Beau’s car was the nicest one out here, and I was hesitant to get in for fear of somehow accidentally ruining the leather seats I could see through the tinted windows. Whatever Beau’s dad did for a living obviously came with a hefty paycheck.
DON’T WORRY, Beau signed, looking my way over the roof of his car. DRIVE SAFE.
“That’s not the problem,” I said through pursed lips. “It’s this stupid presentation.”
Beau gave a nod of agreement, and I only caught a few words of what he was saying which was something like, “. . . we can . . . your idea . . .”
I didn’t bother with a response and got into the passenger seat of the car, carefully buckling myself in. Rather than dump a pile of questions on me when I’d sent a text informing her of the change in plans, Mom seemed thrilled I was working together with another “friend” for my school project.
My plan was to force Beau to stay put in the driveway while I ran inside to grab my laptop which currently had the PowerPoint presentation on DPN saved to the desktop. Then we would head straight to the library.
At a stoplight a block from my house, I peeked into the backseat to finish out my inspection of Beau’s car. Somehow, I was not surprised to see the gigantic stack of books taking up most of the space. I could see library stickers on most of the books, some of which were in rather shabby condition. Before I turned back around to face forward, I caught a couple of titles like The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway and Brave New World by Aldous Huxley.
“I like . . . read,” Beau said when he saw me eyeing his collection of books.
“I’ve noticed,” I said with a tiny smile.
We pulled into my driveway then, and Beau looked over at me after he parked the car.
MY MOTHER . . . Beau signed, glancing at his books in the rearview window. SHE ALWAYS READ.
LIKE? I signed curiously.
When he finger spelled the words Harry Potter, I signed, YAY! because who didn’t love Harry Potter? I’d finally found something Beau and I could agree on wholeheartedly.
“We went . . . library . . .” Beau continued, using his voice. “She loved books.”
“And you do too,” I said, speculating.
YES, Beau signed with a nod.
“I bet that makes her happy.”
“. . . wouldn’t know.”
Beau slid the keys from the ignition, turning them over in his hand. I had to lean closer to lip-read the rest of what he wanted to say.
“She’s been dead . . . long time.”
I felt my heart give a painful lurch in my chest. I realized Beau had spoken to me more than once about his dad, but never about his mom. It never occurred to me that it was because his mom had passed away. All the books and the reading made even more sense now. It was a way he could hold on to his mom. I’d done the same thing when my parents divorced when I was eight. I kept one of my dad’s old checkered ties carefully folded in my dresser.
SORRY, I signed, and then I repeated the word aloud.
The word and the gesture felt inadequate, but I didn’t know what else to do.
FINE, Beau signed, but I wasn’t convinced by the smile he forced onto his face. PAST.
Beau suddenly gave a polite little wave, and I felt myself make a noise of surprise when I looked around and saw Mom standing there in the driveway, tapping the car window with a finger, a delirious smile on her face.
“Well, this is obviously my mother,” I said unnecessarily.
My mother who is home surprisingly early, I didn’t add.
I held tight to my backpack as I stepped out of the car, trying to keep myself anchored. I could tell Mom was getting the wrong impression here and that a full-fledged parental interrogation was about to take place.
After stepping out of the car, Beau introduced himself, shaking Mom’s hand, and my stomach started freefalling when Mom gave a come-follow-me gesture, pointing up at the house.
STOP, I quickly signed to her, hoping Beau wasn’t paying attention. WE GO T-O LIBRARY, NOT STAY.
FINE, Mom signed breezily, and just like my first day of school at Engelmann, she added, BE NICE.
I marched on ahead, itching to grab my laptop and get out of there as quickly as possible. It probably was not the smartest idea to leave Mom behind with Beau, but small sacrifices were occasionally necessary. I waved to Connor who was on the couch watching cartoons, his homework spread out on the coffee table in front of him, and sprinted up the stairs to nab my laptop off my bed and wrap up the charger.
