Page 5 of Silent Is The Heart

Dr. Norton must see the determination in my eyes. “All right,” he relents, smirking. “He’s slotted to be a resident here a little while longer due to his physical injuries, anyway, before they find placement for him, so consider Mr. Easton fortunate to have a motivated fellow like you in his corner.”

“Thank you.” I exhale. Eyes burning, I make my escape while I can and beat feet toward the south wing where the long-term care patients reside.

Sitting upright in his bed, the look on Easton’s face as he gazes at his window, drumming his fingers on the mattress, would kill birds. Great. Maybe I’ve just been lucky so far. Tapping on the open door, I make my way inside in as unpresumptuous a manner as I can.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late. Boss wouldn’t stop talking.”

I set the shake I got him down on his wheeled table with no fanfare, and then make my focus appear to be on getting situated in the chair by his nightstand. One thing my brother always hated growing up was looking like a spectacle because of his disability. I’ll never understand why people stare at people they think are different than them.

“I think we’ll have an early spring,” I say casually, glancing out the window with a smile, hoping to look in commune with the gazing he was doing upon my arrival. When I finally bite the bullet and make my first eye contact of the day, I find him looking confused.

His gaze moves from me to the milkshake in my hand, and then to the one I left on his table. Right. Not as casual as I thought.

A college degree doesn’t mean I’m any more mature or suave than a teenager, I suppose. Mom says I’m twenty-five, going on fifty, but she’s always had a generous amount of faith in her children.

Maybe that’s why I’m so eager to have a breakthrough with him: we’re only eight years apart. Every other patient I’ve seen at Hampton Hills has been old enough to be one of my parents. I need to learn to connect with younger patients if I want to impress wherever I end up when I finish my fellowship.

“Oh,” I laugh in self-deprecation. “Nutellamilkshake. Kind of an addiction of mine. I didn’t want to be rude and pig out infront of you. Got to eat on the run here. They keep us pretty busy.”

Taking a sip of my drink, I toss his file down on the nightstand and lean back in my chair. I need him to be comfortable enough to work with me, not make him feel like I’m here to analyze him.

From the corner of my eye, I catch him glancing hesitantly toward the door. His hand moves, bringing the straw to his mouth, eyes slipping closed. Although it looks like he has to make some effort to swallow, his face shows he’s pleased with the results.

“It’s kind of an acquired taste,” I digress. “I’m not big on sweets, but Nutella’s my weakness.” Making a show of working a kink out of my neck, I ask, “Want a different flavor next time? They’ve got everything you can think of.”

My lungs freeze at the sight of his hand coming up, his index and middle fingers together. I hold my breath, watching him bring them down to his thumb.

No.

He just signed the word ‘no’ to me. Easton Bennick just spoke to me. He remembered.

I showed him the signs casually last session and used them a few times while I talked. After a lifetime of signing to my brother, it’s second nature to me, one that I sometimes have to try to shut off in public if I’ve been around him recently.

Blushing, he averts his gaze down and shifts in his bed with a grimace but then nods to his drink and lifts it in the affirmative before taking another sip. I have to bite my cheek to keep from grinning with joy. I don’t care what Dr. Norton said. Easton just communicated. Baby steps.

Smirking, I hoist my cup up and tap it against his. “Cool,” I sign back as I say the word aloud. “NutellaAddicts Anonymous.”

I’m pretty sure the amused little smile he flashes me has a bigger one behind it, but I’ll take what I can get. A smile is only one step away from a laugh, after all. And one day, I’ll hear Easton Bennick laugh.

CHAPTER 3

Easton

‘If you promise you’ll try doing a few of the vocal exercises, I’ll see if we can sit outside sometime.’

Staring out the window of my room, I don’t even care that the landscape is covered in white the way it was the day of the accident. I want to cash in on the offer Aaron made the other day if it gets me out of this building for even a few minutes.

I don’t want to know how fickle it makes me that I’ve been practicing my swallow therapy and vocal exercises since he introduced his pretty face. Motivated by sex appeal and fresh air—I’m going to get far in life.

Why am I anxious? It’s not like I need to impress him. It’s not going to earn me any life points or make my future more promising. Not like it’s going to get me laid, either.

Ugh. Get a grip, Easton. This is so dumb.

“Any fucking time now, Manicki,” I rasp, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Wow. My hoarse words are awe-inspiring. Not even my drawings will earn me a smile this time when he shows up and hears that.

“Sorry,” a soft laugh comes from the doorway, making me go rigid in bed. “I’m here.”

---