Chapter Ten
How do people do this?
I run a hand through my hair and look around my house. It looks like a frat house on Sunday morning. Toys are strewn about the living room, a trail of them leading back to Maisy’s bedroom. Half-eaten snacks lie on the couch and a table. Empty juice boxes litter the floor. A stray shoe sticks out from under the couch. I don’t have the energy to look for its mate.
I pop the top off a bottle of beer and sit at the kitchen bar. She’s one tiny person. I’m one adult. How have we made such a mess of things after only a few days?
Ellie is coming back tomorrow. I should clean so I don’t get chewed out again.
The corners of my mouth twitch into a grin thinking of the reaming I got. The woman’s got spunk, I’ll give her that. And an uncanny ability to invade my thoughts when I’ve been so busy I barely have the strength to think.
Now that I’ve been in her apartment, my imagination goes wild. It smelled of coffee and cinnamon and I just know I’ll be reminded of her whenever I inhale those particular scents. I recall her wall of family photos. Her tasteful furniture among a few random, unpacked boxes. And a stray pair of black high heels on the floor. It’s those heels I can’t get out of my head at the moment. Or more specifically, the image I’ve conjured in my head of her wearing them—and only them.
A wayward thought occurs. Who was she wearing them for? Because I sure as shit would have noticed had she been wearing them at my house the other day. I didn’t see any pictures on the wall of what could have been a boyfriend.
Mmm, I grumble at the strange sensation inside me that feels like it could be… jealousy.
I try to banish the beautiful deaf doctor from my thoughts as I glance around the dirty room. Instead of cleaning, though, I slide my laptop across the counter, lift the lid, and continue the on-line ASL class I purchased. It’s how I’ve filled every spare second over the past few days. Which hasn’t been much considering I have a rambunctious four-year-old.
I look toward Maisy’s room thinking how far she’s come in a mere forty-eight hours. When she arrived, we had zero means of communication. Now, at least she can tell me when she’s hungry or thirsty. Sometimes she just goes to the kitchen and gets what she wants—a fact that both saddens and enrages me. Was she left to her own devices? Did Lucinda expect such a young child to fend for herself?
Ah shit. That reminds me. I need to hire a family lawyer. I add it to the growing list of crap that needs to get done.
“Nice to meet you,” I repeat back to the screen as I sign the words.
I straighten when I hear a noise down the hall. I pause the video and listen, but I don’t hear anything, so I turn it back on.
“The brown dog is running,” I say and sign as instructed.
It’s interesting how a lot of signs are quite intuitive, making them easy to recall. The sign for dog, for example, is patting your flat hand against your leg as if beckoning a dog. What’s harder to get used to, however, is the order of words. In English, you say ‘the brown dog is running,’ but in ASL, it’s signed as ‘dog brown run’ because the subject comes before the verb or adjective. Additionally, as ASL is a visual language, there are no signs for ‘and,’ ‘or,’ ‘the,’ ‘of,’ and ‘is.’ Many of those words are just implied, and others are conveyed through movements of the shoulders, pauses, or other non-manual signals.
Then there’s PSE. Pidgin Signed English. It’s not a true language, but contains a mixture of ASL rules and English grammar. The signs are from ASL, but they’re used in a more normal English pattern. It’s used as a way to bridge the gap between native ASL speakers and native English speakers.
With English being my first language, it might make sense that I would gravitate toward PSE. But I have to let Maisy guide the way.
Another noise comes from the hallway and then Maisy appears from around the corner. She sees me and her eyes fill with fear. She runs to the front door, and, before I can stop her, she opens it and darts out.
“Maisy!” I stupidly call after her as I topple the barstool over in my haste to chase her.
A flash of her clothing catches my eye as she crosses the front yard barefoot. Oh, Jesus. Headlights bounce off her white pajamas as I race forward, praying I’ll make it to her before the car does.
Screeching tires mingle with my pointless screams as I reach her and scoop her into my arms just as she reaches the street.
My heart pounds wildly as she squirms in my arms. Why is she trying to break free?
“Is she alright?” a woman asks from the passenger seat of the stopped vehicle.
I nod, unable to speak over the horrific scene playing out in my head of my kid sprawled on the pavement, bloodied and mangled.
Surprised my shaking legs have the ability to walk us back inside, I wish I was capable of asking her why she did it. Did she have a bad dream? Was there a bug crawling in her bed? Is she a sleepwalker?
Defeat squeezes my gut. I have no means of asking those questions, and even if I did, she doesn’t have the tools to communicate the answers.
I carry her back to her bedroom and set her down. She glances at her bed, the terrified look still on her face.
It’s now that I feel the wetness soaking through my shirt. I look down at her legs and see the discoloration of her pajamas. Then I stride to the bed, put my hand on the damp sheets, and I immediately know why she did what she did.