Beau was waiting by the front door, and I tripped off the last step, not because he’d been talking with Mom and Connor, but because he was standing in front of my self-portrait from Ms. Phillips’ class that Mom insisted on hanging in the living room.
I guess I hadn’t minded so much when Beau stumbled across me painting when my self-portrait wasn’t complete, and I’d been messing around with a bunch of colors. But this was different. All in all, I didn’t think the end result was that bad. I’d been pleasantly surprised, and I think Ms. Phillips had been too.
There was the same messy outline of a person in the middle done in black, and if it weren’t for the person’s outstretched hand holding two neon blue hearing aids, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the person was me. The other hand was covering the eyes, blocking out the explosion of bold colors covering the rest of the canvas and dripping down around the person like rivulets of water.
It seemed like the best way to describe one major thing in my life—how all I had to do was take out my hearing aids, close my eyes, and the world was mine. There were no limits to my imagination when it was just me and the universe. And I was only seventeen; in what world was I supposed to know who I truly was at this point in time? So the misshapen outline of myself made sense.
ALL DONE? Beau signed when I came over to him.
I signed, YES, in response.
Beau inspected my painting for another few moments, and I just stood there, gnawing on my lip, wanting him to look away already. I was beginning to feel too vulnerable like this, having Beau examine my self-portrait so closely. Here he was looking at a representation of what I’d truly come to think of myself, and I was just waiting for him to come up with some criticism of it.
All he ended up signing was, BEAUTIFUL.
THANK YOU, I signed back awkwardly.
Mom came over to see us off, still all smiles. When Beau had his back turned to open the front door, she signed, CAREFUL, like maybe she thought I needed to be on high alert because I was going to work on some school project with a boy.
PROMISE, I answered back.
I waved good-bye to Connor and sprinted out of the house after Beau, laptop tucked under my arm.
LIBRARY, RIGHT? I signed to Beau once I was buckled up in the front seat of his car again.
Beau had this funny little look on his face when he glanced at the clock on the dashboard and shook his head.
LIBRARY CLOSE NOW, he signed, nodding toward the clock. TIME 4.
You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought, looking at the clock too and seeing that it was currently 4:03.
“You’re not actually suggesting we go back inside to do this project, are you?” I blurted. I was sure there was a note of panic in my voice even if I couldn’t hear it. “I mean, my mom . . .”
Beau pressed his lips together tight then, and I realized a beat later it was because he was trying hard not to smile. This was so not funny. My mother wasn’t a helicopter parent by any means, but she had perfected the art of hovering to the umpteenth degree.
When Beau signed, YOU OK WITH MY HOME? color came flooding into my cheeks once the notion that going to Beau’s house to work on this project might very well mean it would just be the two of us. Alone.
“Um . . .”
“Don’t worry,” Beau said quickly, and his cheeks were just as red as I knew mine were. Not that he was thinking about us being alone together or anything . . . right?
“. . . promise . . . not . . . and we have
. . .”
I signed, DON’T UNDERSTAND, with a shake of my head, and Beau took a minute to think something through, whatever it was, before he signed, YOU T-R-U-S-T ME?
It wasn’t what I thought he’d been about to say, but I signed, YES, without even stopping to consider the question.
I did trust Beau, even though I didn’t know him half as well as I was starting to want to now. Weird.
Beau gave what I think was supposed to be an encouraging smile before he put the car into gear and backed out of the driveway.
The car ride was less than ten minutes, but I felt myself growing apprehensive when Beau turned a corner and all the houses lining the streets started getting a lot bigger.
All the lawns were well-manicured despite it being knee-deep into autumn, the houses all two stories with fresh coats of paint, and beyond intimidating. Ultimately it wasn’t too much of a surprise when Beau pulled up into the driveway of a house that could’ve graced the cover of some gaudy architectural magazine. The house before me was done in a stylishly dark stucco color, with the same immaculate lawn and what looked like a lighted path leading up to the front door.
