Chương 2 - HE TAUGHT HIMSELF TO SPEAK HER LANGUAGE
By the next Thursday, she had almost convinced herself the whole thing had been a strange one-time event.
Then Gabriel arrived with Beatrice again.
The old woman’s face lit up when Chloe entered.
You came back.
I work Thursdays.
How are your hands?
Bad.
Beatrice held up her fingers.
My son bought me cream from Switzerland. It smells like dead fish.
Chloe snorted.
Gabriel looked up.
“What?”
Chloe poured water.
“She hates the arthritis cream.”
“It cost four hundred dollars.”
“That doesn’t improve the smell.”
He looked offended by the economics of this fact.
“Ask her what she wants.”
Chloe signed.
Beatrice replied immediately.
Chloe stopped.
“Well?”
“She doesn’t want another cream.”
“Then what?”
“She wants you to stop smoking cigars inside the house.”
The room went silent.
Gabriel slowly turned toward his mother.
Beatrice drank her water.
Completely serene.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her.
Then muttered, “Fine.”
Chloe lifted her eyebrows.
“Fine what?”
He looked at Chloe.
“I’ll smoke outside.”
“Tell her.”
“You tell her.”
“No.”
His face changed.
“What did you say?”
“I said tell her.”
Nobody moved.
Chloe put the pitcher down.
“You’re sitting next to your mother.”
“I don’t know sign language.”
“Then learn.”
The scarred man at the far side of the table became very interested in his bread plate.
Gabriel’s gaze sharpened.
Chloe’s heartbeat accelerated.
But she continued.
“She has been deaf longer than you’ve been alive. This is her language. You keep making everyone else responsible for bridging the gap.”
“I work.”
“So does half the country.”
“You have no idea what I do.”
“That may be the first comforting thing you’ve said to me.”
Beatrice watched their faces, unable to hear but perfectly capable of reading tension.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
Then something surprising happened.
He turned fully toward his mother.
Not Chloe.
Beatrice.
“Show me.”
Chloe blinked.
“What?”
“Show me how to say I’ll smoke outside.”
His hands were large.
Scarred.
Stiff.
Chloe demonstrated.
Smoke.
Outside.
He copied her badly.
Beatrice stared.
Gabriel tried again.
Wrong.
Again.
Closer.
Beatrice suddenly smiled.
A small, fragile smile.
Then she signed:
Thank you.
Chloe translated.
Gabriel looked at her hands.
“What’s that?”
“Thank you.”
He repeated the sign.
Clumsy.
Beatrice reached across the table and touched his wrist.
Gabriel looked at his mother.
Really looked.
For perhaps the first time that evening.
And Chloe saw something behind the reputation.
Not innocence.
Not goodness.
But shame.
Human and uncomfortable.
That frightened her more than anger would have.
Because monsters were simple.
People were not.
Over the next three weeks, Thursday dinners became lessons.
Not formally.
Gabriel would never have admitted he was learning.
But every week he arrived knowing something new.
Good evening.
Eat.
Doctor.
Tomorrow.
Home.
Call me.
Beatrice corrected him mercilessly.
Chloe tried not to enjoy it.
One night Gabriel signed medicine incorrectly and accidentally produced something closer to “candy.”
Beatrice laughed so hard she had to dab tears from her eyes.
Gabriel looked at Chloe.
“She’s mocking me.”
“She is.”
“You find that funny.”
“Very.”
He leaned back.
“You’re getting comfortable.”
“No. I’m getting paid twelve dollars an hour plus tips.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
The first real shift came on a Sunday morning.
Chloe woke to pounding on her apartment door.
Not knocking.
Pounding.
She looked through the peephole.
A broad man with a crooked nose stood in the hallway.
One of Gabriel’s men.
Chloe kept the chain on.
“What?”
“Boss needs you.”
“I don’t work Sundays.”
“It’s his mother.”
Her irritation changed.
“What happened?”
“She locked herself in the sunroom.”
“Why?”
“Physical therapist.”
“What about him?”
