Live Out Loud

by Marie Meyer

  Freezing, I run across the lawn, toward the pool house. I did not think this through. It won’t be much warmer in there, but at least I’ll be out of the wind.

  Coming to a stop at the front door, teeth chattering, I try the doorknob. Locked. Come on, Harper, did you really expect it to be open?

  Key? Where did Daddy hide the key?

  Searching the landscaping for the hide-a-key, childhood memories flood my thoughts. As a kid, I’d come out here and watch my dad swim in his small lap pool, the kind where the swimmer has to swim against a current. That pool always fascinated me. He would swim and swim, and never go anywhere, just stayed in the same place.

  I always enjoyed swimming…in the pool outside. The one that allowed me to move. I never understood the appeal of swimming against a current; feeling like you can’t ever break free.

  A small chuckle escapes my lips. Battling a current that you can’t break free of. Sounds a lot like my life. I’ve endured an uphill battle with just about everything—my parents, school, romantic involvements (with the exception of Thor), my future career. Nothing has been easy.

  Tilting a flowerpot, I peer underneath. Sure enough, there’s a small compartment in the bottom. Working the latch open, the lid swings free, and the key falls to the ground. Scooping it up, I set the flowerpot down, and fit the key into the lock.

  Pushing open the glass door, I’m hit with a wall of hot chlorine-scented air. Ohhhh! I welcome the unexpected warmth. Stepping inside, I shut the door quickly, sealing off the blasting wind. Shivering, I walk around stacked chairs and a few tables pushed together—Mom’s outside pool accessories brought inside for the winter.

  Plumes of steam rise off the surface of the gently swirling water in the lap pool. Dragging a chaise lounge closer to the pool’s edge to soak up its heat, I plop down and stretch out. Crossing my ankles, I lay my head back, and close my eyes.

  Deep breaths. I pull in lungfuls of chlorine-rich oxygen, feeling my body relax. It’s not Thor’s pool, but it’s peaceful nonetheless.

  Minutes drift by. The tension in my shoulders and head subside, and my mind wanders to Thor. What’s he doing right now?

  Lifting my head, I flip open my purse and pull out my phone. Me: Thank you for wanting to learn ASL. He doesn’t know it, but it means so much to me. If there’s anything this weekend has taught me, or reminded me, it’s how much I yearn to be able to communicate with my loved ones. How much I’ve always wanted that. The fact that Thor wants to learn, it’s everything.

  My phone flashes, lighting up the dark pool house like a bolt of lightning. Thor: For you, Red. Anything. I want every part of you.

  Tears sting my eyes. My own parents never wanted that part of me. Me: I miss you. What are you doing? My heart hurts with how much I miss him. My heart feels like a lead cannonball lodged in my chest; something I’ve never experienced before, not even when I left David and moved to St. Louis.

  Thor: Miss you too, babe. At work. I’m sitting in the break room putting away some Taco Bell. How’s it going there?

  My stomach growls at the mention of Taco Bell. I love Mrs. R’s food, but some greasy tacos would go down easy right about now. I slide my fingers over the keyboard. Oh, Taco Bell. That’s sounds divine. Things are going. Mom and Dad mean well, but the language barrier has always been a gigantic hurdle we’ve never been able to get over. My brain physically hurts from trying to be a part of the conversations at Dad’s party.

  Thor: Taco Bell. Got it. Filing that away for later. ;-) Hopefully, I don’t make your brain hurt.

  Smiling, I type back. Never! You hear me just fine. :-)

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see something waving in the dark, and then the lights come on. Turning my head, I see Dad making his way around a stack of tables. He grabs a chair and drags it over to mine, plopping down. “Hey, Freckles. Everything okay? I noticed you disappeared.”

  I squint against the light, trying to focus on his moving mouth. The tentacles of my headache return, creeping up the back side of my skull.

  My cell phone lights up with an incoming text. Holding up my index finger to Dad, I glance down at Thor’s message, careful to angle the phone away so he can’t see.

  Thor: Loud and clear. And when you get back, I’ll show you just how much I hear. ;-)

  Me: Can’t wait! I’ve got to go, my dad’s here. See you soon!