I was holding tightly to my laptop when Beau parked his car and I felt him shut the engine off. He was watching me with a guarded look on his face, like he was just as nervous as I was to have me here at his home. As important as acing this midterm was, I couldn’t shake thoughts of what Beau thought of this whole thing, maybe being alone with me, if he thought something was going to happen . . . or if I even wanted something to happen.
“What does your dad do for a living again?” I asked Beau, turning to face him.
P-E-D-I-A-T-R-I-C S-U-R-G-E-O-N, Beau finger spelled for me, taking his time, then said aloud, “He works . . . Children’s Hospital.”
I knew Children’s Hospital very well. Connor had visited the one back in New Jersey regularly for treatment and was now going to the one nearby in Aurora.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive.”
There was that tight set to Beau’s mouth again as he reached around to grab his backpack from the floor in the back, shoving his keys in his pocket. It was clear he was done talking about his dad.
I followed suit, grabbed my backpack and laptop, and went up the path to the front door alongside Beau, wondering what on Earth I was about to walk into.
CHAPTER 15
Once inside the house, standing there in the foyer, Beau motioned for me to slip off my shoes and hang up my jacket in the hall closet. I took my time inspecting the Watson household as Beau led me from the foyer. Some interior designer must’ve gone through this place trying to make it homey and inviting with warm colors and expensive furniture.
Except something was still missing here.
There were no pictures of any kind anywhere. The walls were completely blank, no photos of Beau and his parents or one of those awkward school photos from the third grade. There weren’t even any of Beau’s certificates or academic medals put on display, and I knew he had plenty.
This made me sad.
The second you walked through our front door, there was barely any empty space anywhere with all the family pictures, art projects, and rainbow ceramic pieces Mom insisted on putting up. Our house was full—or messy, if you wanted to get technical—and you could tell people lived there and had made the space their own.
Beau took me to a state-of-the-art kitchen just off the side of a spacious living room that had a large marble fireplace, mood lighting, leather furniture, and the whole fake potted plants deal. There was someone already in the kitchen though, and it wasn’t Beau’s dad.
The woman currently at the kitchen sink, stacking cups and plates into the nearby dishwasher, was short and plump with gray curly hair, wearing an oversized purple T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. She turned around as we entered and gave Beau a warm smile. I didn’t catch whatever it was she was saying to him. She gave a little start when she saw me and grabbed at a dish towel to dry her hands, coming forward to greet me.
D-A-N-A, Beau signed to me, pointing at the woman as I shook her hand. SHE HELP COOK AND CLEAN SOMETIMES.
This woman Dana didn’t even bat an eyelash at Beau’s signing, just smiled at me as she very clearly said, “Nice . . . meet you!”
It made me wonder if Beau had ever spoken about me to her.
“You too,” I said aloud.
“Want . . . snack?” Dana asked us both. “Don’t mind . . .”
“Sure,” Beau said. “Thanks.”
I wasn’t going to decline the offer—why would I ever pass up food?—so I thanked Dana and followed Beau into the living room to start setting up, ready to work on the project at hand.
FAMILY FRIEND? I signed to Beau after I booted up my laptop, gesturing toward Dana.
He nodded, a grin tugging at his lips, and he signed, SHE HELP WHEN MY MOTHER DIE. MY FATHER ALWAYS BUSY.
I watched Dana bustling about the kitchen as she made us what looked like a tray of celery sticks with peanut butter and raisins, and I imagined that she was humming some sort of tune while she worked. Maybe some Disney song. Dana just looked like one of those people that was simply happy.
As much as I was starting to feel a twinge of disappointment that Beau and I weren’t going to be working alone together, I was glad he had Dana.
We both thanked her when she brought the tray of celery sticks and peanut butter over along with glasses of water. She wished us luck on our project before heading back to finish up the dishes in the kitchen.
“Okay,” I said to Beau once I got the PowerPoint pulled up on my laptop. “Here’s what we have so far.”
