Page 65 of Quiet Beautiful Things

As usual, Maisy drags Ellie to the dining room table to show off her latest drawings. And as usual, Ellie gushes over them. If there is something Maisy has drawn that she hasn’t yet learned the sign for, Ellie always takes the opportunity to teach her. Today, she learns ‘sidewalk.’

When Ellie goes to pull materials from her bag, I wave an arm, getting her attention. “Did you forget?”

She scrunches her eyes.

I motion to Maisy and sign, “Cat.”

Her expression tells me shehadforgotten. We had planned to take Maisy to the pet adoption center today.

“We can go,” she signs.

Maisy picks up on it. She knows what ‘go’ means. She looks between us, excited to go on another excursion. Over the past few weeks she’s been introduced to quite a few new places. In addition to going back to the winery a few times—allowing me to get more work done as Mom is always around to occupy Maisywhen we show up—we’ve taken her to the park, a restaurant, and the supermarket.

With the exception of the winery, Ellie has been with us every time, there to teach both of us the signs for everything we encounter. Our vocabularies are growing by the day.

Taking Maisy to Truman’s Grocery was surreal. Her eyes went buggy at the aisles and aisles of food. When we went down the snack aisle, she stood staring at the rows of snacks as if she’d never been to a grocery store before. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. I was excited to provide her with a new experience, but saddened at the thought that it was possibly the first time she’d ever been. Thoughts of what Lucinda had done kept popping into my mind. Did she leave her home alone when she did her shopping? Did she hire an ignorant babysitter who may have mistreated her? Was Maisy watched by the awful grandparents who would rather sail the world than be there for their grandchild?

I shake away a frightening thought—one of Maisy hiding alone in a closet when her mom would leave—and re-focus on the things I have control over. Things like getting Maisy a cat.

I haven’t told her. I’m not sure I’d even know how. Maisy draws herself with a cat all the time. Her stuffed cat. I doubt she’d understand if I tried to explain we were getting a real one. And it’s probably best I didn’t, just in case it doesn’t happen. I’ve never been to an adoption shelter before. I’m not exactly sure of the process.

Me: I haven’t told Maisy a thing. There is a large box in my garage full of stuff I picked up at the pet store just in case.

Ellie reads my text and nods. I thought she’d be more excited about this.

Me: We don’t have to go. Is everything okay?

Ellie: Everything is fine. And of course we’re going.

~ ~ ~

The animal shelter is just outside the town limits. Not as far as the winery, but farther than the park or grocery store. People turn and stare when we pull up. I laugh and switch off the blaring music, cursing myself for getting the upgraded stereo system when I bought the car. It’s all Maisy wants to do when we go for rides. In fact, I keep a pair of earplugs in the cup holder.

It makes me think of the dancing date Ellie and I will go on in four days.

Since when have I ever counted down the days until a date? I turn and gaze at Ellie, wondering—not for the first time—what sort of spell she’s cast on me.

I pat Ellie’s hand. Normally, when I do things like that, there is a spark in her eyes. Not this time, however. And it’s now that I realize we drove the whole way here without our usual heated glances. Our typical fleeting touches.

What happened over the weekend? Sierra’s still staying with her as far as I know. Did they go out? Did Ellie…meet someone?

The way my chest squeezes like my heart is in a vise lets me know I’m in over my head much farther than I recognized.

She looks over and cracks a smile, but it doesn’t go all the way to her eyes like it usually does.

I get Maisy from the back. When we go up the walk, there’s a large sign with the shelter name, and under the name is a carving of several animals: dog, cat, duck, even a raccoon.

Maisy signs something.

Ellie stops walking, looking at her in surprise.

I tap her. “What did she say?”

“She saidfarm,”she fingerspells the word farm, then she shows me the sign for it. She turns to Maisy and signs, “No farm.”

Ellie: Damn. I wish we were at a farm so I didn’t have to tell her it was wrong. She wouldn’t understand what an animal shelter is. But I’m impressed at how she’s putting things together. You should be proud.

I nod, because I totally am.

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