I close my eyes, guilt oozing from my every pore. I fucked up. I didn’t make her use the bathroom before I put her to bed. This is my fault. And even if it wasn’t my fault, she shouldn’t feel bad. She’s four. And in a new place with virtual strangers. It’s understandable. Expected even.
She runs into the closet.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? She ran out of the goddamn house. Does she think I’m mad? That I’ll punish her. Fuck, did Lucinda?
My God. What if I hadn’t seen her run out? What if I’d been asleep?
I stomp out of her room and into mine, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of it before. I open the keypad to the security system and set it to chime when an outer door or window is opened. I turned the feature off when I got the house because it was annoying. Now, there are so many things I need to rethink. I should get deadbolts or chains installed that are out of her reach.
But I can’t think of any of that right now. I can only think of the scared little girl cowering in her closet.
Grabbing the spare set of sheets from the hall closet, I go back to Maisy’s room and turn on the light in the closet so she can see me. “It’s okay,” I say and sign. I’ve used this sign a lot over the past few days and I hope she’s beginning to know the meaning.
She doesn’t move.
I get her stuffed cat off the bed and hand her the peace offering with a smile on my face. “It’s okay,” I say again.
Still smiling, I show her the fresh sheets in my hand and point to the bed. It feels awkward to smile so big at this situation, but it’s the only way I can let her know I’m not mad. “Come on.” I wave a hand toward the bed as I back out of the closet, hoping she’ll follow.
She doesn’t.
I strip the wet sheets off the bed—silently thanking my mother, who had the good sense to put a plastic mattress cover under them—and make it up fresh. After tossing the soiled linens into the hallway, I flick the room light off and on several times to get her attention. Soon, her curls appear in the closet doorway. She peeks out and looks at me hesitantly.
I hold out a fresh pair of pajamas and underwear in one hand, and a book about a cat—I think it’s one of her favorites—in the other. Then I sit on her bed and pat the space beside me. My face hurts as I uphold the smile that must look stupid as shit by now. “It’s okay,” I say.
She fully emerges from the closet, dragging her cat with her, takes the change of clothes, and disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. When she comes back out, she timidly crawls up onto the bed, leaving space between us.
It makes me sad, the space. Will there always be space between us? Not just physically, but emotionally? Can we ever connect in a way other fathers and daughters do?
My phone vibrates with a text. I ignore it, keeping it in my pocket, and I read to Maisy. I do the signs I know as I read. But she’s not looking at me or my hands. Her eyes are glued to the book. And once again, sadness washes over me knowing she’s never been properly read to.
Don’t pity her,I hear in my head. It’s one of the rules Ellie told me. But she texted it to me. Why then, do I hear a voice in my head? A soft feminine voice that I imagine to be hers. It makes me wonder if she ever speaks.
I keep reading until Maisy drifts off. Then I slide out of the bed, secure the bed rail, and turn out the lights, thinking how horribly this evening could have ended.
Just as I’m shutting her door, the doorbell chimes. It… couldn’t be Ellie, right? It’s eight o’clock on Thursday. I know it’s not her. But I’m willing it to be.
I push a laundry basket behind the couch on my way to the door. Opening it, I’m disappointed to find it’s just my friends, Dax Cruz and Cooper Calloway. Dax holds up a case of my favorite beer. “If the rumors are true, we thought you might need this.”
I laugh appreciatively and step aside.
Cooper enters first, glancing around my mess of a house. He chuckles. “You should have seen my place when I first got Cody.” He grips my shoulder. “It’ll get easier.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I say.
Dax pulls out three beers, opening them as he hands one to Cooper and me. “I never thought I’d see the day when Blake Montana had a kid, but cheers to you for stepping up.” He clinks his bottle to mine then Cooper’s.
I glance down the hallway. “We need to keep it down. I just got her to bed.”
Dax narrows his brows. “Uh, Blake, isn’t she deaf?”
I look at the ceiling and sigh. “Shit. Yeah. I’m… still getting used to this.”
Cooper sweeps a toy aside and sits on the couch. “Addy told me she can’t even communicate. Is that true?”
“Your sister must have been talking to my sister.” I take a drink and sit. “She’s right though. Maisy doesn’t even know her own name. I’m not even sure she understands that I’m her dad.”
“That’s fucked up,” Dax says.
“It is.”
“So what’s up with Maisy’s mom?”
I shrug. “I have no clue. All I know is that she’s in rehab for ninety days. For all I know, Maisy will go back to her after that. I mean, I’m going to fight it. I would hope CPS wouldn’t give her back to a woman who didn’t ever bother to communicate with her own kid.”
“So you really are stepping up,” Cooper says.
“She’s so small,” I say. “And scared. She has nobody.” I swallow hard. “Fucking nobody. Her grandparents abandoned her to go on a goddamn cruise.” I stare down the hallway. “She’s amazing. I know she is. How could she not be after what she’s been through?”
“What are you going to do?” Cooper asks. “How do you talk to her? Can she understand anything?”
