’s saying fancy words, but I don’t pick up most of them. I put a finger to his lips to stop him. I shake my head, shrug my shoulders, and hold out my hands, palms up.

He laughs, getting that I didn’t understand a darned thing.

“Say again,” I sign.

It’s a sign he’s become more than a little familiar with.

He pulls into a parking spot by what I assume is the main building and gets out his phone.

Blake: It’s spring. The vines have just reawakened from dormancy. It’s called a bud burst. Green leaves burst awake in preparation for photosynthesis with the warmer months. But it’s a delicate time as the new growth is in danger of spring frost.

I sign. “When do you pick them?”

He smiles, proud of himself for understanding. I can always tell when he gets what I sign because there’s an added sparkle to his already amazingly bright eyes.

Blake: Grapes are picked in the late summer or early fall. If we pick them too soon, the acid levels will be too high and the sugar levels too low. If we pick too late, it will be the opposite.

“Can you eat them?” I ask.

Blake: Wine grapes are edible, but they’re not really meant to be eaten out of hand like table grapes. They have seeds and thicker skins and tend to be sweeter because the sugars will be turned into alcohol during fermentation.

Me: Thanks for the crash course.

People emerge from the building looking strangely at the car. I silently chuckle when I remember the music must still be on. I turn it off and Blake cuts the engine, then nods for us to get out of the car.

Before greeting his family, he gets Maisy out of her car seat in the back. I love that his first thought is always of her.

Blake’s parents, Chris and Sarah, and his sister Allie are here.

“Welcome,” his mom says.

“Thank you,” I sign.

She seems to understand. All of his family have been learning ASL. Not at the speed Blake is, but still, they’re making a genuine effort. It’s fortunate Maisy landed in such a good situation with people to help and support her. I swallow, knowing we have that in common.

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