  Shoving my phone back in my purse, I give Dad my undivided attention; after all, he did notice I wasn’t at the party. That’s got to count for something, right?

  I sit up and kick my legs over the side of the pool chair, facing him. It’s easier to “chat” if we’re facing each other. “What’s up, Daddy?” I sign, mouthing the words for his benefit.

  “Haven’t seen my favorite girl in a year. Wondered where you disappeared to.”

  Sighing, I sit up, grabbing my purse. I love my dad. The last thing I want to do is disappoint him on his birthday. Opening my purse, I dig my phone back out. I want to be sure he understands why I needed a break from the party. Too many people inside. Sorry I bailed. I flip it around so he can see.

  Lifting the phone from my fingers, he types a response. Sorry. Your mom goes a little overboard with these things. I don’t need to tell you how she gets. To be honest, I would have preferred a quiet dinner with my two favorite women. But, I learned a long time ago, your mother does not take no for an answer.

  Reading his words, silent laughter shakes my shoulders. Dad’s so much like me. Quality time over quantity always wins out. What’s the point of sharing your time with a couple hundred people if they only get a handful of minutes with you? I prefer spending my time with one or two people and giving them all my time. Time is so precious anyway, why sever it into so many inconsequential little bits?

  Since I have my dad’s ear and it’s been on my mind so much—with Thor and everything, it’s time I asked the question I should have asked so long ago. Why didn’t you ever learn ASL?

  Handing the phone to him, I watch his eyes move over my short sentence. The jovial, lighthearted expression he usually wears falls, sadness making the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes more pronounced.

  He shrugs, passing the phone to me. For several minutes, he’s quiet, refusing to meet my eye. I rest my palm on his knee and he looks up. I can see his sixty years, now. My dad has always been handsome, he still is. But, he’s carried the lives of all his patients on his shoulders for so long, the gravity is wearing on him. Neurosurgery is one of the hardest surgical subspecialties to get into, and the fact that my dad is still practicing, albeit, on a case-by-case basis, it says a lot about his character, how much he cares.

  “I love you, Daddy,” I sign. He knows this one.

  “Love you, too, Freckles,” He signs back and my heart threatens to explode. “I’m sorry, Harper.” He doesn’t sign this time. I’m forced to read his lips. “Can I tell you a story?” he asks, scooting closer to the end of his chair.

  I nod.

  “Good.” He pats my knee and smiles. “When you got sick…lost your hearing. I couldn’t fix you. With all my knowledge and skill, I couldn’t put my own daughter back together.” Pressing a fist to his mouth, his shoulders rise as he takes a breath. He turns his head away from me, but signs, “Sorry.”

  Nice, Harper. You’ve made him cry on his birthday. Daughter of the year award coming your way.

  I pat his leg, trying to console him, not knowing what else to do. Turning his attention back to me, he moves his fist in a circular pattern over his chest again. “Sorry.”

  Unlocking my phone, I type quickly and turn it around so he can see the screen. I’m sorry. You don’t have to do this. I didn’t mean to upset you, especially on your birthday.

  He waves away my apology and pats my leg again. “You didn’t. I can’t recall a time when you’ve ever upset me. I’ve been upset with myself for the last twenty-four years. I performed countless surgeries, restored so many patients to health, but I couldn’t save my own daughter’s hea
ring.”

  I type. My fingers move over the keyboard, the words in my brain moving faster than I can get my hands to work. So many thoughts and emotions are bottled up inside me. I hate that he thinks I’m damaged, someone that needs put back together. Shaking my head I flip the phone around so he can see what I wrote. I’m not broken, Daddy. Being deaf isn’t some illness that needs to be treated. It was never your job to “fix” me. I don’t need to be “fixed.” All I’ve ever wanted is for you and Mom to accept me the way I am, for the both of you to want to be in my world. But, you’ve never wanted that. I’m your greatest disappointment, the one medical case that bested you. You distanced yourself from me, and all things “deaf” because that would mean having to concede, accept defeat.

