Silence (20 page)

I park. Grab a cart from the rack outside. As I step inside the grocery store, the lighting jars me, bringing me back to reality. I have a list from Gramps written in his bold printing, but I don’t open it. I like to see if I can guess what’s on the list, so I toss things into the basket. Then I scan the list before I check out to see if I missed anything. My best score is a three—only three items missed. Tonight I hope to beat that.

The store is quiet tonight. Mostly single people on their way home from work. I see people in suits, scrubs, uniforms. Lonely people. I smile at an older woman trying to reach a box of rice high on a shelf; I hand the box to her. She thanks me.

I remember another game I used to play in the market. The one where I imagined I belonged to a different family. I’d choose one—maybe the one with the three siblings arguing over which cereal to buy. Or the one with the mother laughing with her son and daughter. Sometimes it would be a couple holding hands. I would pretend just for a moment that I belonged to them and imagine what my life would be like. How it would be different, how
I
would be different. I don’t need to play that game anymore, I think, as I move down the aisles. Choosing cereal, pizza toppings, yogurt.

I like the person I am with Stella. She thinks I’m a hero instead of a coward. She looks at me like I matter, like I’m important. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be invisible.

So I want to hold on to that, even though it’s wrong, because I can’t have her. Not really. In nine days, everything will change. She won’t want me then, not when she can hear me.

Because Kace is right. As much as I hate to admit it, he is.

Stella deserves better, and after she hears again, she will realize it.

And this will be over.

Until then, I can have this. And after a lifetime of misery, I deserve this. Even if only for a short time.

I pull out the list. Check it against my half full grocery cart. Only one thing missing: rice. I beat my record.

I can’t help but smile as I realize that a box of rice had been in my hand—only I gave it to someone else.

I run through the self-checkout. It’s faster. Scan and pay, throw the groceries into a few bags, and I don’t have to talk to anyone. Within minutes, I’m out the door. I climb back into the truck. Stella’s perfume lingers in the air. I breathe in, wanting to hold on to her a little longer.

As I drive home, I make one promise to myself. I will make sure Stella isn’t hurt. The only way to do that is to hold back, to keep my distance so we don’t get any closer.

Even though it’s too late for me. I didn’t know I had a heart to give. I thought it had been broken into too many pieces. But I know now. I have given Stella my heart.

And I will never get it back.

9

— 
Stella
 —

When I wake up, the sun is shining. Which is exactly how I feel. Like liquid sunshine. I think I’ll wear a dress today. Blue with tiny white flowers. I add brown boots and Hayden’s daisy necklace. My hair is starting to grow back where they shaved it. I brush what I can until it shines. Leave it loose.

I pick up my phone. There are two texts. One from my dad and one from Lily. I will read them later. I drop the phone into my fringed leather purse, sling the purse over my shoulder, and head down the hall.

When I enter the kitchen, my sister looks up from her plate of eggs and raises an eyebrow. My mom winks at me. She writes on a piece of paper.

You look beautiful.

Mom and Emerson are dressed in their Saturday uniforms: Emerson ready to dance, Mom to garden.

I don’t hear the doorbell, of course, but I see my sister suddenly leap out of her chair. My mom shakes her head, no. She says something to Emerson that I can’t follow. I have the sudden feeling that I’m being talked about, not behind my back, but in front of my face. Then Mom smiles at me and nods toward the door.

“See you later,” I tell them both. I give my mom a kiss on the cheek before I practically skip out of the kitchen.

In the car, I study Hayden. He looks relaxed today. Happy. His hair is still damp at the ends, and I can smell the scent of his shampoo. Oranges and coconut. I breathe it in.

I don’t ask where we’re going. I used to hate surprises. The control freak part of me could never handle not knowing what was about to happen. But I like Hayden’s surprises.

For a moment, I wonder if any of this would have happened if I hadn’t been injured. If I ever would have spoken to Hayden. If he would have spoken to me. I know that we never would have had seventeen days together. Not like this. It’s like the daisies. And the feather of hope floating through the darkness.

Hayden pulls onto the freeway. We pass buildings and fast-food restaurants. Fields and grazing cattle. Before long, Hayden exits and turns down a deserted road. At the end is a red farmhouse. He parks in the dirt.

