by Neesa Hart
“Your instincts are excellent. You related to Amy right away.”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have a very difficult time guessing what she had to tell me. The world can be a crummy place for little kids.”
“Yes.”
He met her gaze, his eyes intent. “I guess no one knows that better than you.”
She sensed that he wasn’t talking about the children she treated. “I guess not.”
“If I ever get your story out of you, am I going to feel the same way I do now?”
“How do you feel?”
“Trying to divert my attention again?”
“Of course. Very much of course.”
“I thought so.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
He frowned. “You haven’t answered mine either.”
“So we’re at an impasse.”
“Lord, you’re stubborn.”
“You’re just figuring that out?”
“No, I’m just figuring out how to cope with it.” He shook his head. “All right, I’ll let you win this round.”
“Thanks. How do you feel?”
“Frustrated. Angry. Helpless.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Hell, I don’t know. Like I wish I hadn’t asked. Not because I don’t want to know the truth, but because I don’t want her to think about it. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“The place where Amy lives? What’s it like?”
“Better than most, actually. It’s very well run. Almost all of the children there have some type of special challenge, so the staff is trained and equipped to care for them.”
“What percentage of the kids get adopted?”
“It’s a small number.” She kept her voice neutral. “People want perfect children.”
He searched her face, probing. “What happens if no one takes them?”
“They go to school. They grow up. They learn some skills, how to cope. They turn eighteen, and they’re on their own.”
With a burst of energy, he surged from his chair to pace the confines of her office. “So if she doesn’t get an implant, or the implant doesn’t work, she’ll probably live in places like that for the rest of her childhood and adolescence.”
“Yes.”
“How much is an implant operation?”
“Around fifty thousand dollars. But it’s more complicated than that. She may not be a good candidate.”
“They don’t work on everyone, do they?”
Cammy shook her head. “It’s not the cure for deafness. It enables some deaf people to hear most sounds. Whether or not they can interpret those sounds into meaningful communication is impossible to predict. Lucky recipients develop comprehensible language skills. Many don’t ever have normal speech. It helps if they receive the implant when they’re very young, or if they went deaf later in life. Children who are profoundly deaf from birth have the most difficulty learning auditory skills.”
“But you were born deaf. You didn’t get your implant until you were eighteen, and your speech is nearly perfect.”
Her smile was sad. “Every rule has exceptions.”
He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “How hard was it, Cam?”
“How hard was what?”
“After you received the implant, how hard did you have to work to learn to talk?”
She hesitated. “Hard.”
“Durstan pushed you.”
“If he hadn’t, I might not have learned.”
“It was never good enough for him, was it?”
Cringing inwardly, she forced herself to hold his gaze. “He was impatient with my progress.”
“How many years did it take?”
“Several.”
“And you still struggle, don’t you?”
Surprised, she tipped her head to one side. “How do you know that?”
His broad shoulders rippled when he shrugged. “I watch you. Sometimes, when you think no one is looking, you practice saying words. When you’re really tired, you drop a few Ls and Rs. It’s barely noticeable.”
“But you noticed.”
“I’m observant.”
She felt oddly flattered. “Thank you.”
His tender smile made her heart turn over. “My pleasure.”
“You’re a very remarkable person.”
“I’ve got nothing on you,” he assured her. Exhaling a harsh breath, he tapped his notebook against his leg. “You know, there are kids like Amy all over the world. I see it everywhere. It never fails to affect me. I always want to fix it, and have to tell myself I can’t.”
“You’re a better person because you allow it to frustrate you, to hurt you. Don’t beat yourself up for it. It’s a sad story. You’d be a jerk if you didn’t respond to it.”
He rubbed at the muscles of his neck and slanted her a sheepish look. “Sorry. Injustice has a way of riling my temper. I should warn you. I’m occasionally prone to spontaneous diatribes.”
She laughed. “I understand. I started Wishing Star because of feelings like that. When I jump on a soapbox, I can do it behind the very respectable front of a charitable organization. No one has to know that I harbor secret urges to whack society over the head.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “May I print that?”
She checked her watch. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you’re willing to take me to lunch. I’m starved.”
He laughed then. His dark mood scattered like leaves in the wind. “I’ll make you a bargain.”
“You want more for lunch than the right to print my quote?”
“I plan to take you somewhere expensive.”
“I can’t be bought, you know?”
“This place has a six-page dessert menu.” He formed a C with his right hand, and rotated it counterclockwise on his left in the sign for chocolate. “Six-tier chocolate cake is their specialty.”
“Okay, so let’s say I’m more than a little susceptible to bribes of this particular nature—”
He slanted a look at the large candy jar on her desk. “A little?”
“That’s for the children.”
“You give your patients Godiva chocolate? Wouldn’t they be satisfied with something a little less pricey?”
“I like to indulge them.”
