Chapter Five
Profoundly deaf.
The words roll around in my head as I watch Maisy across the living room.
Profoundly deaf.
She scribbles away with her crayons as I try to process what this will mean for her.
Dr. Dullis explained it. But it still seems so surreal. She can’t hear anything. Anything. She has practically zero residual hearing. The only sound she’s capable of hearing is a very very loud noise such as a gunshot or a jet engine. And even then, only if it’s a few feet away.
She’s so deaf, in fact, she wouldn’t even be able to hear loud sounds with hearing aids. I scan one of the many pamphlets given to me by the audiologist. It’s about cochlear implants. There are a dozen more for me to look through after this one. Deaf camps. ASL classes. Support groups for deaf and hard of hearing. Resources for parents of deaf children. A brochure from the local Deaf and Blind school.
I stare at the title of one of the brochures. ‘Silent World.’ In a flash, my heart lodges in my throat. Maisy’s world is silent. She’ll never hear birds chirping or people clapping. She’ll never hear anyone tell her they love her. She’ll never even hear the sound of her own name. I tilt my head and study her. Christ, does she even know her name? Does she know what’s happening to her? Does she understand that I’m her father?
Maisy stops coloring and looks at me. All I can do is smile. Her face remains stoic as she points to the front door. She’s done it several times today. I have no idea what she wants. When Mom was here, after she accompanied us to the doctor’s office, she said maybe Maisy was trying to tell us she wanted to leave.
I wave my arms and look around the room then point at her. “This is your house now.”
She just points at the door again.
I shake my head. “No. We’re staying here. I’m so sorry. I wish I could understand what you want.”
She stomps an angry foot over and over.
“Maisy, you live here. With me.” I waggle a finger between us, hoping she gets that we have a connection.
Her lips pucker into a scowl and she pushes her papers off the table, scattering them everywhere, along with the glass of water that’s now a shattered mess on the floor. She looks over at me, eyes filled with terror, then she screams and runs away.
“Maisy!” I chase after her but hit my shin on the coffee table. “Fuck!” I lean over, rub my leg, and check for blood. When I look back up, she’s gone. “Maisy!” I go down the hall and look in her room. It’s empty. “Maisy, where are you?”
I inwardly roll my eyes when I realize no matter how loud I yell, she won’t be able to hear me. But that doesn’t stop me from continuing to call her name as I go from room to room. Panic begins to set in when I can’t find her. Jesus, is this what it’s going to be like? How will I ever know if she’s in trouble? How will she ever know when I need to find her?
I sit on her bed, feeling like a failure for the hundredth time today, when I hear a rustling from across the room. It’s coming from the closet. My throat thickens when it dawns on me that in her attempt to hide, she has no idea she’s making noise.
When I open the closet door, I find her crouched in the corner, her cat pressed tightly to her chest. She looks up at me, fear in her eyes. Damn, does she think she’s in trouble for breaking the glass?
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to soften the expression on my face. “It’s okay.” I motion for her to come out.
She shakes her head over and over, hugging her stuffed cat as if it’s the only thing protecting her. How can I tell her it’s not? How can I let her know that I’ll protect her?
I back away, leaving the door open, and sit on her bed. Maybe she felt threatened with me hovering in the doorway. A minute later, her head appears as she looks out, but then it’s gone. More rustling as she settles back where she was.
A knock on the door ends my plan to sit and wait for her to come to me. Shit. Is it four o’clock already? I should have accepted Mom’s invitation to stay and clean up.
I race out through the living room, eyeing not only the trash from all the stuff Allie and Lucas bought last night, but the strewn papers and shattered glass. It looks like a tornado came through here.
It’s useless to try and pick anything up at this point, especially when I hear a second pounding on the door. I perk up on my way to answer it, realizing what this means. The cavalry has arrived. This Dr. Stone will surely be able to help. He’ll be able to communicate with her. I feel my day just got a whole lot better.
When I open the door, however, all I can do is stare. It’s her. The dream girl from the grocery store. Those gorgeous eyes. And she’s here.
“You,” I say in utter disbelief. “What… uh… how did you find me?”
She’s staring at me the same way I’m staring at her. As if she can’t believe it’s me. Both of us seem to be at a complete loss for words. Then, as if a curtain is drawn down her face, her entire demeanor changes. Her surprise at seeing me disappears, replaced by confusion as she pulls something from her pocket. She hands me a business card. It reads: Dr. Ellie Stone, along with a bunch of letters behind her name. Below her name is the name of the Deaf school, and more acronyms I don’t understand.
I look up. “You’re Dr. Stone?”
She shrugs and nods, a funny look on her face as if we’re both being punk’d or something.
I step aside. “Please come in. I don’t know how any of this works. I don’t even think Maisy—”
My shoulder gets poked. I turn back to her. She moves her hands quickly. Oh, she’s signing.
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t understand sign language.”
She points to me, then her mouth, then her eyes.
It takes my feeble brain a second to catch up. My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re deaf?”
Everything makes sense now. Why she didn’t react to the car horn at the grocery store. Or to me shouting after her when I was jogging. But… how is this going to work? I don’t know ASL. Maisy doesn’t know ASL. And Dr. Stone is deaf. How will any of this work?