“We’re here,” he tells me.

When I climb out of the truck, I breathe in fresh air. The sky is a pale blue, with white clouds scattered like sprinkles on an ice cream sundae. A warm breeze tickles my bare arms. A windmill spins lazily.

I turn to Hayden. He is watching me, a lopsided grin playing softly at the edges of his lips. “What do you think?” he asks as we walk to the small red building.

“I like it,” I respond.

We’re in front of a farmers’ market. Bins of shiny, crimson apples and baskets of ripe strawberries. Racks of ruffled lettuces in jeweled colors, ripe tomatoes still on the vine. I smell the potpourri of heavenly scents. Hayden speaks to the stout, weathered woman behind the counter. She hands me a basket. Says something I can’t understand.

“Thank you,” I tell her then follow Hayden out the back door.

Horses graze on their hay, goats meander around in their pens, hens peck the ground. A peacock walks right in front of us, spreading its tail to reveal purple and green feathers like a blessing.

A group of children wait in line for a pony ride. Others climb into a wagon for a hayride. Hayden points to the fields just ahead. We walk through the white picket fence. Now we are surrounded by fields laid out in neat rectangles like a child’s drawing. Hayden steers me to the left. Takes the basket from me. With his free hand, he curls his fingers around mine. His touch is gentle but strong. I feel safe. Calm.

We walk slowly. I watch the little birds dart in and out of the plants. The orange and white butterflies glide in front of me. Breathe in the scents of soil and plants growing. With no shade in sight, the sun spreads across the back of my shoulders like a heating pad. It relaxes me. I move forward, using my senses to explore. My feet sink into the dirt. Crunch against the gravel. Makes me grateful that I chose the boots instead of sneakers.

Within a few moments, Hayden pulls me to a stop. We are all alone out here, surrounded by rows and rows of crops as far as I can see. And on the ground, strawberries, red as rubies, sprout on vines.

Hayden leans over and picks a strawberry. He grins and bites into it. “Your turn.”

I find a perfect strawberry, pull it off the vine. I take a bite. It is sweet as candy. Hayden chooses more and places them in the basket. I do the same. I look for the perfect ones. I am so busy picking strawberries that I forget about everything.

And that’s when it happens. A melody begins in my head. And I sing. I don’t realize it at first. Not until I look up and see Hayden frozen in place, watching me. A warm flush moves through my neck and up to my cheeks. But he isn’t laughing. His eyes are filled with a happy surprise. It matches the surprise I feel inside myself.

I listen inside my head for another song. Hear it as clearly as if with my ears. I open my mouth and sing. The sound vibrates in my throat, my chest. Filling my lungs with air, with life. I hold the last note and then take a bow. Hayden applauds.

I never thought I would sing again, not like this. With abandon. With power.

Later, back at the market, we choose some sunflowers for my mom. Hayden pays for the strawberries and flowers, along with turkey sandwiches and lemonades. We find a giant tree with a view of the horses. And there we sit, side by side, our backs up against the tree.

“Having fun?” Hayden asks as he hands me a sandwich.

“So much fun,” I answer.

“Good.”

I offer him a strawberry from our basket. He bites into it, and the juice runs down his chin. I reach up to wipe it away. My fingers run across his skin. I lean closer. Closer. I let my fingers move across his scar. Trace it softly. Gently.

I want to smooth it away. Smooth the hurt away. Hayden pulls back. Flinches from my touch. My hand drops to my lap, and I look down, letting my hair cover my face like a curtain. Hiding me. I watch an ant crawl across the dirt. Wishing I could be like it, knowing exactly where I am supposed to go and what I am supposed to do.

Then I feel something. I don’t move, don’t breathe, as Hayden moves my hair from my cheek. He reaches for my chin and gently turns my face toward him.

I don’t want to look at him. I just want to disappear.

But I look anyway; I can’t help myself. His eyes have deepened to cobalt, like the bottom of the ocean where sunken ships are found. I can see the muscle in his jaw flex. He seems to be struggling with something, like he wants to tell me something but can’t.

