Guilt washed over me. My sister had begged me to fly out six months ago when Emma went under for her cochlear implants. I used my cabin rentals as my excuse, but it was a crock of shit.
“Even Mom and Dad came here for it.” Her lips clamped tightly. “And you know how Mom can be.”
Yes; I knew. Our folks had mixed feelings about cochlear implants when the FDA first approved them in the late nineties. Dad was a lot more understanding than Mom, because he’d lost most of his hearing in Vietnam. So, he remembered what it was like to hear. But still, he understood Mom’s position.
Deaf was our culture, not a disability that needed to be cured, and by giving her the implant my folks feared she’d be shunned by the Deaf community and not a full-fledged member of the hearing one. A difficult line I’d toed my entire life. ASL was all we spoke at home. At my Deaf school in Trenton, it was total communication. They used what hearing I had at the time with a mix of ASL, lipreading, and speech, but mostly ASL since my hearing loss was progressive and profound.
I never felt disabled until we moved out to Sussex and I went to mainstream school. It was like I was a dropped into a foreign country and could barely speak the language. Not to mention, they forced me to go at their pace. But I’d asked for it, so I bucked up. They made me wear auditory trainers on top of my hearing aids, which I hated with a burning passion. Because I could speak, they sent me to more intense speech therapy. And as my hearing worsened, the hearing aids became useless. Like static on the radio. Would you rather listen to annoying garbage, or just turn the damn thing off? Luckily, I’d always been a top student, so when my grades slipped to Ds in middle school my parents raised hell with the school district, and I was able to ditch the aids and get an ASL interpreter. Once that happened, I got into all the AP classes and went back to straight As.
Ultimately, I made it through, and Emma would too. She’d be fine. My sister had always advocated like my lawyer when the teachers got shitty with me. Safe bet she’d be relentless making sure Emma had what she needed. Brock and Tyler had good heads on their shoulders. Not to mention, my sister was a surgeon, so she knew all the risks and weighed them out. They’d already begun teaching Emma ASL; so if someday my niece decided the CI wasn’t for her, they’d have no problem supporting that decision. There wasn’t one way to be Deaf. My niece wouldn’t lose her Deaf identity.
“How’s she doing?” Whatever Tyler believed; I was curious. And I did care. Alex and I had gone round and round about what we’d do, since the probability was high we’d have a child with a hearing impairment.
But we never…
Nope.
“See for yourself.” Her head turned and she motioned off-camera. Suddenly, my little niece was climbing up on her mom’s lap. My sister's lips moved, saying something to Emma, but with her head turned I couldn’t catch it. “Show Uncle Tanner,” she then signed for my benefit.
Emma’s lips started moving but I couldn’t decipher her words. Lip reading with kids was next to impossible. My niece turned her little head and right there, tucked between her blonde curls, was the round transmitter plugged into her skull. The chord extended down to the processor tucked behind her ear. God, she’d grown so much in the last six months. I’d been a terrible uncle because I hadn’t been there. Sure, I’d seen the photos online and the texts my sis would constantly send me. But seeing Emma live like this always made my heart ache.
“Very pretty,” I signed to her. Her little nose wrinkled in confusion. So, for her, I did what I rarely would do. “Pretty,” I repeated, using my voice along with the swooping circle gesture around my face. From the way she giggled, grinned, and swayed her little shoulders, I could tell she understood the compliment.
Her lips moved along as her tiny, adorable hands repeated my movement. “Pretty?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, very pretty,” I said, nodding. The way her eyes lit up when she heard my voice made me want to say all the words, all the time.
I saw my sister say something to her and caught the word goodbye. Emma turned to the camera, waved, kissed the screen, then skittered off.
“She’s beautiful.” And she was. Her little heart-shaped face, pouty lips, and upturned nose were just like my sister’s. But those big, brown eyes and bright, blonde curls were all her daddy. Little Emma merged the best of both of them.
“She loves her uncle.” Her green eyes bore into mine. “And he needs to not destroy his liver so he can come see her.” Her face said it all: worry, sadness, disappointment.
Yeah. I looked like shit.
“Soon as the snow clears, I’ll book a flight,” I said, and I meant it. It was time.
“And the drinking?” Her and that damn eyebrow.
“I’ll back it down.”
“Promise?”
I placed my right index finger to my lips and moved it down to the thumb of my fisted left hand, repeating the sign. “Promise.”
The morning after saying goodbye to Hope, I woke up and slipped on my normal attire for a wintry-morning jog. Thermal leggings, long-sleeve, moisture-wicking shirt, followed by my NorthFace jacket and Brooks running shoes.
“Going for your jog?” Angelo rolled over and looked at me, tucking his hand under his pillow, his belly sticking out from under the sheet. Over the past few years, he’d put on weight over his muscle. Used to be that I couldn’t deny he was handsome with his defined jaw and the curl of his top lip. A bit reminiscent of a darker skinned Elvis that made my heart flutter. But his pretty face did nothing for me anymore.
“Yes; would you like to join me?” I asked the same question every morning as I pulled my long hair into a ponytail and put on my thermal headband. My husband hated running with a passion, so I knew his answer would always be no. But, asking him always eased his suspicion.
I’d always been an avid runner, a peaceful respite for my mind from the abuse. And an easy way to get lost if one wasn’t careful. So, as the wishful idea of escape developed into a full plan, I started running the more intense trails off the beaten path. Preparation was key, and I knew he tracked my location, but the nature preserve was populated enough to not raise too much suspicion. Plus, hidden trails leading off into the woods were less densely occupied, so my disappearance would be plausible.
“No thank you.” He got up and went into the bathroom as I headed to the door.
I paused for a millisecond, heart pounding in my chest, knowing that this was it.
“It looks like it’s going to snow.”
I jolted at Angelo’s raspy, sleep-laden voice behind me as I grabbed my keys.
“Maybe you should skip the run today.” He placed his hands on my shoulders.
“We have several hours before the snow hits. You know I like to run in the cold.” I looked him dead in the eye, not even blinking. Please, please, please let me go, I prayed in my head.
Yeah, I’d checked the weather. It was going to snow, but only moderate snowfall. The bad stuff would be heading south, then blow toward the plains.
“Fine.” He grunted and stomped toward the kitchen. His predictability boded well for me. My husband’s brain didn’t fire on all cylinders until he had two cups of coffee.