We’re quiet then. I pet the kitten. Hayden stares out in front of him. From time to time, I glance at his profile. A muscle in his cheek twitches. His eyes barely blink.
Finally, he turns to me with eyes as deep as lakes. I lean closer, wanting to fall in. Drown in them. Then he says five words. “Tomorrow, everything will be different.”
“Not really,” I respond. “I won’t be different.”
Hayden’s stare is unreadable. “Yes, you will,” he argues. “You can’t see it now, but you will. And this—” He waves his hand in the air. I am not sure what the gesture is supposed to mean until he speaks again. “Won’t be important anymore.”
What is he saying? That he won’t be important anymore? Or that he won’t need to help me anymore? My brain is twisting and turning like a ball of yarn the kitten has knotted into an impossible mess.
I seize one thread. Try to pull my way out. “You won’t have to help me anymore, true. And you’ve kept your promise to me. For seventeen days, you have shown me so many things I can do. You’ve opened my mind to possibility. To hope. I’ll always be grateful. Even if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.”
Now Hayden is the one who looks confused. He shakes his head as if trying to make sense of my words. “That’s not what I meant. But we end up in the same place anyway.”
This is madness. I want to scream. To stand and stomp my feet. Anything to stop talking around what we both want to say. I close my eyes. Breathe in deep. And I jump into the deepest part of the water. Whether I sink or swim, I’m taking this chance.
“From the first moment I saw you, I sensed it,” I say. “You and I are meant to be. If the accident is the reason we’re together, then I’m grateful. I wouldn’t change one moment. Not one breath.” I don’t realize I am crying until I finish speaking. I taste tears.
Hayden leans toward me. Kisses the new tears as they fall. One by one. Touching the rain with sunshine and leaving a rainbow in its wake.
Last, he kisses my lips, gently, like he is afraid to show too much. To give too much. I pull him closer. Opening my heart to him. Giving him my love. Then he pushes away. Touches my lips with his finger. Traces them. As if he is memorizing their shape.
“Stella, there’s a reason you can understand me. And no one else. It’s my speech. You can read it because it’s slow, repetitive.” He shrugs. “I guess it was good for something. But that’s all. Because once you can hear it, you will want to cover your ears. You will wish you couldn’t hear it.”
All at once, I understand.
And my heart swells with compassion.
“I know why I can understand you. And it’s a gift. You are a gift.”
I take his face in my hands. The face that is so incredibly beautiful to me. The face in my dreams. I hold it gently as though it is made of glass. “I love you, Hayden.”
I lean close. Kiss the scar on his chin. His cheeks, also wet with tears. The eyes that see my soul. I kiss his lips. With all my heart.
Bleeding with truth
— Hayden —
She kisses me like nothing else matters—and I believe her.
I believe her when she holds my face in her hands, tells me that I mean so much to her. As much as she means to me.
When she tells me she loves me—the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. And I want to tell her the truth. I want to say the words.
But I can’t.
Because she doesn’t know yet, doesn’t know how she will feel tomorrow when she hears me stutter and stammer. When she hears the things people say about me. When she realizes that she is better than I am, that she deserves better. She’s too good to hurt me like that, too good to break my heart. One day, she will resent me for that. Just like my mother resented me.
So instead of saying the words I want to say, I say the words I know I need to say. Words to free her. “I c-can never l-love you. Or an-anyone. Ever.”
Then I stand and walk away before I can see her cry, before I can see that I have broken her heart, before I change my mind.
SOUND
— Stella —
I cry. More than I ever have before. More than when my parents split up. More than when my dog went to live at my dad’s with his new family. More than when I came home from the hospital and couldn’t hear a thing.
I cry until I am sobbing but the tears have run dry. Wondering where the tears come from. And how I can make more. Because I want to drown in them.
Sometime before the sun rises, I fall asleep.
And dream of him.
Mom wakes me at 9:00. It’s time for my appointment. The kitten is curled up on the pillow next to me. She lifts her tiny head. Yawns. And curls up once more. I suppose I need to give her a name. But right now, my mind is empty.
I drag my legs to the edge of the bed. Push myself up. And stand. Forcing one leg to move at a time across the room. It’s easy when I don’t think. When I force my mind to go blank.
So that’s what I do.
I think of nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I get dressed without thinking. Brush my teeth without thinking. Eat a bowl of cereal without thinking. Get in the car without thinking.
Mom holds my hand, lets me know she is there if I need her. But she can’t fix this. No one can. No one can except Hayden.
We are back at the hospital but in a different building. Mom and I cram into an elevator packed with people. She presses the button for the seventh floor. Mom never lets go of my hand.
The office is bright yellow. A happy, hopeful color. Mom checks me in. I sit next to a giant fish tank. Watching the fish swim around and around. I still think of nothing.
Dad walks through the door. I had forgotten he would be here. His gray-striped shirt is perfectly pressed. I hug him hard enough to wrinkle him. He hugs me back, oblivious to his shirt.
