Chapter Three
Claire
By the time I slam the door shut and lean against the inside, my heart has slowed fractionally. I can’t figure out if I’m pissed, embarrassed, or just highly impressed because Jamison can sign.
The oak plank of the cabin floor is staring back at me. The swirls of wood grain and deep ruts from years of wear create an intricate story. Deep breaths in and out slow my heartbeat and loosen the band that’s wrapped around my chest. I finally rise from the door to grab some water from the kitchen. After a healthy gulp, I lean against the counter. Jamison has never once tried to speak or communicate with me. He’s always friendly and gives me a warm smile when I stop by. Our interactions are usually short. I knock, he waves, then I wave before handing him the rent check.
He watches me with curiosity, but intensity too. Jamison is a big man but has never once come off as imposing. He usually wears a dark t-shirt that stretches across his firm body. His arms are bulky and his shoulders broad. He often has this overgrown beard, but never so much that it hides his lips. I’ve never caught a glimpse of him with his hair down because it’s always tied back. He’s rough around the edges, which makes him seem like a bear about to pounce, but his eyes reveal something softer when they’re settled on me.
My father slips into the kitchen, that old leather-bound journal from Jamison in his hand. He glances at me, as he always does when first entering a room. It could be a room of hundreds and he will make sure to start a conversation with me first. He sets the journal down, abandoning his research.
What’s wrong? he asks, his blue eyes worried.
I’m fine.
You don’t look fine.
I roll my eyes, not in any mood to argue. My dad is as stubborn as they come. He always says that’s how Alaskan men are, but he finally lets it go.
Want to watch a movie? he signs. It’s the way we usually spend our nights when I visit. We are both in love with old cult movies and have seen our fair share, especially from the eighties and nineties. Dad was once up so far north into the bush country that movies were hard to come by, and when stuck with little entertainment during the winters, he grew a love for motion pictures.
As I’m about to agree, my father looks toward the living room. My head turns too. He heard something that drew his attention.
He goes and opens the front door. I sneak up behind my father to find Jamison standing on the porch. His hands are buried deep in his front pockets as the sun lowers behind him. Jamison starts to pull his hands out, but I look to Dad instead as my hands clench at my side. Jamison fills the entire doorway, and his presence is unexpected this late. I had finally gotten my anxiety to calm after seeing him once today.
You didn’t pay him, Dad signs.
My cheeks flush. I shake my hands out and grab the rent check from my back pocket. After seeing his friends, I felt out of place. I couldn’t even grasp Jamison signing to me, then all the commotion of his friends being nearby hadn’t helped. Hearing people and crowds makes me sweat. I didn’t know what else to do, so I ran.
I make quick eye contact, then rub my fist on my chest. Sorry. I hand the check over. I plan to turn away the moment his hand grasps the check from mine, but I’m hit with the full force of his forest-colored eyes locking on me before I can. They remind me of being lost in the winter woods at night when a storm is brewing.
His eyes are always probing. Like he wants to dig deep into me, burrow his way inside and latch on. I turn and walk away. I don’t make it far before he brushes past me. His brows lower, his forehead wrinkles, and he raises a finger for me to pause. He wants a moment of my time, and he’s not going to let me run off before he has a chance to share what’s on his mind.
Jamison is a force. That full beard covers most of his face, and his long blond hair is pulled back into a low bun, which gives off the rough mountain-man vibe. He dresses rugged—always clean, though. If looks weren’t enough, he has a presence that demands for me to pause.
I want you…
He pauses to think as my stomach somersaults. His I want you sends a wave of desire through me I have never felt so intensely before. Sure, I’ve had a fumble in the sheets, but this is hours-tangled-in-the-sheets kind of need. My body tingles everywhere. The way his hands glide as he tells me that he wants me… I blink my eyes closed. When I open them, he’s trying to find his words.
Friend time?
My father is laughing hard when he slams his hand down on Jamison’s shoulder. My father signs and speaks at the same time. My father will never speak to hearing people without me knowing what the conversation is. I don’t need it, but he’s protective of me like that.
You told my daughter you want her for friend time.
Jamison’s eyes widen, and despite that beard, his cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson.
I smile. He’s trying so hard. I pull my phone out and start typing. You can type things out like this too. It’s okay.
