Page 10 of Quiet Beautiful Things

“Dad, I’m not even sure she understands that she’ll be staying here.”

“I’m not sure either. Maybe once the furniture is delivered, she’ll understand.”

“Maybe.” I stand and tap Maisy’s shoulder. She looks up and I gesture for her to follow me. “Come on,” I say.

She hugs her animal tightly.

“You can bring him,” I say. I point to the cat and gesture for her to follow me again.

She must understand, because she gets up off the chair. When we walk into the kitchen her eyes go wide. Maybe this kitchen is bigger than the one she’s used to. I don’t know anything about where she grew up and what she had. But based on her lack of possessions, I’d say it was no place as nice as this. Opening the refrigerator, I point inside and shrug. She shakes her head. Okay, not hungry then.

I step out of the kitchen and wave her toward me. We walk down the hall and stop in front of the guest bathroom. I point to the toilet and hold my hand out, asking if she needs to use it. Again, she shakes her head. At least I think she might be understanding. Either that or she’s shaking her head because she doesn’t.

I show her the second, third and fourth bedrooms which are not really bedrooms but a home office, a workout room, and a spare room I use mostly for storing winery stuff. I figure the last one will be the easiest to clear out for her since it only has a futonand some boxes. The final stop is my bedroom. I point to myself and to the bed. She stares blankly.

She follows me to the dining room and through to the family room, where she walks over to the large picture window overlooking my back yard. She stands and stares. I watch her and wonder what she’s thinking. She’s been taken from her mother. Neglectful or not, Lucinda may be the only person who’s been a constant presence in her life. And she may be the only person she communicated with. Then again, why is she not trying to use sign language?

Mrs. Duffey said her only communication is pointing and drawing. Has Maisy never been taught any signs? Maybe they have it all wrong. Maybe Maisy isn’t deaf at all. She could be autistic. Hell, she could just be scared. But at this point, there’s only one person who can say for sure.Hurry the fuck up, Roger.

“The furniture will be delivered by six.” Mom rounds the corner and stops when she sees Maisy looking outside. “I’ll order a swing set tomorrow. Every child should have one.”

“Mom, we don’t know how long she’ll even be here.”

“Nonsense. You heard what CPS said. She’s been neglected. She needs you, Blake.”

“A lot of good I can do. I don’t even know how to ask her if she’s hungry.”

“You’ll learn. I have faith in you.”

“My job.” I look over my shoulder at Dad, who’s standing in the doorway. “I’ve only been COO for a month.”

Dad laughs. “It’s not as if I can’t run the company without you, Blake. You’ll work when you can. Maisy is your primary concern now.”

The doorbell rings and I pray it’s the audiologist. I look at Maisy. She’s still staring out at the back yard, petting her stuffed cat. She didn’t even turn when the doorbell rang. My heart takes a tumble.

A minute later, Dad introduces me to Roger.

“Your father told me what happened. Looks like you’ve been thrown right into the deep end.”

“Feels that way, Dr. Dullis.”

“It’s Roger. Now let’s have a look at this precious girl.” He goes over to Maisy and taps her on the shoulder. “Hello, Maisy,” he says. “How are you?”

As he speaks to her, he uses ASL, which I don’t understand in the least. He turns to me. “I’m not proficient at signing, but I know enough to communicate with my patients.”

“Maisy, are you hungry?” He points to her then draws his hands toward himself. With his right hand, he puts all his fingers together with his thumb and pulls them toward his mouth. “Do you want food?”

She doesn’t respond. He points to her stuffed animal. “Is this your cat?” he says, using his thumbs and forefingers alongside his face to indicate whiskers.

He turns to me. “It doesn’t seem she’s been taught any signs at all.”

She looks back out the window.

“This is a bit rudimentary,” Roger says, “but bear with me.” He stands behind her and snaps his fingers. Then he claps his hands. Then he says her name forcefully. She doesn’t turn. He pulls something out of his messenger bag and shakes it right behind her head. It sounds like a tin can full of marbles. It’s a horrible sound that could wake the dead.

Maisy doesn’t flinch.Oh, God.

He pulls out a small cup and a ping pong ball. Then he taps Maisy on the shoulder. She faces him. “Can you throw the ball into the cup?” he says very slowly as he signs.

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