A Silent Heart_A 'Love at First Sight' Romance Read online

  Tanner and I already had a story-worthy ‘meet-cute’. The silent girl in the minor car accident, the old woman babbling ‘sorry’, the sun giving him a sort of halo around his head. I’d sort of already created a fantasy out of our meeting.

  Tanner: I’d suggest the movies, but those are never any good for talking and getting to know one another.

  Tanner is typing again, not waiting for me to respond.

  Tanner: I mean, I don’t mean talking-talking. I mean, in a theater it’s loud and the movies on. It’ll be too dark to sign.

  Me: I know what you mean. And I agree.

  Tanner: Good. Sorry if that sounded stupid of me.

  Me: It didn’t. Besides, how often do you date a girl who can’t speak?

  Tanner: You’d be surprised.

  Me: Oh? And here I was thinking I was something special.

  Tanner is typing…

  Tanner is typing…

  Tanner is typing…

  Tanner: You are.

  I didn’t respond quickly to that. Stupidly, it took my breath away, immobilized my thumbs. For a long time now, I’ve thought of myself as anything except special. Tanner barely knew me, he couldn’t ascertain my worth in two meetings. Still, it filled me with a warmth and a self-awareness that I hadn’t known for quite a while.

  Tanner is typing…

  Tanner: Still there?

  Me: Yes. And… thanks. I don’t feel special, but thanks.

  Tanner: Well, we’ll have to change that. Bowling?

  Me: I’m terrible, total gutter guard girl.

  Tanner: Hiking?

  Me: Yeah, not into bugs… and dirt.

  Tanner: Music?

  I think for a moment, wonder if our first date will be successful if it’s a reminder of something I dearly loved that’s gone to me now.

  Me: I’d love that.

  Tanner: Great, I’m in a local band. Nothing fancy, but we’re playing a bar downtown.

  Me: You sing?

  Tanner: Not well.

  Me: I used to sing.

  Tanner: Beautifully, I bet.

  Me: Not beautifully, but well. When is the gig?

  Tanner: Tomorrow night after I get off shift. Sound check’s at six. Silas is in the band with me; he’s the singer.

  Me: Silas, the EMT, right?

  Tanner: That’s the one.

  “Laurie, I ordered pizza.” My mom’s yell from the kitchen reaches the bedroom, like there are no barriers in its way… or maybe it’s so shrill that it forces everything to the side so it can rocket through the house like the cawing of a sickly, dying crow. I love my mother. I love my mother.

  Me: I need to run. Mom’s ordered pizza. You know I live with my mother, right? Real winner you’ve picked.

  Tanner: My mother lives with me, so there’s not much difference.

  I could see Tanner smiling, the dimple in his chin visible through the facial hair.

  Tanner is typing…

  Tanner: She had a stroke three years ago and can’t do much for herself. I’ve got round-the-clock care for her, but I still wanted her to be here, just in case.

  I nodded like he could see me, nodded so he knew I understand and found it… admirable. Not only admirable though. It made him more attractive in my eyes. He was the type of guy who wouldn’t cut and run if he found out his fiancé had cancer. He wouldn’t abandon her.

  Me: Your mom is lucky to have you, Tanner. See you tomorrow!

  When I entered the kitchen, I saw three pizza boxes opened on the granite surface of the island. Mom was eating a piece, grease dripping from its crust to drop on the napkin she held beneath it. “Oily stuff, but there’s no pie like Alessandro’s.”

  I hope you got something with meat this time. I signed slow, making sure she understood, though I knew she wouldn’t know every word. Then I mimed sticking a finger in my mouth and making a ‘blech’ face before signing ‘veggies’.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “You could stand to eat more vegetables, Laurie. But yes, I got a Hawaiian like Daddy used to like.” She finished up her slice of pizza and then tossed back the rest of the red wine in her stemless glass. It had been over half-full and she’d knocked it back like it was a mere thimble-sized amount. She never drank when I was a kid, not when Dad was alive. She’d almost lost her license because of a DUI on the year anniversary of his death.