“If I looked in your trash can, how many gold wrappers would I find?”
“That would be snooping.”
“No avoiding the question.”
“A few,” she admitted.
“A lot,” he countered. “Is this a good time to tell you that Krista told me an order arrived special delivery while she was here taking your picture?”
“The fink. I’ll bet you tortured it out of her.”
He spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “I will have you know that I have never tortured anyone for information. They just tend to fork it over.”
“Except for me?”
“You, I’d consider torturing.”
“Which brings us back to this lunch issue. What exactly do I have to agree to if I want to know where this cake gets served?”
He turned suddenly serious. “I’m not really trying to bribe you, Cam. I just want to share something with you.”
She tipped her head to the side. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to come home with me.”
“Home?”
“To meet my parents. I’m going out to their place in the Shenandoah Valley next weekend, and I’d like you to come.”
“Meet your parents? Are you crazy?”
“I don’t know.” He flashed her a half smile. “You’re the expert. You tell me.”
She stared at him. “Are you in the habit of bringing women home to meet your parents?”
“No. You’re the first.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of conclusions they’ll draw from that?”
&n
bsp; “The right ones, I hope.”
Cammy felt herself redden. “How could you possibly want to open yourself up to that kind of scrutiny?”
“I don’t mind scrutiny the same way you do, and besides, they’re very reasonable people. I promise they won’t grill you for answers. At least, not until they’ve fed you. After that, you’re on your own.”
“I don’t know, Jackson. It doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m not sure I’d feel right about—”
He held up a hand. “Cammy, all kidding aside, it’s not what you think. I just have this . . . need . . . to go home. It’s peaceful there. I need some time to think. About Leo,” he added, knowing it would give him an edge. “That’s a great place to do it. It’s a part of me, and I’d like you to share it. That’s it. No strings.” He paused. When she lifted her eyebrows he said, “I swear.”
She pursed her lips as she thought about it. The opportunity to observe him interacting with his family was almost irresistible. He was almost irresistible. “I will. On one condition. I want you to come with me tomorrow night to one of Lynette’s rehearsals. I think it will help you write that story if you can experience a little of what it’s like to be a deaf child in a hearing world. So far, you’ve seen the children together, and you’ve seen them with adults who speak their language. To watch them function in an environment where all the odds are stacked against them would be important.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
“You would?”
“Yes.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I would.”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. His gaze was fixed on the small stage in Lynette’s rehearsal hall, where she carefully demonstrated the count for a complicated sequence of choreography.
“You kick,” Lynette said, demonstrating, “then Lindy to the left, scissor right, Lindy left, Lindy right, stomp.” She turned to face her young pupils. “Who’s got it?”
Trevor Blackfort’s hand shot up. Lynette smiled at him. “Why am I not surprised? All right.” She looked at the group of children. “Kathleen, do you want to help Trevor with the count?”
Kathleen nodded, and she and Trevor walked to the front of the group.
When Lynette crossed to the CD player, Jackson glanced at Cammy. “What are they doing?”
“Kathleen can hear,” Cammy explained. “She’s going to help Trevor find the beat. The deaf kids can count, and they can watch the other dancers for their cues, but unless a hearing child helps them, they could never match the rhythm.” She leaned forward in her chair as the music began to play. “Watch.”
Kathleen let two measures of the music pass, then began steadily moving her feet. Trevor watched her intently. After a few more measures, he mimicked her foot motions. When Kathleen nodded, he repeated the sequence of steps Lynette had demonstrated. The group applauded, and Jackson shook his head in amazement. “I had no idea,” he told Cammy.
She nodded. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to grasp something as basic as rhythm with no sense of hearing. They feel the vibrations, so they know when the music stops and starts, but beat is an entirely alien concept to them. That’s what makes Lynette’s work here so amazing. The hearing children and the deaf children learn from each other.”
Lynette encouraged all the children to rise and attempt the steps. They paired off, and the procedure began again. Cammy pointed out nuances of Lynette’s technique throughout the rehearsal. Jackson took a few notes, but basically just watched as the children conquered the difficult process of counting and watching without the benefit of sound.
When Lynette dismissed the children, Jackson gave Cammy a warm look. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Thank you for coming,” she told him.
“I’d like to talk to Lynette awhile.” He rested his hand on Cammy’s waist in an unconscious gesture of affection. “Do you think the three of us could go somewhere and chat?”
Cammy hesitated. Jackson’s hand was sending currents through her bloodstream. She wasn’t prepared, she knew, for the inevitable questions that would arise from their togetherness. And he certainly gave the impression that they were very much together. “It’s late,” she said.
“Only eight,” he countered. “I don’t think it’ll take long. I just want to clarify some things.”
Lynette was bearing down on them. Cammy fought the urge to turn away from his half-embrace. The curious look in her friend’s eyes warned her it was too late, anyway. Lynette had seen, and she had questions. “All right. Why don’t you ask her? I want to say good-night to the kids.”