“Tell me,” I say. An echo of his words at the beach. It’s an offer of trust, of connection.

“I can’t,” he says. “I want to. But—” He breaks off, and his hand drops from my face. He looks away and his hand reaches for mine. “I just can’t.”

I don’t know what to say. My thoughts whirl around my brain like a bird caught inside. Trying to find a window.

He doesn’t trust me. I see that. Not like I trust him. And that knowledge pierces me. I want to pull my hand away from his. To retreat. To pretend this never happened.

But my accident has taught me something. Something I would never have understood before. The old Stella pushed and pulled until she got something she wanted. The old Stella looked at patience as a weakness. She had forgotten the butterfly touch.

The new Stella, waiting for her hearing to miraculously reappear in nine days,
this
Stella understands that some things are worth waiting for—and that some things take time.

Right now, I have time. So I say nothing. I don’t pull away. I just hold his hand.

The drive home seems short. Too short. If I could hear, and the ride home was silent, I would feel like I had to fill it with conversation. To pretend like everything was okay. But this kind of silence seems reverent, somehow. Respectful and peaceful. There’s a deeper understanding between us. So when he walks me to the door and says good-bye, it’s with the promise of tomorrow. And the day after that. And suddenly, my days of silence no longer seem like such a bad thing. They seem rather like a gift.

I’m in such a daze, I don’t notice Dad’s car parked in the driveway. So when I step into the front hall and see him standing there, I am surprised.

“Hi, Dad,” I say. My arms are filled with a carton of strawberries and a bouquet of sunflowers.

But Dad isn’t smiling back. He is angry.

Mom is standing near the door to the kitchen, looking like she wants to escape.

I turn from her face to his. “What’s wrong?”

Dad begins speaking. No, yelling. I can tell his voice is raised because the veins in his neck strain. He is angry. Really angry. But his lips are moving too fast, and I can’t understand.

I shake my head back and forth. I am plunged from a calm peacefulness into the depths of confusion.

I don’t understand.

My stomach clenches into knots just like it used to when they would fight. When he would yell at Mom like this. Only now, instead of crying and running from the room like she used to, Mom steps forward and places her hand on my arm. She is protecting me from his anger.

Someone in this house is always disappointing him in some way. I can’t imagine what I’ve done. I hand her the berries and flowers.

Then I face my dad. “I can’t
hear
you!”

Dad freezes. Mom watches me. Steady. Strong. Not leaving.

“I can’t hear, Dad. I can barely read lips—and only when someone speaks slowly. Whatever you are trying to tell me, I can’t understand it!”

So he pulls out his cell phone and begins typing. He glances up every few words to make sure I am still standing there. His fingers fly over the keys. I had no idea he could text so fast. He could win a contest against teen girls.

He hands me the phone to read.

I sent you a message to remind you. Today is my office picnic, remember?

Oh no. I completely forgot. I continue to read the message.

We were supposed to leave over an hour ago. But you weren’t here. You don’t answer your messages. And then I find out your mother has let you go running around with some boy. Unsupervised.

Unsupervised? What is this, 1810?

And he isn’t
some boy
to me. But I know Dad will never understand that.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I forgot.”

His expression softens slightly. But I know it isn’t over.

“Can we go now?” I offer. “Even if we’re a little late?”

Dad nods. He takes the phone and types again.

I don’t care if this boy saved your life. You still can’t go running around with him. The rules don’t change just because you can’t hear them.

Okay, now I’m angry. Really angry. I turn to look at my mom. I hand her the phone and watch her read the message. She looks from me to him and back again. I think she is trying to decide if she should step into the ring or not. She opens her mouth. Apparently she’s stepping in this time.

I can’t tell what she says, but whatever it is, it makes Dad furious. He argues with her, waving his hands around in the air for emphasis. Mom is surely sticking up for me, and I appreciate it. But I can speak for myself, too. So I do.

“You don’t have to remind me that I can’t hear, Dad. I live with it every single moment of the day. If it weren’t for Hayden, I’d be sitting in my room in the darkness right now. Instead of trying to make the best of it. No matter what happens with my hearing, one thing is for sure: I will never ever be the same girl I was before. That girl is gone forever.”