  I couldn’t really blame her. Dad was the love of her life. They’d been together since middle school. I’d drink myself to death over a love like that.

  Chord G.

  Watching Tanner play the guitar was absolute magic.

  His fingers moved with a life beyond the simple impulses sent from brain to digits. They flew across the strings, sometimes slapping softly against the entire width of them, sometimes sliding up and down in a caress.

  And Silas had an amazing voice. Drop dead gorgeous, lifting the ceilings until they didn’t even exist at all, until all that remained was the stars in the night sky beyond the building. I didn’t understand why he was singing in a bar in Lexington. I mean, the place was nicely decorated, the drinks mixed well, the tavern food really down-home delicious. But he could have been anywhere, on any stage. I guess some people are never given the luck of the draw, never seen by the right person at the right time to really break out into the industry.

  Silas had a good overall look for mainstream music, too. The right sort of rocker gauntness to his face, the tousled come-hither hair, and the small, but defined body. It’s funny how familiar he looked, though I knew I’d never met him before the accident.

  Next to Tanner though, he looked diminutive and too shadowed.

  My eyes moved from the lead singer to find the guitarist I’d come here for. We looked at each other at the same time, our eyes meeting and we passed words back and forth in our gazes.

  I wanted so badly to sing along to the cover they were doing. I was familiar with it; I’d sung it before myself on karaoke nights back in Dallas. I found myself trying to sign the words beneath the table, moving my fingers and getting little satisfaction from it. I couldn’t make noise with my hands, I couldn’t carry notes. I’d seen some interpreters do it, but I wasn’t learned enough for that, or talented enough.

  By the end of the song, I had to stand up and walk out of the bar to get some air. I didn’t want Tanner to see me crying and feel bad for bringing me to the bar.

  When I was outside, I stood beneath the stars in reality. They were muted by the ambient light of the city around me, but nonetheless beautiful. I cleaved to them, as if they were a security blanket. A comfort in gleaming, blinking repose against a black blanket that seemed to go on into forever.

  “Laurie, are you okay?” I heard Tanner before I saw him. The music loudened as the door opened and closed, bringing him out into the evening air with me.

  I wiped my eyes quickly with the flowy sleeve of my olive green peasant top and then I turned around, pushing my mouth into what I hoped was a pleasant smile. Hi. I waved. You guys sounded amazing. I love that last song.

  “It’s one of my favorites. Took Silas some convincing since he’s not a fan.” Tanner, as was his habit, spoke and signed―fudging some of the words as he went. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself.

  Well, I love it. I love how it describes being free, even when you’re still caged. I had to finger spell cage. C-A-G-E-D. Finger spelling made it feel more important than it was, heavier in meaning. Trapped in silence. That was my cage.

  “Was this a bad idea?” Tanner cocked his thumb back behind him over his shoulder and then signed ‘bad’ and ‘dream’ instead of ‘idea’.

  Yes… and no. I admitted. I really miss singing. Of all the things I’ve lost, I think I miss that the most.

  “More than Ross?” R-O-S-S. It seemed important to him, so I answered truthfu
lly.

  Yes… and no. He left me though, when I most needed him. He abandoned A-B-A-N-D-O-N-E-D me. No matter what I felt for him, still feel for him, that ruins it. There’s no going back.

  Tanner looked at me for a moment and then he moved closer, so close that the brush of his clothing against my blouse caught my breath in my throat.

  He didn’t sign this time. “I’d like to kiss you.”

  I didn’t sign, either. I simply nodded.

  My hip hurt a little, tightly bandaged though it was, as he pulled me closer to him. The ibuprofen constantly in my system kept it at a dull ache. The kiss was better than any medicine though.

  It rushed through me, igniting each and every neuron, sending each and every vein into overdrive as my heart pumped furiously in my chest. The pain was gone completely, hidden beneath the euphoria of kissing him and him kissing me.