The presentation had about twelve slides so far and contained the bulk of information Nina and I pulled together about DPN, mostly from online sources. To the rest of the world, I doubted DPN was significant enough to make even a tiny blip in history, but there was so much more to it than that. It was a turning point in the Disability Rights movement and let the world see just how driven and capable Deaf people are. It set the precedent for how future presidents of Gallaudet would be chosen and let students finally have their say.
Beau took his time examining each slide as I went through them. By the fifth slide he was leaning forward in his seat, a fascinated glint in his eyes as he held his chin in his hand. When we hit the end of the slideshow, Beau sat back, slapping a hand on his thigh.
“What do you think?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too anxious.
“Brilliant,” Beau said, giving a thumbs-up.
YAY, I signed, not sure of what else to sign or say.
“. . . there . . . news reports?” Beau asked, then signed, VIDEO, MAYBE?
DON’T KNOW, I signed back. Nina hadn’t seemed too concerned with getting anything other than the hard facts surrounding DPN. TRY Y-O-U-T-U-B-E.
Beau shrugged, absentmindedly munching on a celery stick as he leaned over to pull up YouTube on my laptop. He was signing something with his free hand, but I couldn’t even think to pay attention when I suddenly realized just how close he was sitting next to me.
Close enough that I could see he had a chicken pox scar by his left eye, that his hair was starting to curl just past his ears, and that he smelt strongly of some type of cinnamon spice. He was frowning in concentration as he clicked around on YouTube, but it wasn’t such a bad look on him. Cute even.
You’re so stupid, Maya, I thought the moment I realized I’d been unconsciously leaning toward Beau, trying to inhale more of his enticing scent.
We were a little over two months into the school year and only now was I willing to admit that my feelings for Beau were steadily moving past the “just friends” territory.
I felt some noise of surprise escape my throat when Beau touched my knee and it finally clicked in my brain that he’d been trying to get my attention for some time.
OK? Beau signed, this alarmed expression on his face. “. . . lost you.”
“Toilet!” I blurted out, and immediately I wanted a sink
hole to appear in the floor and swallow me up. “I mean, can I use the bathroom?”
I was grateful Beau didn’t laugh at my embarrassing outburst, just nodded and stood up, a little unsteady on his feet as he led me to the bathroom around the corner and down the hall.
I didn’t really have to go to the bathroom—the bathroom here was just as nice if not nicer than Nina’s with the fancy towels and decorative soaps—but I needed the few minutes to snap myself out of this weird stupor I was caught in.
“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself after I splashed cold water on my face and used a fancy hand towel to dry off. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Sitting there on the couch next to Beau, so close I could feel every one of his smallest movements, I was far too aware of his presence.
I had never been so preoccupied by a boy before—hearing or Deaf—and so far it was proving to be a major distraction when I had this dumb midterm to worry about.
After a few minutes in the bathroom I returned to the living room, but came up short when I saw Beau sitting with his right leg stretched out in front of him, his pant leg pulled up to his knee. It was almost the same way he always sat during class, but this time he was pressing his fingers along his shin as if massaging the skin there. Even from where I stood I could see a scar that ran the length of the lower half of his leg. Given how pink and smooth the scar looked, it had to be years old, but by the way Beau was massaging it, I’d bet it still caused him pain.
It took effort to recall the task at hand, and I made sure to slap my feet against the hardwood floor as I walked into the living room, announcing my presence. This didn’t seem like something Beau wanted me to see, and I wanted to give him the chance to straighten himself up in peace.
The scar was covered, his pant leg back down when I took my seat next to him on the couch again. He’d forced a smile on his face when he looked my way, no dimples in sight.
“Find anything?” I asked, nodding toward my laptop.
“. . . few videos,” Beau said.
I leaned closer to watch as Beau pressed play on the news clip he’d been watching. One of the students who organized the protest was being interviewed, along with an esteemed Deaf actress who’d received an honorary degree from Gallaudet, and then the hearing president whose election caused the initial uproar.
The Silence Between Us Page 10
