Chapter 5 #2
Peyton, who had taken the glass automatically, looked at it blankly as she mulled over the perfectly sensible suggestion.
She’d put off telling McKenzie that Dr Harry wouldn’t be doing her surgery until bedtime.
Now, though, particularly as McKenzie seemed quite enamoured with Valentino, seemed like the best time.
‘McKenzie?’ Peyton touched her daughter’s arm to get her attention. ‘This is Dr—’ She tapped the flats of her joined index and middle fingers of her right hand on the outer wrist of her left hand, making the sign for ‘doctor’. ‘Lombardi.’ She spelt out each letter of his name.
McKenzie looked at him curiously as he re-signed his first name and said, ‘Valentino.’
Peyton bristled. McKenzie understood about doctors. About what they did. Sadly, she’d seen too damn many of them. She knew about Harry being a doctor, a special doctor who helped kids hear, so it was important that McKenzie understood that Valentino was also a doctor.
‘Dr Valentino,’ she corrected, her voice firm, as she re-tapped her fingers with deliberate emphasis. ‘Dr Harry had to go and visit his grandson who is very sick so he can’t do the operation to make you hear,’ she signed. ‘Dr Valentino is going to do it instead.’
McKenzie looked from her mother to Valentino and back to her mother. ‘He’s going to make me hear?’ she signed.
‘Yes.’ Peyton nodded confidently, even though she was worried how McKenzie would take the news. She adored Dr Harry. Trusted him. He’d been her specialist for over three years now, since her diagnosis in the NICU, and she loved it when he came to visit her in hospital.
Big blue eyes turned to study Valentino, and Peyton held her breath. It looked like he was as well despite his encouraging smile. After a beat or two, McKenzie transferred her attention back to Peyton. ‘Okay,’ she signed, and reached for a piece of bread.
Peyton blinked. That had been easy. Too easy.
She glanced at Valentino, surprised by her daughter’s easy acceptance of the changed circumstances.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly. He clearly hadn’t thought it would be this easy either but also, just as clearly, he was willing to take it at face value, his dimples on high beam as he smiled.
McKenzie tugged her arm and she dragged her gaze from his. ‘Can I watch Bluey?’ she signed.
Peyton nodded and said, ‘Sure.’
McKenzie climbed off the chair and Peyton followed her inside to dial up the ‘Turtleboy’ episode that had incorporated an AUSLAN interpreter and was her daughter’s favourite thing to watch on TV.
Being profoundly deaf and not yet able to read was a double whammy for kids like McKenzie.
Captions just weren’t an option for them which meant they had limited choice of televised entertainment.
As if they weren’t already limited enough.
‘Sally and Possum’, which featured AUSLAN-speaking characters, was great but this episode of Bluey had made McKenzie feel so included.
A lump rose in Peyton’s throat as McKenzie shifted from foot to foot in excitement and laughed at the shenanigans on screen. That would all change tomorrow. Tomorrow she took her first steps into the hearing world.
She knew that for many in the deaf community, cochlear implants were controversial.
That parents often of very young children, like Peyton, were making life-altering decisions for their children which could potentially alienate them from their own community and language.
And she got that. God knew, Peyton had read the pros and cons over and over and over.
She spoke to deaf advocates on the regular but then saw the flipside every day in the clinical setting – the miracle moment when the device was actually turned on for the first time.
In the end she’d decided that she wanted McKenzie to have every opportunity in life and, controversial or not, that involved her being able to hear.
Was it the right decision? Would McKenzie thank her or resent her for it in the future? Those were unknowns. But, like any parent making decisions for their kids, she hoped and prayed it was the right one.
Valentino watched a subdued Peyton step out on the deck about ten minutes later.
Sliding into her chair, she picked up her glass and absently swallowed a mouthful of the crisp Pinot Grigio he’d chosen because it came from the area near where he’d been born in the north of Italy.
There was no recognition on her face of the glorious crisp, spritzy taste.
Lifting the plate of olives, he bought them close to his face and inhaled deeply. ‘Mmm. Don’t these smell divine?’
Looking at the plate with disinterest, she shrugged. ‘I guess.’
Okay, that wouldn’t do at all. Placing the plate on the table, he pushed it in her direction. ‘Have one,’ he murmured.
She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Valentino smiled. ‘Who says you have to be hungry to eat?’ He picked up an olive glistening with oil and stuffed with feta and sucked it into his mouth.