  I’d been able to breathe on my own for a long time, since the tumor was removed. Now, though, it felt like I could not inhale or exhale. It was like I was no longer caged by silence, but caged by the kiss. And this cage I did not fight. This cage, I was content within because here, I could fly even with clipped wings.

  I could sing even without a voice.

  I could walk on two legs down the street holding Prince Eric’s hand.

  And that’s what we did. We left the bar behind us and we walked the streets, which grew every more quiet as we moved further from the bar. And we talked. We talked until I thought my fingers might fall off. At one point, I asked Tanner won’t they miss you?

  “They’ll survive,” he responded, and kissed me once more beneath a broken street light.

  Chord C.

  It was checkup time.

  Was the cancer still in remission? That was always the question, wasn’t it? Survivors walked around with that constant battle in their brain. I felt good today, so it can’t possibly be back. I felt healthy today, my war is over.

  But it does come back for many. Mine was an unusual case. The tumor grew, but it stayed somewhat localized. That doesn’t mean it won’t come back at any time. Cancer is a vicious, unfeeling thing. It doesn’t concern itself with family history, exercise regime, food habits.

  “Everything still looks good, Laurie.” Doctor Marks rifled through some papers and then she pulled out a glossy sheet that she unceremoniously slapped against the lighted board on the wall. Suddenly, I was faced with my insides, with my bones and all the odd shapes that made me who I was. “Honestly, the cancer shows no sign of coming back. I’ve consulted several specialists since you moved from Dallas and came under my care. And,” she swallowed, looking a bit uncomfortable, “Laurie, we see no reason why your voice shouldn’t have returned. You’re not choking when you’re trying to eat or otherwise; you’re able to breathe on your own…” Her voice trailed off.

  But I can’t talk, Doctor Marks. I’ve tried. What are you saying? Are you accusing me of faking this? I pointed at my throat, knowing my face must look angry. The interpreter that Doctor Marks has employed from two counties over to be with me during our visits repeats what I’ve said.

  Doctor Marks waved her hands in the air emphatically. “No, no. Laurie, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I think, though, that it’s time we look at this from a psychosomatic perspective.”

  I’m already on anti-depressants. I protested, finger spelling A-N-T-I-D-E-P-R-E-S-S-A-N-T-S. What more do you want?

  I dropped my hands into my lap, feeling my whole body slump, as the interpreter took over.

  “I think you need to speak with someone, Laurie. Talk about everything you’ve been through. Talk about Ross and your mother. Figure out if there’s something holding you back from… living fully again.”

  Sometimes, the interpreter started signing what Doctor Marks was saying, before she remembered that I’m not deaf and mute, only the latter.

  I don’t need a psychologist, Doctor Marks. Let’s try the surgery. Different meds. This isn’t in my head, okay? This is physical. I can feel it. Don’t you understand that I can feel it? If I could talk, I would. God, I would talk in a heartbeat. I miss it! I miss being able to do something as simple as say my name.

  It was a wait while the interpreter told the doctor everything I’d said.

  “Humor me, Laurie. Go and talk to Doctor Logan. He’s a good man, a good doctor. If you meet with him a few times and he says it’s not psychological, then we’ll go from there. You still have nearly a year before I’d do the surgery anyway. Why not explore an option that doesn’t mean a risky procedure?”

  She made sense, if I were thinking rationally. I nodded slowly. Fine. I’ll go.

  “Wonderful.” Doctor Marks smiled. “I think this could do you a world of good, Laurie. I really, really do.”

  I left then, not even managing a goodbye to the doctor who had been nothing save kind these past months.

  Chord E minor.

  “It’s not a big deal, Laurie. A minor trauma, in light of everything else you’ve been through.” Mom slurred her words slightly, pouring herself another glass of Cabernet.

  Therapy is a big deal. At least it is for me. I signed, not expecting her to understand because she was wearing boozy glasses that were getting wine-foggier by the second. Just because you go through therapists like bottles of wine doesn’t mean it’s a small thing for other people. I’m not faking this. There’s nothing wrong with my damn head.

