“Hey,” I say, even though he can’t hear me. I brush his hair off his forehead and run my fingers through it, across the top of his head. Ever so slowly he rubs the back of his hand down from his eyes and across his face. His eyes crack open and he gives me a sleepy smile.
“Hi,” he signs.
“Hi,” I sign back.
He reaches up behind my head and kisses me sweetly on the lips.
I don’t mind his morning breath and he doesn’t mind mine.
“That. Is good,” he signs, his eyes still sleepy squints.
I laugh.
“Good.” I sign. I wish I could stay forever but I have to get ready. “We leave in an hour.”
He nods and closes his eyes again, nestling his head into the pillow.
I run my finger down the side of his face and tap the dimple in his chin. He opens his eyes. “No sleeping!” I sign. “Wake up!”
“Okay, okay!” he signs, still with that goofy smile, and pushes himself into a sitting position. “I’m awake!”
“Good,” I sign. I kiss him on the forehead and head up the stairs. When I turn around, he’s still sitting up, watching me go.
I wave good-bye and shut the door, taking a minute to smile. I could get used to that—to his morning breath and half-asleep smiles. I’m partway up the stairs when I hear my name. “Robin?”
Mom.
“Yeah?”
“Come here, sweetie.”
I sit across her at the table. She’s still in her robe, drinking her coffee. Her graying hair is pulled back and she’s not wearing any makeup. A few little curls refuse to go in the ponytail with the rest of her hair, and it’s like looking into a mirror that shows the future.
She tops off her coffee and offers me the pot. I shake my head. She sits back down and looks up at me. I wait.
“I just… don’t want you to expect too much today,” she finally says.
I pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “What do you mean?”
“I’m just saying”—she pauses—“that Carter has been deaf his whole life. You can guess that he’s probably had plenty of opportunities to get an implant if he wanted one. This is just one morning. You can’t expect him to change his whole future because of one church performance.”
I look away and shrug. “I know.”
“As long as you know,” she says, but she doesn’t believe me. I don’t really believe me either.
I look straight at her. “I know, Mom,” I say more defiantly this time. It comes off too harsh. “But thanks,” I add to soften it. I give her a half smile and head up the stairs to my room, shaking my head.
The truth is, I don’t know. And I don’t want his life to change, but I want to change his life, you know?
His sister sings in a choir, for God’s sake. Denise talked with me. With her voice. He hasn’t used his voice since they left. I didn’t hear it once all day yesterday—not laughing, not talking, not anything.
This will be his first time ever seeing me play guitar. Ever. Me. We’ve been together for a month. I’ve never brought it up, and he’s never asked me to play.
“Don’t get your hopes up, don’t get your hopes up,” I mutter under my breath as I put on my makeup for church.
But they are up. Hopelessly up. Maybe this morning he’ll see—he’ll see that music can change your heart. Your soul. He’ll see me in my element, doing what I do best. Being my truest self. And after seeing all of that, how could he not want to hear? How could anybody really love me without loving music?
After I’m ready, I run down the stairs, tripping over my sandals on the last step. I look up to see him grinning at me from the kitchen table.
“I saw that,” he signs, and I stick my tongue out at him.
Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, too, finishing up breakfast. I took longer than usual to get ready, so Mom’s already cleaning everything up.
“You can have cereal,” she says over her shoulder as she loads dishes into the dishwasher. I grab a box and sit across from Carter, who’s finishing a cup of coffee. I never knew he drank coffee.
“You look cute,” he signs.
“You, too,” I sign back, smiling. And he does. Classy, as always, in jeans and a white button-down. The sleeves are rolled up and he’s wearing a tie in a very loose knot around his neck. He looks like he just came back from a dance. Or a runway.
We pile into my parents’ sedan and I hold his hand as we drive. Bender is seat belted between us, like a person.
Carter and I look out our windows on the drive and his foot jiggles, bouncing the seat. I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. He swallows.
“You okay?” I sign.
A smile flits across his face. “Yes,” he signs with his left hand, since his right is holding mine.
We arrive at church and mill around on the lawn with everybody else.
“Robin!” I hear, and I turn to see Jenni.
“Thank you for coming!” I say as I hug her.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she says. She turns to Carter. “Hi!” she signs.
He nods hello.
“How’s Trina?” she signs.
“She’s good, thanks,” he answers.
Since Jenni got the job at the ice-cream parlor, she and Trina have become best buds.
“Good,” she signs.
We find our seats near the front on an aisle while Pastor Mark plays background music on the piano, giving everybody a chance to settle in and giving the band a chance to get to the front. I’m not in the worship band today—just the special music—so I stay in the seat I’ve chosen.
I pull Bender out of her case and hold my head close, tuning. Of course I tuned before I left the house, but changes in humidity or even driving over the bumpy roads can put any wooden instrument out of tune.
My other ear hears the worship band play its opening chords, and I jump to my feet before even setting Bender down. I look over at Carter and he stands unhurriedly, smiling at me.
“You okay?” he signs, teasing me with his eyes.
“Nervous,” I sign back, laughing at my jumpiness. The signing makes me lose my spot in the song and I stutter my way back into it. Carter smiles and looks at the big screens where the words are projected. He watches the people around us.
After the song, we sit down and the head pastor comes up to the front and introduces himself. He welcomes guests and asks everyone to shake the hand of someone close to them. I half write–half sign this to Carter. By the time I’m done, I’m flustered and he’s grinning at me and everybody else is standing up, shaking each other’s hands. I stand and turn around, ready to shake the hand of the person behind me, when I hear Pastor Mark begin the opening chords of the next song and everybody faces front, ready to sing again. It’s exhausting.
Again, Carter stands with me and watches pleasantly as the people around him sing. His interest is waning, though. The lyrics to this particular song are just repeated over and over. I’ve always liked the repetition—it gives me a chance to experiment with harmonies or think of the words in a new or different way—but it’s probably pretty boring if you can’t join in the singing.
The song ends and the head pastor comes back up to pray. I squeeze Carter’s hand. “Time for me to go,” I sign, and he squeezes my hand back. I grab my guitar and tiptoe to the stage, and as I pick up Bender, a little electricity runs up my arm, connecting us. I caress the neck and kiss the bridge. Bender may not be the Dread Pirate Martin of my dreams, but we’ve been through a lot. “Let’s do this one more time, old girl,” I whisper.