The audiologist comes to get us herself. She is petite, with light brown hair that sits on her shoulders. Her eyes are dark brown. Warm and friendly.
We follow her into her office. This one is light blue. That’s when the first thought sneaks in. Past my guard. This is the color of Hayden’s eyes when he is sad.
Dad and Mom take the two chairs in front of the desk. I sit in the chair next to the audiologist. The desk has a computer and lots of papers. Photos are taped on the wall behind her. A little girl with light brown hair. Drawings are taped on the wall, rainbows and unicorns. They remind me of my rainbow girl. The thought gives me courage.
My name is Gretchen, she writes on a white board. I nod.
“Nice to meet you.”
We’ll be working together today to map your processor. Mapping is basically programming. Setting the levels so you can hear comfortably. Some people don’t hear much at first. It can even sound strange. You have been without hearing for a short time, so your brain should adjust quickly. I imagine you will be able to hear your parents speak before you leave here today.
I nod. I’ve read all of the paperwork from her, so I know what to expect.
She shows me the part I am to wear above my ear. It looks like a Bluetooth earpiece. I was able to choose the color before the surgery. Of course, I chose blue. I look at the piece now. It’s the color of the deepest part of the ocean.
Hayden’s eyes just before he kissed me.
The piece fits around the back of my ear. Gretchen adjusts it until it is comfortable and I give her a thumbs-up. There is another piece, a small disk attached to the earpiece. It needs to go on my head. It clings there against my hair. The dark pewter blending into my hair.
I am going to start the programming now. I will send you a series of beeps. Give me a sign when you hear them. Raise your hand, like you did for your other hearing tests.
Gretchen moves back to her computer. I watch her fingers tap the keys. Mom grips my left hand, her face drawn, lips clenched. She wants so much for this to work. I smile at her. Tell her it’s okay. She relaxes a bit. Her grip loosens.
It’s at that exact moment I hear the first bee
p.
Then I realize—it’s because of his mother.
Beep.
The reason.
Beep.
Her.
Beep.
Hayden’s mother blaming him.
Beep.
For her lost dreams. It was her.
Scarring him.
Breaking his skin.
His bones.
His heart.
But not his will.
Her.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I raise my right hand, signaling them. I can hear.
Mom’s cheeks are wet with tears of relief. Of joy.
Dad nods his encouragement. His eyes shimmer.
Gretchen beams. Now I am going to use these levels to help you hear us.
I watch the clock. Wait for something to happen. Minutes go by. Nothing.
Still silence.
Still in my bubble.
But it’s different from before. I don’t hate it anymore. It’s a part of me now. And always will be. Silence.
“Stella . . . can you hear me?” My mom’s voice. It’s scratchy, like she is speaking through a metal tube from far away. I strain to make out the words.
But I can hear her.
I can hear.
My father speaks to me, but I can’t quite make out his words. The sounds are jarringly close and far away at the same time. I lean closer to my parents, wanting to hear more.
Gretchen slips an arm around me. Congratulating me.
There’s much work to be done. Hours of therapy. More mapping. I know this. I know we are only at the beginning. But it is something to celebrate. This is the day I have been waiting for—to hear again. To be able to listen to music. To sing. This is what I wanted.
Isn’t it?
For so many years, singing has been the thing that made me special. The thing that made me who I am. That’s what I used to think, anyway.
Before.
Before I woke in a hospital bed.
In silence.
Before I realized that I am more than my voice. That what I do doesn’t define me. That it’s who I am that matters. The girl I was before—the girl who dreamed of Someday Broadway. That girl is gone. She was lost on the bottom of the pool. Who I am today is the real me.
That night in the pool, I was given the chance of a lifetime: Silence.
Without the silence, I would have stayed on the same road. Never veering. The silence let me take a different road, one I hadn’t traveled before. A road that unfolds because of who I am. Not what I am.
I hear myself crying, before I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Muffled sobs shake me.
I’m not sure if I am crying because I am happy.
Or sad.
In losing my hearing, I found Hayden.
In regaining it, I may lose him forever.
Knowing, just knowing
— Hayden —
My fingers fly across the piano keys, the melody mournful, plaintive.
I am alone on stage. The theater is empty and dark. If I keep playing, I won’t have to think about the first moment I saw her. Unaware of her beauty, her charisma, oblivious to her power.
Pulling her from the water, holding her body against mine. Breathing for her, willing her to live.
Watching her find her way like a colt learning to stand for the first time. Unsure, but determined—triumphant.
Looking into her amber eyes and seeing myself reflected back. The me I have always wanted to be.
I am willing to let her go so she can fly.
I am lost in the music, in thoughts, in Stella.
And then I know she is here. I sense her presence even though I cannot see her.
I feel her. I knew she would come here. The same way I knew I would save her life that night.
As much as I tried to push her away, to pretend I can go on without her, I know that it is impossible. It would be like trying to separate the waves from the sea. Stella and I are bound together. Forever.
My hands drop from the keys, and I turn to watch her walk across the stage.