Jackson listened intently while Lynette, who had rapidly warmed to her subject, discussed the combination of methods she used to conduct her dance classes. She was a warm, vibrant person whose passion for deaf children began in her own home. Her nine-year-old brother was deaf, and one of her star pupils.
“They benefit so much,” she explained, “from their interaction with each other. As dancers, the hearing children learn to concentrate harder. They know the deaf children watch them for rhythm cues and timing. They can’t afford to miss a step. Even more, they develop a special sensitivity to the challenges of life.”
“And the deaf children,” he prompted, risking a glance at Cammy. She’d been quiet since they’d left the dance studio. He was beginning to recognize that stillness as her mask for nerves. He should have seen it the day he’d met her. Then, she’d ignored her hair.
“The deaf children,” Lynette said, “have the chance to try something they’ve never known. They can ‘listen’ to music in a special way. Their confidence grows as they master the steps, and they learn to appreciate their own abilities when they’re able to help the hearing children focus. I try to intermingle sequences I know will benefit each group. They teach each other as much as I teach them.”
No woman, he noted as Cammy ran a finger absently on the rim of her water glass, ignored her hair for nothing. “Cammy?”
At his prompt, she visibly started. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
Lynette gave her a knowing look. “I can tell.”
“Did you want something?” she asked Jackson, her smile overly bright.
She had no idea what he wanted, he decided. At that particular moment, he was struggling with the fact that he wanted to haul her off somewhere very private and explore every one of the secrets that were starting to haunt him. He cleared his throat. “I was curious why you felt Lynette’s classes were such a good investment for Wishing Star.”
She drew a deep breath. He’d have sworn she was relieved. “The goal of the foundation is to help mainstream deaf children. Some advocates think the best way to mainstream them is to give every deaf child a cochlear implant.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s not a lucky charm.” Her forehead puckered in a look he was coming to recognize as intense concentration. She was filtering—noise, distractions—until she could hone carefully in on what she wished to say. He found the effect simultaneously disconcerting and intriguing. The idea that he might one day get her to turn the full force of that concentration on him sent heat skittering along his nerve endings.
Cammy tapped her finger absently on the table. “I’ve told you before, not every child is a candidate for a cochlear. The implants don’t always succeed, and sometimes, if a child has more difficulty than usual learning to speak, it can do more harm than good.”
He resisted the urge, barely, to cover her hand with his own. Instead, he prodded her to continue. “So if a cochlear is not in their future, then what?”
“I believe deaf children should learn to function in a hearing world, just as children with other challenges have to function in a world that’s not really designed for them.”
Lynette interjected, “I think she’s right, but not everyone agrees with Cammy’s methods.”
His gaze narrowed. “Why not?”
“There are people,” Lynette said quietly, “like Jeffrey Herrington—”
At Jackson’
s raised eyebrows, Cammy gave him a quelling look. “You didn’t read the press releases, did you?” she said in a pained voice.
“Okay. Okay.” He looked at Lynette. “You want to bail me out, here?”
Lynette laughed. “Herrington calls himself an ‘activist for the rights of differently-abled Americans.’ ”
“Calls himself?”
“As far as I can tell, he’s very active at taking people’s money, and not so active at doing a lot with it. Anyway, he’s deaf, and he’s one of a substantial portion of the deaf community who believe that deafness is simply a matter of speaking a different language. He doesn’t acknowledge that deaf children, and deaf adults, for that matter, face challenges in a hearing world. According to Herrington and his supporters, deafness isn’t a disability, but they want it covered under the Americans with Disabilities Act.”
“And they support separation?”
Cammy nodded. “Yes. Herrington has been at odds with me for years. He believes that Wishing Star raises the expectations of deaf children to unreasonable heights—that it gives them the idea they’ll be able to successfully integrate with a hearing public.”
He blinked. “Can’t they?”
Lynette laughed. “That’s the point, I guess. Cammy believes a deaf person is just like anyone else, they just have to learn to deal with certain obstacles. A lot of people believe that.”
“But not Herrington.”
Cammy waved a hand in his direction. “Jeffrey is very driven. He’s passionate about what he believes. Being deaf, he knows how hard it can be. He feels just as strongly as I do, we just haven’t reached the same conclusions.”
Jackson looked at the two women, he could feel Cammy’s intent gaze. He gave her an unabashed grin. “Then, I guess he hasn’t been to a dance recital lately.”
seven
“I’m a grown woman,” Cammy mumbled. “How did I get talked into this?” She sat on the bed next to her half-packed suitcase and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Cammy, you fool.”
She knew exactly when it had happened. After his startling request to accompany him on a visit to his parents, she’d spent the rest of the week offering him excuses why she couldn’t go.