She gets a notepad from her bag, writes something down, and hands it to me.
My interpreter is running late. She should be here any minute.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Interpreter. At least that’s good. I give her a thumbs up and then grimace, feeling like an idiot. She’s a doctor, not a kid.
A woman runs up behind her, signing with her hands as she speaks. “Sorry. Sorry. My last appointment ran over.”
Dr. Stone sees me looking behind her and turns.
“Sorry, Dr. Stone,” the woman says and signs.
Dr. Stone signs something, then the other woman approaches me and holds out her hand. “I’m Hannah, Dr. Stone’s interpreter.”
I shake. “Blake Montana. Nice to meet you.”
Dr. Stone signs and Hannah starts speaking. “I’m Ellie Stone. I’ve been assigned as your daughter’s advocate.”
My daughter. It still doesn’t seem real. I have a daughter.
“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”
“Please look at me when you speak, not my interpreter,” Hannah says for her.
“Right. Sorry.”
A pained cry behind me rips my attention from both of the women, and I spin around to see Maisy on the floor, holding her bare foot. Ah, shit, she stepped on a piece of glass. I stride over and try to pick her up. She’s all arms, thrashing at me and shoving me away while making high-pitched throaty noises.
“Maisy, I’m trying to help you!”
Dr. Stone appears beside me, gets down on her knees and signs to Maisy.
“She doesn’t know sign language,” I say to Hannah. “Tell her she doesn’t know ASL.”
“Youtell her,” Hannah says, stepping behind me so Dr. Stone can see her. “Speak to Dr. Stone, not to me.”
“Maisy doesn’t know sign language,” I say as I look directly at Dr. Stone.
Her eyes scold me, and I can already tell this woman is a force to be reckoned with.
“Can she read yet?” Hannah asks on her behalf.
I shake my head.
“Then how do you communicate?”
I raise my hands up. “We don’t. That’s why you’re here, right?”
I watch Dr. Stone’s face morph into a scowl as her eyes follow Hannah’s hands while she interprets my words.
She disappears into the kitchen then comes out with a wet paper towel, signing something along the way. “Band-Aids?” Hannah asks.
“I’ll get one.”
After I fetch my first aid kit, I stand by and watch Dr. Stone check Maisy’s foot, wipe away the blood, and put the bandage on. Then Maisy runs away, back to her room, and maybe even the closet.
Dr. Stone looks at the mess, which now includes droplets of Maisy’s blood. “I should call CPS,” Hannah interprets. “Look at this place. She’s living in filth.”
I whip my head around. “What the hell?” I say to Hannah.
Hannah points at Dr. Stone. “Her. Not me.”
I turn back. “What the hell are you talking about? CPS was called. That’s why you’re here.” I motion down the hallway. “That’s why she’s here.”
“This place is disgusting,” Hannah interprets as Dr. Stone signs. “Maisy is four-and-a-half years old. She knows no sign language. You haven’t begun teaching her to read. She’s isolated from the whole world. You should be ashamed of yourself. And now that she’s old enough to attend kindergarten this fall, you thought you’d dump her on the residential Deaf school and make her someone else’s problem?” Her head shakes in loathing. “How do you live with yourself?”
My blood boils. “Lady, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” I turn to Hannah. “Tell her I just got Maisy yesterday. Tell her—”
“Mr. Montana, please,” Hannah urges. “Talk to Dr. Stone, not me.”
I’m sure I’m red in the face when I turn to the woman I thought was my dream girl. But really it seems she’s nothing more than a nightmare.
“Lady?” Hannah interprets. “Did you just call me Lady?” Dr. Stone looks pissed as she signs more forcefully. “It’s Dr. Stone. Or just doctor. Or even ma’am.”
“Fine,” I say, my temple now throbbing. “Well, doctor. Listen up. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know I had a kid.” My arms fly around, gesturing to all the empty bags and boxes. “All this shit is here because Maisy was dumped on my doorstep with nothing more than a suitcase. I had to get everything. Furniture. Clothes. Toys. Shit kids eat. I don’t know how to be a fucking dad. And I especially don’t know how to be a dad to a deaf child. I’m doing my best, but I’m drowning here.
“And then you show up and accuse me of being a deadbeat. You don’t know the first thing about me, so get off your high horse and quit judging me. You’re here because I need help. Not because I want to ‘make her someone else’s problem’.” I shake my head. “Jesus, she’s not a fucking problem. She’s my goddamn kid.”
Her expression softens as Hannah continues to sign well after I’m done speaking.
Dr. Stone lets out a long, frustrated breath and paces behind the couch as her hands begin to move. “I’m sorry,” Hannah says for her. “I wasn’t given any of that information. I was told it was an urgent case. I jumped to conclusions when I saw the trash and the broken glass. Let’s start over, shall we? And please call me Ellie.”
Ellie uses her fingers to slowly spell out her name. At least I assume that’s what she’s doing, all I’ve learned is Maisy. Then she brings an open palm toward her face, tapping her middle finger twice on her cheek. Hannah interprets, “This is my name sign.”