  Swiping a tear off my cheek, I know I shouldn’t have unleashed all my anger in that message. But, dammit, I’m so sick and tired of the charade my parents put on when I’m around them, the stupid avoidance dance we’ve perfected over the years—Sure, Harper’s deaf, but if we get her every gadget imaginable, we can pretend she’s as normal as all the other children.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned since Thor came into my life, the language barrier isn’t an obstacle that can’t be scaled. Yeah, it’s hard, but not impossible. The only difference between my parents and Thor? He doesn’t want there to be a wall between us…my parents like the wall, it protects them from their own guilt.

  Tears pool in my eyes and a lump sticks in my throat, but I choke it back. My parents aren’t the only ones who are safe on their side of the barrier.

  “Harper.” Daddy signs my name and a tear slips down my cheek. The dam is crumbling.

  “What?” Twisting my head away, I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down, hard. Holding my breath, I let the wave of emotion pummel me, but I refuse to give in. I. Will. Not. Cry.

  Daddy’s warm hand rests against my knee, patting gently. It’s when I feel his other hand touch my upper arm that I know he’s trying to get my attention. Steeling myself, I face him. Tears are running down his face. He’s not even trying to hide them, or wipe them away.

  “I know you’re not broken, Harper. I’ve let my own inadequacies come between us. If I’m being honest, I never learned ASL because I’m afraid.”

  Tugging my eyebrows low, I shake my head, confused. Afraid? Why would learning my language scare him?

  “In my mind, if I gave in and learned ASL, I’d be giving up. I’ve always held out hope that you would hear again.” His shoulders shake and he buries his head in his hands.

  Some of my own tears breach the dam and roll down my cheeks. I’ve never seen my dad so upset.

  I scoot to the edge of my seat and put a hand on his shoulder, running it toward his back in slow circles. All these years, I thought I was the disappointment—that signing somehow embarrassed him—and that’s why he never learned.

  He looks up, his eyes red and glassy, he points to my lap. My phone.

  Unlocking it, I pass it to him. “I want to be sure you get every word of what I need to tell you. You need to know this.” Looking down, he types.

  As his agile fingers—surgeon’s hands—move over the screen at the same time I see Mom walking up behind him, her face pinched in exasperation. Uh-oh, we’re busted.

  Dad tosses a quick glance over his shoulder, but returns to the message he’s typing.

  Mom stands at the end of Dad’s chair, hands on her hips. “I saw the light on down here. What are you two doing? We have a houseful of guests.” Her hand flies off her hip, gesturing in the direction of the house.

  “Too much lipreading. I needed a break.” Dad presses the phone into my hands the moment I finish signing. He stands, pulling Mom’s hands into his, calming her, putting out the fire our absence caused.

  While they talk, I read the message. I’m so proud of you. Against everyone’s loud advice, telling you pharmacy was a career choice that would be too far out of your reach, you didn’t listen. You did your own thing, looked every challenge in the eye, and shoved them out of your damn way. You’re stronger than I’ve ever been. Don’t think for one minute that you’ve ever been a disappointment or an embarrassment. I got so caught up in mourning the loss of your hearing that I stopped hearing you. I’m so sorry, Harper. All I can do is beg your forgiveness and hope to do better. I love you. You are my greatest accomplishment in the sixty years I’ve been given. Don’t ever forget that.

  Dropping the phone on the chair, I stand and throw my arms around his waist. Eyes closed, I block out anything that can detract from this moment. I’ve never questioned my parents’ love for me, but knowing I’m not an embarrassment, or disappoint in my dad’s eyes is beyond amazing. I’ve lived with that notion for so long, sometimes I think it’s held me back, like I’d been swimming against an unrelenting current and not gone anywhere.

  His words just turned off the current. I’m in a calm pool and I can go wherever I choose.

  Dad brings his arm up, wrapping it around my shoulder. Looking up, I open my eyes and see him smiling down at me. Mom’s circled in his other arm, smiling at me, too. Did he tell her what we’ve been talking about?

  “I’m proud of you, too, Harper,” Mom says, pinching my chin between her thumb and forefinger.

  Yep. He must have.

  “But can we continue this heart-to-heart later, we do have a houseful of people here to see your dad. You can’t keep him all to yourself.” She winks and Daddy gives me a conspiratorial smile that leads me to think he disagrees.

