Page 12 of Faceless Threat

The sadness in her voice, the resignation, has me close to weeping on her behalf.

And maybe mine a little, too.

Not because it changes how I see her, but it might how she sees me and the possibility of a mutual future.

No pun intended in regards to her condition.

“What can I say or do so you’ll know it’s me?”

“I don’t suppose you know sign language.” It’s not a question, but a foregone conclusion that I don’t. “It’s estimated that approximately only one percent does. I used to be among the ninety-nine.”

“May I ask why you switched sides?” She giggles at my wording, but her response is serious. That sadness once again coming through.

She tells me of the couple using ASL in the hall as they walked past her room in the hospital. How she realized, upon researching it, that it’s somewhat of a secret language due to how few know it. During her studying, she discovered sign names. When she explains what that is, and I see the logic behind them, I ask who all she’s given them to.

“My parents and my brother.” The limited number has me wondering how I can join them.

IfI can.

“How about a code word? Sunshine.”

“You used that earlier.”

Yeah, I did. It’s how I think of her.

Not that I’m prepared to share that detail just yet.

“Okay.” As we’ve talked, I’ve gotten closer, two minutes or less and I’ll be there.

Wanting to continue distracting her, while simultaneously getting to know her, I ask, “What’d you get at the store?”

“Ingredients for meatloaf and lemon drop cookies.” She laughs as she admits, “I figured I’d have to suck up to Finn and making his favorites usually works.”

“He didn’t want you to go on your own either, did he?” It’s a guess, though I’m betting it’s accurate.

“Hold on, your smug just got in my ear.” I crack up, her sense of humor quick and impressive.

“Phew. I was worried it wouldn’t come through.” I let her know I’m there and we disconnect. I turn into the parking lot and search for her vehicle. As the file stated, I locate the dark gray Nissan Sentra that belongs to her near the entrance of the department and maneuver so my driver’s side is parallel to hers. “Good girl,” I say, proud of her for thinking clearly enough to park where she’s more likely to have witnesses as opposed to the empty spots further back.

Leaving my car running, I lower my window and indicate for her to do the same to hers. “Sunshine,” I greet her, the relief crossing her face obvious.

“Foggy,” she retorts, grinning. “Oh wait, that’s my memory.” I stare at her, unable to believe she’s able to joke about it. “Too soon?”

“Only you can determine that.”

Rae shrugs. “Crying and yelling didn’t change anything. Nor did it make me feel better.”

“Does laughing about it?”

She nods. “A little, yeah.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“My family hasn’t reached that stage yet.”

“They will,” I assure her, hoping I’m not wrong. “Everybody processes at their own pace.”

“It’s hard being farther ahead in my recovery.”

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