“We’re working with a woman from the Deaf school. Maisy will start Pre-K there on Monday. I’m learning sign language. But for now, we mainly just play.” I gesture around the trashed room. “As you can clearly see.” I pick up some papers off the coffee table. “And draw.” I show them a picture I drew of this house with Maisy and me inside. “I’m trying to help her understand this is her house and I’m her dad. But I have no idea if I’m getting through.”
“Think of it like having a baby,” Cooper says. “They have no idea what you’re saying, but they learn. Just keep repeating it. Keep drawing it. She’ll understand soon enough.”
“When did you get so smart?” Dax teases.
“When I had to man up and become a father to Cody,” he says. “Speaking of which, I could bring him over and introduce him. Better yet, I could bring my nieces, Ashley and Aurora, they’re both four. Isn’t that how old Maisy is?”
“Oh, man, that would be great,” I say. “Ellie says Maisy lacks social skills. I bet having her around other kids her age would be amazing. I’ll ask her about it.”
“Ellie?” Cooper’s brow shoots up.
“Maisy’s mentor from the Deaf school.”
“Ellie?” he repeats. “As in not Mrs. So-and-so, but Ellie? Already on a first-name basis with your kid’s teacher?”
I snort. “I’m not gonna lie. She’s all that and more.” I picture her in my head. Sandy-blonde hair. Blue eyes. Inviting smile. Small hands that look so graceful when she signs.
“Dude.” Dax elbows me. “You’re hot for teacher.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. She already shut me down.”
Cooper laughs. “Of course you already asked her out. You wouldn’t be Blake Montana if you didn’t.”
Guilt weighs on me like a ton of bricks. My reputation does precede me. But I’m not that guy anymore. Truth be told, I haven’t been that guy since I graduated. I’m sure it’ll take a lot more than my four-month dry spell to convince anyone else though.
My phone vibrates again, reminding me I didn’t check my previous text.
I pull it out and feel my face twitch when I see who it’s from. Ellie has been sending me links to ASL resources.
“You are completely fucking smitten,” Cooper bellows. “It’s from her, isn’t it?”
“Fuck off,” I snap, putting my phone away. “And who the hell says smitten?”
“Hey, you tell Dallas yet?” Dax asks.
“That I have a kid?” My head swivels sharply. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing he’d be excited about considering he lost his own family.”
“He’s your brother, he’d want to know. Even if it’s hard for him to hear.”
“I suppose I’ll have to tell him sooner or later.”
“Better he hears it from you than through the rumor mill,” Cooper says.
The security system chimes as my front door swings open. Lucas walks in, takes in the three of us, and barks at Dax, “Don’t you have a McQuaid to hang out with?”
“Give it a rest, Lucas,” I say, tired over the constant feuding between families in this town.
“Yeah, fuck off, Montana,” Dax says.
I flash Dax a scolding stare. “I said give it a rest. Jesus, there are more important things than the two of you being at each other’s throats.”
Lucas studies me. “As if you don’t hate his derelict brothers.”
“No,” I say staunchly. “I don’t.”
“Well you did last week. What the hell happened to change that?”
I glance at the hall. “A whole hell of a lot.”
Lucas scoffs. “You found out you have a kid and suddenly you’re the family peacekeeper?”
I sigh, tired of this conversation. “Lucas, is there a point to your visit?”
He gives Dax one final glare, then pulls something from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a wedding invitation. His wedding invitation.
I look up, surprised. “Lissa finally let you set a date? I thought she said she’d see hell freeze over first.”
“I wore her down,” he says proudly.
Dax snickers. “Poor girl has no idea what she’s in for. Are you going to even make it to the church this time?”
While I may have a reputation as a player, my brother is the infamous runaway groom of Calloway Creek. He’s left two women at the altar—the actual altar, with processional music playing and all. And he broke it off with a third mere weeks before that wedding was to happen. Lissa is the fourth woman Lucas has been engaged to. There are actual bookies taking bets on when and if he’ll bail again.
Lucas points to Dax. “You’re not invited.”
Dax holds up his hands. “Thank God. You’ve just saved me from having to put on a suit and sit in a church wondering if you’ll have the balls to show.”
Lucas looks pissed. But I see Dax’s point.
“I’ll show. I’ll fucking show. This is the real thing, fellas. Not that any of you would know.”
“Hey,” Cooper says in his defense.
“Okay, so maybe you know,” Lucas says.
Once again, my mind turns to thoughts of expressive blue eyes, hair that darkens or lightens depending on the light, and a smile that would bring any man to his knees.
“Blake?... Yo, Blake.”
I turn to see the three of them staring at me.
Dax scoffs. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
“He’s got what bad?” Lucas asks.
“A case of blue balls apparently.” Cooper chuckles.
Cooper fills my brother in on Ellie as I tune out their chatter because my phone vibrates again. It’s another text from her. The zings shooting through my body when her name pops up confirm that I do in fact have it bad. Dax is right. I’m totally hot for teacher.