I pass my phone over with a reassuring smile masking the way my heart thunders in my chest, imaging him wanting me. He takes the phone and reads the text. His fingers type over the keyboard. Smooth and quick.
He passes the phone over and looks at Dad sidelong. I raise my brows and use my hand to quickly sign. Go.
Dad raises his hands in surrender and leaves, although his body is still shaking in laughter. I glance down at my phone to read Jamison’s words.
I wanted to spend some time together as friends. To get to know you.
My lip is between my teeth as I read his message for the third time. My thumbs don’t move in a response, and my throat is tight while I contemplate.
His hand is extended toward mine, his fingers requesting to sign. He’s doing so well with things I’d expect from someone in the deaf community. I’m not sure how he knows these things, but I wonder if my father is the reason. Jamison seems to be learning as we become acquaintances.
Please? I’d like to know you, he signs. There’s a vulnerability to his green eyes until they shutter closed and it’s gone again.
When?I ask. I don’t see when we would get to know each other, how we would, or even why. It’s not like I’ll be back for another month.
Next month?
I nod. Yes.
He watches me for a few more moments, then tells me good night and slips out the front door. I stare at the closed door for too long after he leaves. I’ve been friends with a few guys, sure, but I’ve never known someone like Jamison. He’s gorgeous, but the extent to which I know him is that my dad enjoys his company, and I enjoy looking at him. I want to know him too.
I walk back to the living room to find Dad stretched out on the couch and the movie on pause in the background. I plop down on the couch and sigh. The smell of nature is in the air, mingling with the buttered popcorn, offering me a familiar comfort while I wrap my head around Jamison’s deeper intrusion into my life. I have a very structured life, and friends aren’t something I’ve focused much on.
Did he ask you out? Dad raises his brows and picks up some popcorn to throw into his mouth.
Yes, as a friend. I didn’t know he signed. He never has before.
He asked me to teach him.
I twist around on the couch and smack Dad’s shoulder. That means he learned just to communicate with me. I don’t know what to think about that. You taught him. Why?
He’s smitten? Dad wrinkles his nose, raising his other brow, his body shaking with laughter. He’s trying to get me to lighten up.
My throat vibrates with a growl. I’m not sure why it bothers me, except I suck at getting to know people. I don’t want him smitten.
Why? He’s a nice man. Works hard, Dad signs.
“I don”t even know what he does!” I push out of my rough, dry throat. The thought of getting someone to like me—especially a hearing person—makes me sweat.
Only when I get worked up do I speak and sign simultaneously. My father is the only one besides Maddie or Mom who’s heard my voice since I was very young. It’s hard to speak when you don’t hear the way you sound, but Maddie always made me try. Also, so many hearing people assume that if I can speak, I must be able to hear them.
He’s a pilot, Dad signs, drawing my attention back to him.
I run tired hands over my eyes. They burn, and I’m worn out. He asked me on a friend date next month. That’s it. I’m not interested in discussing it more with my father. Let”s watch the movie.
A bowl of warm buttered popcorn is slid into my lap just as Mom walks into the living room. She sits on the couch, and with both of my parents beside me, I lose myself in the movie as the subtitles scroll across the bottom.
By the end of the movie, I have convinced myself that a friend date to get to know Jamison is just what it sounds like. I can be his friend and get to know him without letting him know how much that scares the shit out of me.
◆◆◆
The morning school bell hasn’t rung yet, so I settle myself on the couch and pull the letter from my purse. I didn’t give Jamison my phone number, so he’s found another way to communicate with me. My parents weren’t able to pay the rent last month, so I assume Jamison got my address from the check I used to pay him.
I open the letter and read his words over again.
◆◆◆
Dear Claire,
I”m not entirely sure how to start this letter, and I hope you don’t mind. I’ll start at the beginning because I”d like you to know me, and I’d get to know you better if you wrote me back.
I was born on January 27, 1989…wait, is that too early? I’ll speed it up a few years. I don’t remember those younger years anyway.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in the cockpit of a float plane. My mother was a bush pilot, and I always knew I’d follow in her footsteps. There isn’t a better or more exhilarating experience than flying for me. It is my life summed up entirely.
I just flew some goods from Kodiak to Mashing, and I’m so far north that it’s entirely undisturbed land. I’ll refuel and take the trip back home, where I’ll fly over lands that haven’t been seen by many before me.