Okay, that got her attention, her disinterested gaze changing suddenly, sharpening, zeroing in on the olive as it disappeared from sight, like she could not look away, and hell if he didn’t feel that in places significantly south of his lips.
A warmth spread through his system and Valentino took full advantage of her gaze upon his mouth, slowly swiping at the trace of oil left on his lips.
‘Food is to be enjoyed, bella. Not endured.’ He smiled then, noting her attention still firmly fixed on his mouth. ‘Try one,’ he coaxed.
She was looking at it the way Valentino imagined Adam had looked at Eve when she’d offered him the apple, and for long beats he didn’t move or say a word, enjoying the spotlight of her attention and how it felt not just on his mouth but in his loins.
Then, inside, McKenzie giggled, which broke Peyton from her reverie.
Sighing impatiently, she said, ‘If I do, will you just go?’
‘Maybe.’ He grinned as he pushed the plate closer, nodding encouragingly.
Picking randomly and quickly from the array of plump specimens, she popped it in her mouth, barely chewed then swallowed. ‘Happy?’
Happy? Valentino shook his head. What she’d just done was an insult to these really good olives. Valentino tsked. ‘You need to savour it, bella.’
Her brows snapped together. ‘Don’t call me bella.’
Ignoring her rebuff of his endearment, Valentino continued.
‘You’ve got to inhale its aroma.’ He picked one up and waved it under his nose, inhaling deeply.
‘Roll it around your mouth.’ He sucked it in with a satisfying ffft.
‘Let it sit on your tongue.’ He shut his eyes as the salty flavour diffused through his network of taste buds.
Valentino opened his eyes to discover her gaze on his mouth again. Her black pupils had dilated in the grey pools of her eyes, and his breath caught as he pushed the plate closer. ‘Try again,’ he suggested.
Frown lines appeared in her forehead. ‘No.’
‘Yes,’ he replied gently, his mouth tugged up at the corners. ‘You need to eat more.’
She needed to indulge more. Like she had that night at the wedding. It may have taken her a while to get there but when she had… she’d been luminescent.
All Valentino could see when he looked at her both then and now was a woman who was starving – physically and emotionally. Shutting herself off, denying her body the things it needed. The things every body needed.
Denial was not good for anyone.
Her gaze dropped to the array of olives, regarding them like they were lumps of cold porridge. ‘I don’t really have an appetite these days.’ Her voice held a wistful note, as if she used to have appetites. For all kinds of things. ‘Not since…’
The catch in her voice sat loud in the silence between them and Valentino wanted to reach across the table and cover her hand.
He understood her silence. It may have been a tiny blip in time many years ago which he’d buried beneath wine, women and song, but he understood loss a little. ‘Since your daughter died.’
She nodded slowly as her gaze drifted back to his face. ‘Alessandro?’
Valentino inclined his head. ‘He mentioned it.’
Although had he not, Valentino could probably have guessed from the multiple framed photographs he’d noted on the living room on the way to the deck.
Mostly they were of McKenzie, some of Peyton when she was younger with who he’d presumed to be her family.
But there were a couple of two very tiny infants in specialised medical cots covered in monitor wires and IV tubing and other bits and pieces of medical paraphernalia.
‘I don’t expect you to understand.’
Valentino shrugged. ‘I understand some.’
He held her gaze for a moment or two then lowered his eyes to the plate, not wanting to come on too strong, or push too hard against that bruise.
Picking up an olive, he returned to his mission to get her to eat. ‘Be careful of this one, it still has its pit.’ Presenting it to her mouth, Valentino pushed it gently against her lips. ‘Don’t be deceived by its plainness. The buttery flavour is truly sensational.’
To his surprise, she sucked it into her mouth without protest. Perhaps she didn’t want to push against the bruise either. When she started to munch, Valentino put his finger against her lips.
‘Don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not popcorn. Let it sit in your mouth. Savour it. Roll it around. Tell me what you taste.’
She blinked at the question, like he’d spoken in Swahili. Then, as if she’d just realised his finger was still resting on her mouth, she jerked her head back. ‘It’s just… food.’ She shot him an exasperated look. ‘It tastes like food.’
Valentino sighed. If he’d given her something objectively bland he could have understood. But an olive? A very expensive, high-quality olive? That was sacrilege. ‘Okay.’ He shook his head. ‘Shut your eyes.’
‘What?’ She frowned like it was an utterly preposterous request. ‘No.’
It was Valentino’s turn for exasperation. ‘Just… please shut them for a moment.’