“Don’t stop,” she says. “It’s beautiful.”
She can hear.
She can really hear.
Elation mixes with regret—a combination of emotions so powerful that a weight presses on my chest. I struggle to breathe as though I am underwater and cannot reach the surface.
Still she moves toward me. I watch her.
Confident, strong, brave.
Before I can stand, she speaks. “She was wrong—your mother. She had it backwards.” She stops in front of me. Waits while I stand to face her. “Hayden, you are the dream. I know you don’t want to hold me back. But if you walk away from me, that’s what will happen. Because I need you. And you need me. More than you realize.”
She takes a step closer. In the shadows, it’s just the two of us. “We counted down to this day. Seventeen days together. You waited with me for this day. And it’s here. I can hear again. I have a long road ahead of me. I may not be able to sing again for a long time. And maybe never the way I used to. But I’m not even sure I want to sing anymore. I want to write. To tell stories. To share feelings with words. I don’t have to be on Broadway to be happy. The accident taught me that. You taught me that. I thought I was counting down to this day because it would determine the rest of my life. But when I heard the first sound, I realized something. It was the journey. Not the destination. You are my journey. And if hearing again means I lose you—then I don’t want it. I’ll turn this device off. Throw it away. I don’t need it. I just need you.”
SONG
— Stella —
I stand before him. Give him everything I have. For the first time in my life, I know that dreams are for today, not for someday. They are for here. And now.
I wait for him to say something. To say the words I have longed to hear. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.
We are close enough to touch. But we don’t. Our hands remain at our sides.
Finally, he speaks. “Are you sure?”
I hear him. I am sure of it. I’m not reading his lips. I am really hearing him.
Only there is no stutter. No stammer. Just Hayden’s beautiful voice. In my ears.
“Yes.”
He is silent again. Thinking. Torn between his past and his present.
“Hayden,” I say softly. “The past is behind us. We can’t change it, no matter how we may want to. And we have no way of knowing what tomorrow may bring. All we know is today, this moment. Be in the moment with me. Trust your heart. Trust me.”
Hayden reaches for me then. Pulls me close. Holds me like he will never let go. I cling to him.
Giving and receiving.
And then he says the words. The ones I have longed to hear. Three words.
“I love you.”
I don’t know if I hear them, or if I read his lips as they move against mine.
But I know I understand.
And in the silence between the words, I hear music.
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading Silence. I am so grateful to you for taking this journey with Stella and Hayden. I hope their story filled you with hope.
I want to thank my agent, Stacey Glick, for being with me since the beginning of my career. You have always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for reading and rereading countless drafts of Stella’s story and for working so hard to make this possible.
Thank you to everyone at Shadow Mountain for embracing Silence and falling in love with Hayden and Stella. Heidi Taylor, your enthusiasm and appreciation for this story is a writer’s dream. Chris Schoebinger, thank you for believing in Silence and seeing its potential. You have both given me a home at Shadow Mountain, and I am eternally grateful. Lisa Mangum, thank you for your encouragement and honesty and for sharing a love of the beauty of language. Annette Lyon, thank you for your insightful and thorough copyediting.
For the beautiful layout of the book from the
cover to the subtle chapter headings which so embody the story, many thanks to Richard Erickson. A big thank you as well to Heather Ward for coming up with a gorgeous cover design. Thank you to Rachael Ward for the stunning typography. And thank you to Karen Zelnick and Michelle Moore for the publicity and for making all the marketing of the book run so smoothly and for always making me feel so welcome. Ilise Levine, I am so thankful for your insights and your support with sales and marketing. You have made it possible for readers to experience this story. Thank you for all your hard work. I appreciate everything you have done for Silence.
I had help with my research on the book from some really generous people who responded when I asked and received nothing but my thanks in return. Any mistakes are truly my own.
Rosalind Cook, thank you for answering all my questions about sculpting in bronze and for teaching me about the Lost Wax Casting process. Jennifer Howard, M.S., CCC-A, and Erin McAlister, AuD., CCC-A, from the House Clinic, thank you for helping me with research on Stella’s injury, her cochlear implants and her recovery. Lauren Crosby, M.D., and Jennifer Snyder, M.S.N, P.N.P., thank you for talking through head injuries with me and answering my medical questions about Stella’s resulting hearing loss, surgery, and recovery.
Thank you to all my writer friends for all your critiques and pep talks, but especially, Sydney Salter, Suzanne Morgan Williams, Kathryn Fitzmaurice, Cynthea Liu, Susanna Leonard Hill, and Cynthia Leitich Smith.
I also want to thank Jimmy Powell at Stellar Media Group for my beautiful website and Laron Glover at Ninth Moon for her lovely designs.
A special thank you to all the teachers and librarians who have supported my work. Thank you for sharing my words and for making a difference in the world, one student at a time.
A giant hug and kiss to my entire family. Thank you for your love, encouragement and prayers, for bringing everyone you know to my book signings and being the first to buy my books. Your support means the world to me.
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