Every day is a new adventure for me. A chance to explore the wilderness of the bush country. And when I’m not flying goods around, I’ll take tourists out to explore. Or if they get lost, I’ll lead the search and rescue party. My least favorite part of the job.
I hope this reaches you and that the month you’re home is good. Don’t worry about your parents…I found a new way to occupy your dad, and so your mom is happy too. He’s quite content, you’ll see.
Jamison
◆◆◆
I stare at the envelope and letter in my hand. My fingertips are resting on my lips.
The couch shifts, so I glance to my left. Andrea, the Fine Arts teacher, gives me a smile and a small wave. She and I have been working here together the last couple of years since I returned to Alaska and took this teaching job.
You look like you’re about to explode, you’re so happy. What’s going on? she asks. She can hear some, like my old college friend Sean, but is fluent in American Sign Language, which is why she decided to teach here.
I press my lips into a thin line. Nope, doesn’t work. There’s no way I’ll lose this smile today. So, I show her the letter with a flick of my wrist. I won’t share what’s inside. That’s for my eyes only.
I want to see it. She reaches out her hand.
No.
Fine. Who’s the letter from?
A guy. I cringe from admitting that.
Her eyes are wide, and her mouth drops open. I don’t date much, and Andrea’s shocked expression isn’t surprising. She’s been telling me I need to take a risk and date. Go out more. I remember my failed attempts at dating in college, thanks to Maddie’s persistence, but find I’m more content staying at home wrapped up in a blanket and watching a movie than being dragged into public to get to know someone.
You’re writing a guy? Since when? Who is he?
Calm yourself. I laugh at the overly flourished signing from Andrea. She is my closest friend now, although I’m sure I’m not the same to her. We don’t hang out after work. We meet up sometimes, like today in the teachers’ lounge, or see each other between classes. But that’s the extent of our interactions.
I need details, she demands.
My head tilts back so I can compose myself. Where do I start explaining Jamison? It’s not like we are friends. I don’t know him. But he wants to know me. And that scares the shit out of me because he learned to sign just so he could be my friend.
When I glance back, Andrea is patiently waiting, her head propped on her hand. She bats her eyelashes.
A smirk lifts my lips. I can’t help it with her. His name is Jamison. He asked me on a friend date last weekend. He’s a pilot.
A hint of Old Spice and banana hits me, so I turn to my right in time to find Don Ratliff taking a spot on the couch. He hands over his extra muffin.
Once his hand is free, he signs, Did you have a good weekend?
I give him a smile and turn to Andrea when I catch her hands moving in my peripheral.
She met a guy. Andrea goes on, unaware that Don’s face has fallen. He recovers quickly and sends me a warm smile. I turn back to Andrea. They’re writing letters. He asked her on a friend date.
I take a bite of my muffin. The gooey bread melts in my mouth, yet it leaves a bad taste behind. I hate bananas, but I don’t have it in me to tell Don that because he bakes these muffins himself.
Sounds like you had a nice time. Weren’t you going to your parents’ this weekend? Don asks.
Yes, I went to see them.
Don continues to watch me, but a bit of that usual spark has left his eyes.
Thank you for making this. It’s good. I try to lighten the mood. These are the situations I’d much rather avoid.
Anytime. I’ll see you ladies later.He rises, and I watch as he leaves the break room.
I turn back to Andrea. She’s watching him leave too. When her gaze lands on me, she cringes.
I think he likes you, likes you. I didn’t realize he had a crush.
I rise to toss the muffin in the trash with only one bite missing. I return and take my spot beside Andrea again. He doesn’t like me that much.
He looked like a puppy who lost his favorite toy when I mentioned a guy. It’s not like you’re the most approachable, love. I love you, but you put off some don’t-bother vibes. I just hadn’t realized he developed a crush and did nothing about it.
I press my lips together, my jaw clenched. I don’t mean to put off don”t-approach-me vibes.
It’s okay,she says.
I know. Let’s get back to class.
I’m not even sure why Jamison is bothering with trying to get to know me. I’m not always the warmest to him either. Sometimes it’s just easier to push people away than risk someone not liking me. Maddie always made sure I didn’t push people away. But with her not here, I don’t know how to let someone in. To let someone know the real me.