  I walked out of the living room as she tried to say something else. Her words died quickly, drowned in the millionth glass of ‘stop thinking about what hurts’. I took a shower, then pulled a ratty tee shirt over my head and put on a pair of jogging sweats that were two times too big. The ensemble made me look like a college girl during exam time, but I didn’t care. In fact, I went one step further and piled my hair atop my head in a wet, messy bun. Looking in the mirror, I smiled.

  I didn’t look like any college girl; I looked like myself, back when I was in college and struggling through test after test. That’s where I’d met Ross―junior year in front of the coffee cart. He’d backed into me, spilled his latte all over his gray sweat shirt. He’d gone wide-eyed, seeing me there, apologizing frantically even though he was the one with hot coffee running down his body. This wasn’t too long before he’d failed that test and bribed the professor. ‘That’s how college is,’ I remember him saying: ‘Sometimes it’s rub my back and I’ll rub yours. It gets you ready for the real world’.

  I’d just nodded then and smiled. I’d judged the professor instead of holding Ross accountable, because our relationship was so new and I’d been scared to lose him already. God, I fell hard for Ross. Hard and fast. And I knew he’d loved me. Maybe he loved me still. But not enough to stay with me.

  My cell phone chimed as I was lying down in bed with a favorite book. Fishing out the sleek, silver phone, I smiled when I saw the text notification.

  Tanner: How was your check-up?

  Me: Good. Cancer’s still in remission.

  Tanner: That’s a relief.

  Me: For me and you.

  Tanner: Definitely for me.

  Me:

  Tanner: Want to go fishing tomorrow? It’s my day off.

  Me: I’ve never been fishing. Is it hard?

  Tanner: Never been fishing! Have you lived under a rock your whole life?

  Me: Well, I don’t like bugs and hiking and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like impaling worms on hooks.

  Tanner: We can use lures.

  Me: Lures?

  Tanner: Fake bait.

  Me: Oh. Okay, I can try.

  Tanner: You’ll be the best fishing partner I’ve ever had.

  Me: Why’s that?

  Tanner: No voice to scare the fish with.

  Me:
Smart ass.

  Tanner: Pick you up around six.

  Me: Six in the morning?!

  Tanner: The early worm gets the fish.

  Me: Groan. Fine, but you better give me breakfast.

  Tanner: Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Whatever you want, I’ll give you.

  I wanted to write back that he shouldn’t make promises he might not want to keep later. Instead, I typed nothing.

  Tanner is typing…

  Tanner is typing…

  And Tanner wrote nothing more.

  I went to bed early and set my alarm for five so I have time to brush my hair, labor over an outfit, and put on some light makeup. Well, my alarm went off the next morning, but I didn’t get up. No, I hit the snooze three times, forgetting why I wanted to get up, and then I started awake at five-fifty realizing what I’d done. Ten minutes. I’d left myself ten minutes to get ready.

  I ran into the bathroom, praying that I didn’t look as wilted as I felt. Of course I did though. My hair was a matted mess atop my head, still holding a loose bun shape. Dammit! I thought, my mouth opening involuntarily.

  Furiously, I pulled down my hair and started forcing my brush through the tangles. It took a full five minutes before the strands were sleeked down in obedience. There was no time for makeup, so I washed my face, scrubbing at my eyes to make sure I didn’t have any sleep gunk trapped in the lashes. Red-faced and now hot from the steamy water, I frowned. Dammit, dammit, dammit! I mentally screamed again, knowing I didn’t have time to do anything else.

  Racing back into my bedroom, I dug through my dresser to find the only matching set of underwear I owned―a hi-cut panty and a demi bra in a pale pink and ivory lace design―and traded out the bland grandma gray panties I’d worn to bed. After a little searching, I also found a pair of cut-off shorts with little patches and holes in the upper thighs and a white bodysuit that was thick enough not to be see-through with a high, almost mock turtle neckline. They were both designer, something I’d bought at a high-end second hand store in Dallas.