"What are you two doing?"
"Oh, nothing much," I said, standing. "She was showing me her room and I was practicing signing with her." I held up the ASL book.
Nevertheless, she looked suspicious, probably because Echo looked so frightened. Why wouldn't Mrs. Westington permit her to have pictures of her own mother? That was silly. I thought, but also thought I should keep my opinion to myself when it came to Rhona.
"Yes, well, she's been in all day. That's why I was calling for you. You should get her to go out and get some air. I always worry that the child doesn't get enough sunshine."
"Okay. Wait, let me tell her," I said, and looked into the book.
I grasped my downward opened right hand and drew it up and out of my left hand's grasp. As I did so. I brought the right fingers together and then made the 0 sign with my left facing the right.
She smiled and nodded.
"Very good," Mrs. Westington said.
I reached for Echo's hand and we started out of the room.
"There's a little lake in back," Mrs. Westington called to me as we continued. "She likes looking at the frogs and such. A fresh stream feeds it and sometimes there are trout. It's rare. but Trevor's pulled out a few and cooked 'em. She'll show you. There's a rowboat, too, if you want to go for a ride. She can swim, so don't worry about that. Trevor taught her. Wouldn't take her in the boat until she learned. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Take a letter."
I nodded and we went downstairs and out. Echo had been very eager to get away. Now that we were outside. I thought about the fact that she couldn't hear any birds. It came to mind because a large crow was cawing loudly off to the right while it perched on the branch of an old oak tree. To my surprise. however. Echo pulled an my arm and pointed to the crow while she imitated its cry. It made me laugh.
"How did you know the sound?" I asked. She just stared at me.
I started to thumb through the book. Now I truly felt like some visitor to a foreign country, hurrying to find the right words. I put together a how and know and she nodded, understanding,
"Ty," she said, then put her right hand softly to her throat and repeated the crow's call.
"So, you've gone for walks with Ty and he's taught you about nature, too? That's nice," I said. She didn't read my lips and I didn't sign anything. I was really speaking my thoughts. "He's making you aware of much more than just math, science, social studies. and English. No wonder you have a crush on him. I wonder if he's aware of it. To me, he looks like he'd be oblivious to that sort of thing."
Beside a deaf person. I could safely voice my thoughts. I could talk to myself aloud, rattle on and on, and not worry that she would tell him anything I had said.
She wasn't quiet. however. As we walked, she tugged on my hand frequently and pointed out things. One was the inside of a dead tree where bees had created a hive. I never would have seen it if she hadn't shown it to me. She was like a tour guide, anxious that I not miss a thing, whether it be birds, squirrels, rabbits, or the frame of an old hammock on the rear patio. Everything excited her in her small world. Her hands went everywhere, her fingers moving quickly.
I have to learn this signing thoroughly and quickly. I thought. The faster I did so, the less lonely she would be, and in fact, the less I would be as well. More important perhaps. Tyler Monahan wouldn't have as firm control over both of us.
We paused at the lake, where there was a small dock and a rowboat tied to it. I gathered from her words and her signing that she had come here often when she was little, sometimes with her mother, and many times with Trevor Washington, who took her fishing. She had learned to pronounce his name very well, with only a little exaggeration with the vowels, so it came out "Tre... voooor."
Then she acted out a little scene with lots of grimacing that was meant to tell me that she didn't like catching anything because she felt sorry for the fish immediately after hooking it. Reading her gestures and expressions was like unraveling one riddle after another for me, each one giving me more and more insight into what her life had been like with primarily only her grandmother and Trevor for companions.
She sat on the dock with her feet dangling over and just above the water. I sat beside her and we were quiet, both watching the insects circling in a frenzy. Occasionally we would see a fish pop to the surface to feast on something. The surface of the water was their dining table. I thought.
The sun had fallen just below the tree line in the west so that the shadows deepened and sprawled slowly and lazily over the pond, which was really quite large. To the left it went around a bend of trees. I thought it was the golden moment of the day, when everything paused for a while to enjoy the mere fact of its existence, the fact that it had lived through another wonderful twenty-four hours or so. I certainly felt that way.
I indicated the rowboat and she nodded excitedly. We got into it carefully and I asked her if she wanted to row. She was anxious to do so. She did very well, too. As we glided along. I closed my eyes and thought about how peaceful it was here, and how easy to be contented, even if only for a short while. Inside, my body felt like it was winding down, relaxing and loosening. I think I actually drifted asleep for a few minutes, because when I opened my eyes. I realized we were already around the bend. I hadn't meant for us to go that far and so I sat up quickly and indicated that she should turn around. She shook her head and pointed to the far shore. Obviously, she wanted to show me something.
She rowed with determination. I gazed over her shoulder and searched for anything significant. All I saw was a large rock. She brought the boat close to it and reached out with her hand to guide us right up against it. Then she smiled at me and nodded at the rock.
"Ty and me," she said. She pronounced it almost perfectly and patted the rock.
"Ty and you? What are you talking about?" I stood up carefully and made my way to her side to look at the rock.
There, carved with a pocketknife or something, was a heart, and inside it was clearly scraped "Ty and Me." I stared at it and then looked at her.
"Who did this?" I asked her. I mimed carving into the rock. "Who?"
"Ty," she said.
Maybe he was trying to demonstrate something. I thought. But what? Carving a heart? A young girl's emotions are not toys. He was just arrogant enough to have done something like this.