Page 64 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Sierra: You’ve put a lot of thought into this. Why? You don’t even know her.

Me: I think of what would have happened to my mom. What would have happened to ME, if she hadn’t had the courage to leave. If a complete stranger hadn’t intervened when he saw her in trouble.

Her eyes become glassy. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I’ll leave tonight.”

Me: Don’t thank me yet. The job is only temporary and a huge favor from my boss. She’s sympathetic and confessed that her own sister was once in a similar situation. But technically, if the IRS came snooping around, the school would get in trouble for offering room and board in lieu of wages, which isn’t exactly allowed. But I get the feeling she’ll let Tara stay until we can figure something else out. One more thing. If you think your dad tracks your phone, leave it here so you can’t be placed in Chicago when she goes missing.

Sierra: I have my own plan, but I’m going to leave it here anyway, just in case. Better to be safe than sorry. What did Beth and Blake say about all this? It’s pretty hard core, Ellie.

Me: Only three people know about this. You, me, and Candance—she’s the president of the Deaf school. Nobody else can know. From my research, I learned that the more people who know, even if they are trusted, the greater chance of slip-ups and repercussions. This has to stay between the three of us and your mom. It’s the only way it will work.

She wipes tears from her eyes. Then she breaks down sobbing. I scoot next to her and wrap her in a hug. I don’t know if she’s terrified of what her father will do if they get caught, or relieved that there’s a plan to get her mother away from him. She cries on my shoulder, her body shaking. Finally, she stills and goes back to her phone.

Sierra: Do you really think this will work? And if it does, how can I in good conscience leave her here alone to go to NZ?

Me: She won’t be alone. She’ll have me. And she’ll have you. We’ll get her a new phone so the two of you can be in constant contact.

I get a wad of cash out of my purse and hand it over.

Me: Use this. Not any credit cards. Not even for gas along the way. Your dad could trace your cards and find out where you used them and piece it together. You can’t leave any breadcrumbs for him to find. If you have any belongings still at your house from your childhood, leave them. No matter how sentimental they are. If he notices anything but her clothes missing, it could point to you.The last thing we want is for him to come after you as well.

She holds the money in her hand, staring at it in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.”

Me: This is what you do for family.

Another tear escapes her eye. “I love you, Ellie.” She pulls me in for a hug. I let her hug me long and hard. Then I teach her how to say the words in ASL.

Chapter Twenty-four

Blake

Maisy sits impatiently on the couch. She’s learned the routine. She knows when to expect Ellie. Every few minutes, she grunts and points at the door.

“Soon,” I sign.

I think she understands, but she’s four. Any four-year-old would be restless waiting for something they’re looking forward to.

There’s no use in trying to distract her with a game. I’ve done that enough times that she’s caught on and it simply irritates her more. It seems my daughter is a force of nature, and when she has her mind set on something happening, she’s not about to accept anything less.

Which is why I’m concerned that Ellie is ten minutes late.

Thank goodness Maisy can’t tell time or she’d likely throw a tantrum.

I stand behind her, watching as she holds her stuffed cat, eyes glued to the front door. And it occurs to me that she hasn’t thrown a tantrum in days. Or has it been a week? Ellie said they would abate as she became more able to communicate her needs. But there’s still so much she doesn’t understand, and sometimes I feel I walk on eggshells waiting for the next time she’ll lash out. At just forty inches tall and a mere thirty-eight pounds, my kid can have an outburst like a two-hundred-pound drunken sailor.

There’s a knock on the door.

I touch Maisy’s shoulder. When she turns, I smile and point to the door. “Ellie.”

Maisy’s entire face lights up. She drops her stuffed cat like a hot potato and runs to the door. I’d already unlocked the deadbolt so Maisy could open it. When she sees Ellie, she barrels into her, almost knocking her over, and the two embrace.

Ellie looks at me, guilt on her face.

I can’t help being jealous every time my daughter doles out hugs. Because she still hasn’t given one to me. She’ll never know how I dream of the day her face lights up whenIwalk into a room. That every day, I wake up hoping today will be the day she decides she likes me as much as Ellie. Allie. My mom. That one day she might even love me as fiercely as I’ve grown to love her.

That one day we become the family I never knew I wanted.

Thoughts of becoming a family send my gaze right back to Ellie. I remember what it felt like to lie next to her. To hold her. To be inside her. And—knock me over with a feather—I know I want her to be a part of it.

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