  “Sure.” I sign with a nod. Daddy squeezes me tighter and leads Mom and me to the door. I know things with my parents aren’t going to change overnight, but at least this is a step in the right direction, all of us together.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Thor

  Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I ball up the Taco Bell wrapper and shoot it into the trashcan clear across the break room, sinking the shot. Nothing but can! Slipping a Camel between my lips, I give the lighter a stroke and bring the flame to the end of the cigarette. A few puffs and I can already feel the nicotine seeping into my veins. I close my eyes, savoring my smoke and thinking about how I’m going to welcome Harper home tomorrow night. Taco Bell and an invitation into my bed. My dick twitches just thinking about her. Damn, I miss her. Never thought I’d be the kind of guy to miss a chick, but Harper is one of a fucking kind.

  “Boss ain’t gonna like you lightin’ up in here,” Doug says, crunching into his seventh taco and killing my nicotine buzz.

  Opening my eyes, I take a long pull. “He won’t know unless someone opens their fucking mouth.” I blow a cloud of smoke in his direction. Leaning back in the chair, I rest the heels of my steel-toed boots on the table. “With any damn luck, I won’t need this job once the music gig starts to pay off.” Don’t get me wrong, I love working on cars, but if I have to change the oil in one more crossover SUV for some soccer mom that doesn’t know the difference between a windshield wiper and a dipstick, I’m going to lose my shit.

  Reason number 111 why Harper is the perfect chick: I can talk cars with her and she understands, and is genuinely interested. Who would have thought a rich girl from New Hampshire would share my love of automobiles? Unreal. She’s always full of fucking surprises.

  Chewing, Doug continues the small talk. “You still in that band?”

  I take a long drag, nodding. “Contract signed. We hit the recording studio on Monday.”

  “Cool. I can say I knew you before you were famous.” Draining the last of his Pepsi, Doug lets out a huge belch and stands, rubbing prominent beer gut. “We better get back out there. Wouldn’t want Wyatt to come looking for us. Then you’re busted.”

  “Shit.” I kick my feet to the floor and sit up, glancing at the clock—8:32. Two minutes over our break time. “That thirty minutes went by too fucking fast.” With one last pull on my cigarette, I drop it on the floor and ground my boot against it. Picking up the butt, I toss it into the trashcan on my way back out to the
floor.

  “Thor, I’ve got a CR-V in bay two. Standard oil changed,” Wyatt shouts from the computer at bay one.

  “On it.” Walking over, the driver, a beautiful blond woman, lowers her window.

  “What brings you in today?” I ask, turning on the charm. It’s a well-proven fact that charm can lead to more services rendered than just an oil change. And in years past, it could have led to something beyond the One Stop Lube Shop’s premises. Ladies can’t resist a man in navy-blue coveralls popping their hood. But these days, I’m keeping my skills strictly vehicle related; Harper gets the off-premises services.

  “I just need an oil change, thanks.” She flashes me a wide smile and snaps her gum.

  “Mom! Mason took my iPad! Tell him to give it back!” A shriek rises from the backseat.

  The woman whirls around. “Mason! Give your sister her iPad. It’s not her fault that you didn’t charge yours. Behave yourself! We’re in public!”

  Turning her attention back to me, she flashes an even wider smile. I know this smile. I’m so mortified. Please excuse my children’s behavior, or better yet, let’s pretend it never happened. Please.

  My mother has worn this smile before, albeit, for different reasons. I’m so mortified. Please excuse my husband’s behavior. You didn’t just hear him threaten to hit me, or better yet, let’s pretend it never happened. Please.

  “I’ll get you taken care of. Go ahead and shut off the engine, put your keys on the dash, and pop the hood.”

  The engine dies and the hood shutters with a loud pop. I scan the vehicles VIN number and pull up the diagnostics on the computer.

  “Yo, Thor,” Doug hollers from the office. “You got a phone call.” He’s got the office cordless in his hand, waving it out the door. “Whoever she is, she sounds pretty upset.”

  She? Upset? It can’t be Harper, she’d text me.

  Mom.

  I abandon my post at bay two, hustling toward the office. Seizing the phone from Doug’s grip, I shout breathlessly, “Ma?”