Chapter Four
Ispare a quick glance at the passenger seat.
Since I had no time to swap out for my car, I just bent the rules a little and picked my son up from his summer day-camp in this brown box of shame on wheels and carried on making deliveries.
“Whaddaya think, Brode? Wanna hand this one off? We need this fella’s autograph to be able to deliver this package. ”
It’s the last delivery of the day, and though I’m uncomfortably familiar with the address, the name on the package leaves me breathing a sigh of relief.
It’s been a decade; I’m sure the place has changed hands since then.
Coastal cottages like this one always have a pretty high turn over rate around here, so I’m sure there’s no reason for my stomach to be all tied up in knots.
Brody shakes his head, holding up a fistful of fries. “Nah. I’m gonna finish supper.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “When Mum asks what I fed you, what are you going to tell her?”
He giggles. “That you made us something healthy and nutritious at home.”
“That’s my boy,” I drawl, grinning.
“Did Mum have to work late tonight?”
“No. She's going out with a friend.” It’s really a date, I guess, but I'm sure that's not something she wants me sharing with Brody.
As for me? I probably should be feeling a little jealous, right?
I'm not, though. I'm happy for her, actually.
All I feel is complete compersion about it, since—ya know—it's usually me that's always off gallivanting on the side.
I was thrilled when I got the call from her earlier, saying she was going out on a date, because that must mean she's feeling comfortable with putting herself out there.
I made her promise to text me every once in a while, however, just to check-in so I have peace of mind that she is safe.
“Ooh! Is it Sarah?” he asks, his eyes lighting up. “Also, can Tati and Terra come to my birthday party? I forgot to ask Mum if we could add them…”
I chuckle, quite certain that my son has the biggest heart around if he wants to make sure Sarah’s six-year-olds are included.
I love how deeply he cherishes his friendships .
“I’m pretty sure, by now, your mom has already included them on your guestlist. The twins are already, by default, invited to tag along and tear up the trampoline park with you, Harrison, and your other wild band of heathens.
But as for tonight? No, Mum’s not going out with Sarah. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brody pause, fry midway into his gaping mouth. “Mum has another friend?”
I roll my lips between my teeth, trying to parse how to appropriately answer this.
On the one hand, I don’t want to sound like a jerk, because Lo really doesn’t ever go out and socialize, but I also don’t want to make it seem like she’s a true hermit crab either.
“You know, I think it just feels like Mum doesn’t have many friends because she’s far too busy with either work, going to the gym, or spending time with us.
I think it’s good that she’s changing it up a bit. ”
There. That’s honest.
“Me too,” he hums, smacking on another handful of fries. “Do you think you’ll make some friends also?”
I huff out a laugh. “Maybe. It’s not high on my priority list right now though. You and Mum are. Since I’m going to be working odd hours with this job, it’ll be difficult to have a social life.”
“You don’t like this new job, do you?”
“It’s not my favorite, no. But I’ve met some pretty cool dogs—the bark-woof kind, not, like, dawgs.” I note with amusement. Then, I tap my full treat container. “There’s some lady on Maple Street who has an adorable black lab named Ellie. She pretty much invites herself into the truck for a treat.”
His face scrunches in confusion. “The lady or Ellie?”
I chuckle. “Ellie.”
As I pull up to the address, Brody gasps. “Dad, look!”
The animal quickly approaching my truck definitely is not a dog and something I very much would appreciate steering clear of. I usher Brody out back to the package holding area, and try to close my doors, yelping, “No! Nope! You stay out!”
At some point amidst all my squealing and our clambering for safety, I miss a teenaged looking boy approaching. “You’re not going to want to come near!” I shout, warning him off. “There’s a skunk!” I add, pointing towards the driver’s side door.
Jeezus Criminey, it’s like this kid’s ignoring me.
“Skunk!” I shout again, turning my volume up to maximum, but he’s still heading right for it.
Brody—out of sheer habit, I’m sure—chimes in, both yelling and signing. “It’s a skunk! Don't come closer!”
I swear I see an amused head tilt and a twitch on the boy’s lips before he bends, disappearing out of sight momentarily. When he pops up, he’s holding the damn skunk—cradling it in the crook of his arm, like a baby. “I know. He got out of the house when I opened the door,” he signs fluently in SEE.
Signs. He signs.
Brody taps me on my shoulder. “Dad, look. He’s got hearing aids!” he chirps excitedly, then adds, “The boy, not the skunk.”
