I held on tighter and, as I stroked her hair, she melted into my embrace. As wrong as it all should have felt, it was the exact opposite. It felt so damn right.
I buried my face into her hair and said what she needed to hear, “You have nothing to be sorry for, but if it helps, I forgive you, Gia.”
Tanner and I stayed up half the night while he taught me some basics of ASL and it was a welcome distraction from all the horrible thoughts racing through my head.
Tanner picked up on things that most people wouldn’t because they were too busy listening to what people said and not paying attention to how people reacted. With him there were no empty words, only body language. Every movement, every look held significant value and meaning. He knew that I needed to not think about Angelo, Hope, the child growing in my belly, or where I was going to go and what I was going to do.
He understood better than anyone else that I needed to not grieve, for just a little bit.
All in all, I suppose it was good to learn how to communicate better with him, since I had no idea how long I’d be sheltering in his home. That’s the one subject we avoided like the plague. For the moment, it was enough for both us just to be present, to share a silent conversation, a sofa, and a dog.
Eventually, Tanner stole off to sleep, but I wasn’t ready to press pause on my emotions and wake up with the thought that would once more bring me to my knees—Angelo murdered Hope. Instead, I spent the night with my nose in Seeing Voices.
“Did you sleep at all?” Tyler asked me as she stumbled to the coffee pot, yawning and scratching her serious case of bedhead.
“Not really,” I said, setting my book down on the ottoman.
“How are you feeling?” She grabbed a mug from the cabinet.
“The tears come and go in waves.” I was trying my best to keep my mind occupied, otherwise the guilt and grief was going to kill me, and Hope wouldn’t want that. She’d want me to be strong for the baby’s safety. “I made some coffee, though. Had my one cup for the day.” I gave her a wry smile.
“I noticed, I’m thankful, and good for you.” She filled up her mug then came and sat down. Her eye caught the book lying on the ottoman and then she snorted so much she practically spewed her coffee. “You’re reading that thing?”
I picked up the book. “It’s interesting, just the whole culture aspect.” Like he’d said, it was a bit dated, but it was giving me some insight.
“Girl, if you really want to know about Deaf culture, I could share some stories.”
I cocked my head to the side.
“Almost my entire family is Deaf or Hard of Hearing. Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles. Even my daughter. Other than my husband, I’m the odd one out at family gatherings. And trust me on this, it’s a tight-knit, proud community.”
“So, it’s hereditary?” I kinda assumed that, based on what Tanner had told me, but I didn’t know about his niece.
“Yup. Skipped me though. But my daughter got the gene.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s rule number one. Being Deaf is not a disability. At least that’s what Mom, Tanner and most of my Deaf relatives will tell you. They are merely a cultural minority with a linguistic difference.” She lifted her chin in pride, then sipped her coffee. “On the other hand, you have hearing folks that view it as a debilitating disability. The problem is they can only base what being Deaf is like by imagining what it would be like to lose their hearing. So, to them, yeah, it seems life-altering and awful. My Dad gets this a little more because he lost his hearing in Vietnam.”
“And how do you feel?” I was insanely curious.
“Neither. Let me explain. When I was about four, I got lost in the mall and separated from Mom, Dad and Tanner. Security found me and they paged my parents over the intercom for thirty minutes. Obviously, my folks didn’t hear it. So yeah, I’d say that there is a disability factor in there. Even Spanish speaking parents would have heard their child's name being called. But I also agree they are a cultural minority. If the entire world was Deaf, we’d all speak ASL. Not being able to hear sounds wouldn’t be a big deal. That’s how it is for Tanner. He doesn’t give a shit that he can’t hear.” She set her coffee down and leaned in closer, resting her elbows on her knees. “But the thing is, if you can’t communicate, it isolates you.”
I nodded, made sense.
“That’s why Brock, that’s my husband, and I chose to get our daughter the cochlear implant. I’m a surgeon. We weighed everything very carefully. But we know they are only a tool. My daughter is still Deaf. So, we are also teaching her ASL. We want her to have all means of communication necessary, give her the best foot forward.”
“How does Tanner feel about that?”
“He understands. He’s been super supportive. I mean, even though he learned speech, he hates using it because even when he does, people can’t always understand him.” I could see that. There were some things he said that I had a hard time deciphering myself. But between his voice and the signs, I could get the gist. “It’s hard for him going in public. Just trying to go through a drive-through with him is maddening. It angers me how he gets treated. School was nearly impossible for him until my parents fought hard enough with the staff. The school caved and finally got him an ASL interpreter.”
“Why do you think that Tanner uses his voice with me?” I knew he said that it was because he felt comfortable around me and that he’d rather sign as he was sick of typing, etcetera. But still, I knew it wasn’t easy for him. Especially after soaking up all the knowledge from the book I’d been reading.
“Probably for the same reason that you’re reading that damn book.” She chuckled, winked, then sipped some more of her coffee, her green eyes sparkling with mischief behind the mug.
For a good part of the morning, Tyler and I sat there and chatted.
I told her a lot about my childhood, my parents’ death, getting tossed from foster home to group homes through my teens. She talked about growing up with Tanner, about her husband and her daughter, and by the end of the morning it was safe to say I’d made a new friend. It didn’t take away the pain of losing Hope, but it was like a soothing balm to a harsh burn. It dulled the pain just the slightest bit.
True, the day I hugged Hope in the exam room I’d felt in my heart that I’d never see her again. I just didn’t think it would end this way. The more the hours passed, the more my hatred for Angelo grew. I wanted him to pay. To pay for what he’d done to me, my friend, and God knew who else.
Through all these confusing emotions, I found myself continually glancing down the hallway, waiting for Tanner to wake up, wanting, needing to see him again.
Finally, at long last, Archie came racing down the hall with his master following close behind, tugging a shirt over his head while trying to catch up to the dog. As I watched, an errant thought stood out in my mind like a neon sign: such a shame to cover up that glorious torso. Laughing to myself, I ran my fingers through my hair. Apparently, that part of my mind hadn’t hit pause yet.
He opened the door and Archie bolted out to do his business.
“Morning sunshine,” Tyler signed and spoke to him. “Bout time you got up. It’s almost lunch.” She winked at me.