“He left bleeding.”
Chloe closed her eyes.
“Seriously?”
“He got hit with a book.”
Forty minutes later she stood inside the Costello house.
Estate was a more accurate word.
Stone.
Glass.
Security cameras.
A driveway long enough to qualify as infrastructure.
Nothing about the place looked warm.
The furniture seemed chosen by someone who believed comfort was a security weakness.
Gabriel stood in the foyer wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.
Without the suit, he looked younger.
And more dangerous.
“She won’t eat.”
“Did you ask why she hit the therapist?”
“I tried.”
“How?”
“I talked to her.”
Chloe stared.
“In spoken English.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Fix it.”
The command landed badly.
Chloe set down her bag.
“I’m not a wrench.”
“What?”
“You keep talking about her like she’s machinery.”
“I’m trying to keep her mobile.”
“Then learn how to ask what she needs.”
“Chloe.”
“Where is she?”
He pointed.
The sunroom overlooked a landscaped garden.
Beatrice sat beside the windows with both hands wrapped around a mug.
Chloe tapped the glass to create vibration.
Beatrice looked over.
Her face immediately crumpled.
She opened the door.
That man treated me like a dog.
“What happened?”
He shouted in my face.
Chloe sighed.
Of course he did.
People did that constantly.
As if deafness were a volume problem.
Then?
He grabbed my arms without explaining. When I told him to stop, he smiled and patted my shoulder.
“And then you hit him.”
With a book.
“What book?”
Gardening encyclopedia.
Chloe had to look away to keep from laughing.
Gabriel appeared at the door.
“Well?”
“He treated her badly.”
“He’s one of the best therapists in the city.”
“That doesn’t make him good with Deaf patients.”
“He’s certified.”
“In physical therapy. Not basic human respect.”
Gabriel’s voice hardened.
“She needs treatment.”
Beatrice watched them.
Chloe signed his words as he spoke.
For the first time, Gabriel noticed and redirected his body toward his mother.
“I’m trying to keep you from ending up unable to walk.”
Beatrice answered.
Chloe’s voice softened.
“She says she would rather use a wheelchair than be treated like furniture.”
Gabriel went silent.
Beatrice continued.
You manage everyone. You arrange everything. Drivers. Doctors. Guards. Food. Houses. But you never ask me.
Gabriel looked at Chloe.
“What did she say?”
Chloe told him.
He looked away.
The garden outside was bright with wet October leaves.
For a long time, nobody spoke.
Then Gabriel said quietly, “I don’t know how to do this.”
Chloe looked at him.
“Do what?”
“Take care of her.”
It was the first sentence he had ever said in front of Chloe that sounded helpless.
His voice had lost command.
He looked tired again.
“I pay people. I hire people. I solve things.”
“Your mother isn’t a problem.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
He flinched.
Beatrice was still watching.
Chloe moved aside.
“Look at her.”
He did.
“Speak to her. I’ll interpret. But look at her.”
Gabriel faced his mother.
Slowly, awkwardly, he raised his right hand.
Sorry.
The sign was not perfect.
But recognizable.
Beatrice’s face changed.
Gabriel tried another.
I am learning.
That one was worse.
Beatrice corrected his fingers.
Then took his hand.
Pressed it against her cheek.
Chloe stepped backward.
Something tightened inside her chest.
She thought of Leo.
All those years asking people to look at him.
Not her.
Him.
She left the room quietly.
In the hallway, Gabriel’s driver stood beside a marble table.
“You okay?” he asked.
Chloe wiped quickly beneath one eye.
“Fine.”
“You’re crying.”
“Allergies.”
“In October?”
“Rich people dust.”
For the first time, the driver smiled.
His name was Tony.
The man with the crooked nose was Vincent.
The scarred man was Marcus.
Over time, Chloe learned details she did not want to know.
That Tony had two daughters.
That Marcus hated mushrooms.
That Vincent sent money to his sister every month.
Humanity complicated fear.
May you like
That did not make these men harmless.
It made them harder to reduce to one thing.