I snort. “Thanks for clarifying that for me, kid.”
Ugh, and it does things to my heart to see him so excited at seeing someone—someone relatively his age, at that—who must also be deaf.
Christ, it hits me hard just knowing how isolated Brody can feel sometimes, when he feels like he doesn't fit in.
When kids make fun of his speech. When nobody recognizes just how much hard work Brody has to put into things that the rest of the world takes for granted.
I flash my hands to the fart squirrel wielder, to get his attention, then sign, “That’s a domestic skunk, I assume?”
The boy raises his fist and makes a nodding motion with it. “He can’t spray. No scent glands.”
Brody gasps, gaping up at me and simultaneously signing and verbalizing, “Can I get out and see it? Dad, please?”
“Do you have a permit for that thing or something?” I ask the teenager.
“Yes, he is my emotional support animal,” he replies out loud, his voice sounding rough as if he doesn’t use it much.
“Okay, dude,” I sigh at my son. I slide the door open so he can stagger out. “Make sure you ask him if you can pet it first before just doing it, Brody.”
I grab the box addressed to one Cameron Dupris and hop down out of the truck next.
Brody’s now holding the skunk like he’s accepted a gold medal for handling the most unique pet anyone’s ever admitted to owning.
I tuck the package under my arm and raise my hands.
“Are you C-A-M-E-R-O-N?” I ask, fingerspelling his name.
He nods, and I pass him the device I’m supposed to use to collect his e-signature, thankful I remembered it this time.
I’ve gotten spoken to once about it already.
The last thing I need is another mark on my record this early on.
A little over a month in, I'm already treading on thin ice—a record low for me.
Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this job? Granted, I seem to blow through them just as often as I change out underwear, but seriously… I hate this fuckin’ job. One day I’ll find something I can jive with, but until then, I need to make due with what I’ve got.
Once he hands me back the pad, I pass him his package. “Thanks,” he signs to me. Then, he glances over at Brody. “Is he your son?”
“Yes.” Then, I finger spell, “B-R-O-D-Y.”
Cameron smiles. “That’s cool that you still sign with him, even though he has a cochlear.”
“Yeah, well, technology only goes so far. Me and his mother still wanted to be able to communicate with him if he felt like someday the cochlear wasn’t for him, you know?”
Cameron nods. “I like that you’re giving him that option. Some parents of deaf children don’t. They just expect that the cochlear instantly registers their kids as hearing, and carry on as if there isn't a whole Deaf culture out there to become immersed in.”
I nod. “Ugh, yeah, don't we know that. Unfortunately, there's not a huge Deaf community here, so his mother and I often struggle to find a balance.
We want him to feel proud of who he is, because his deafness doesn't mean he's disabled, but it's so hard when he feels alone, you know? Brody often feels quite isolated, being the only kid at his school who is deaf. Do you go to school here?” I ask.
Cameron shakes his head, then speaks aloud, “Not for anything besides shop class, drama club, and sports. I attend a virtual academy for deaf and HOH students. I was enrolled there even before Dad and I moved here. That was an option he gave me, one that I’ve appreciated immensely.
I struggle in public schools. In-person interpreters are hard to come by, and having a video-relay interpreter isn't ideal.
Public schools just can't seem to rectify accessible education when there's only so much in the budget and just one or two students who need the services.”
A circumstance that Lauren and I are all too familiar with, unfortunately.
I'm glad there's finally someone who fully understands the uphill battle we've had, but it's also sad to know that he's living with this harsh reality as well.
I'd love to pick Cameron's brain to find out what other alternatives there are that could potentially benefit Brody, but before I get a chance to inquire more about it, someone else pops out of the house and steps out onto the porch.
He starts to address Cameron, but I completely miss anything he’s saying because I’m far too stunned to see who it is rather than what he’s signing…
Caleb Wilmot.
The name who I had hoped wouldn’t be the one on the package I just delivered.
“Holy shit,” I hiss under my breath as he starts heading our direction, his brow pinched with what is certainly the same displeasure I’m feeling. “Caleb—freakin’—Wilmot.”
“M-A-R-C-U-S?” he spells, punctuating every letter with sharp gestures. “What are you doing here?”
I scoff, gesturing at my outfit. “Cosplaying a poop emoji, nimrod,” I verbalize. “The heck does it look like?”