They’d both been recruited heavily by NSA — programs like Cornell’s were a magnet for the government — and they were excited about careers there. But less than six months before graduation, they got some bad news: Sean had failed the background test. No, no explanation was ever given, they were told. No, no second chances, either. Evie was still welcome, but Sean was out.
To his credit, Sean had refused even to consider a change in plans. He’d taken a job teaching math at a high school in Laurel, her mom had gone home to Spokane… and again, for a while, they’d managed. She liked her job, and her career was blossoming. But Sean had drifted back to partying. She tried to overlook it because, yes, he was home from teaching and taking care of the baby hours earlier than she was, and okay, he needed to get out of the house, needed a little fun. But the fun was happening more often, and going on until later, and there were mornings Sean was so hungover he had to call in sick. A few times, when she got home for dinner, she could smell that he’d been drinking already. She would mention it, and he would get angry — did she think he had planned on becoming a high school teacher, a househusband, moving to the place where she had a real job and supporting her career? She might have pointed out that salary-wise, she was doing more of the supporting than he was, but she recognized that, too, was a sore spot, and she didn’t push.
When Dash was three, he’d come home from day care looking under the weather. The next morning, he was worse. There was a fever; light and sound were bothering him; and her normally loving boy was uncharacteristically irritable. Evie was worried, and wanted to take him to the doctor. Sean told her she was being ridiculous, the kid just had the flu. She stayed home with him anyway, and Sean went to work.
By noon, they were in the emergency room. Dash was having seizures. The doctors drew fluid from his spine. Then they uttered the most terrifying word Evie had ever heard: meningitis.
For three days, Dash was in and out of consciousness while they treated him with antibiotics. The doctors told them his prognosis was good. Evie thought that was the optimistic way of acknowledging he might very well die. Sean went home at night, but Evie refused to leave Dash’s side. She didn’t sleep or eat or even take her eyes off him. All she did was whisper over and over, Mommy’s here, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here. Please come back. Please come back. Please come back.
On the third day, he did. The fever broke, and he was able to eat; he was weak but smiling. They took him home, her beautiful boy.
Her beautiful deaf boy.
They didn’t notice it right away. The changes were subtle. He just seemed… slower than he had been. Less responsive. More in his own world. She was worried, no, terrified, that the meningitis had affected his brain. Sean, predictably, told her she was overreacting, that Dash was just tired from his ordeal and that he’d bounce back and be fine.
For a while, she allowed herself to be persuaded. But then she took Dash to a pediatrician. The pediatrician did some tests and referred her to a specialist. The specialist did more tests. And informed her that cognitively, Dash was fine, absolutely nothing to worry about. But that his hearing was gravely impaired, a not-uncommon result of meningitis. It might come back. It might not. But they had to assume the worst and start aggressively intervening right away. They had to make decisions about where Dash should go to school, how they would communicate with him, whether they should consider cochlear implants. It was overwhelming. Sean wanted the implants. Evie was against them. Sean wanted Dash to go to regular school. Evie thought he would do better surrounded by other deaf kids. Sean didn’t want to learn to sign. Evie took to it like a fanatic. In the end, Sean acceded to everything she wanted. But it cost them. Dash’s condition seemed to clarify something she had always sensed but hadn’t wanted to face: that she loved their son more, was more devoted to him, was more willing to sacrifice for him, than Sean was. What happened to Dash affected Sean, yes, but it wasn’t going to define him. She wasn’t built that way. And she didn’t want to be, either.
She realized her devotion to Dash’s needs was driving Sean away. Or was giving him the excuse he wanted. Though ultimately it was a distinction without a difference. His drinking and his drift from them both worsened, and when they finally separated, it was a relief more than anything else. The divorce was reasonably amicable. When the dust settled, Sean got Dash Monday and Tuesday evenings and alternate weekends. In practice, he saw Dash more like once a month. He had found a girlfriend, a fake blonde named Tina, and apparently Tina wasn’t interested in being a babysitter to a deaf kid. Which suited Evie just fine.
She remembered something her mother had told her when she was a teenager: “The boy you date is different from the boy you’re engaged to, the boy you’re engaged to is different from the man you marry, the man you marry is different from the father of your children.” She might have added, “And your ex-husband is going to be different than all of them, too.”
But he wasn’t that bad, actually. Beyond flaking out from time to time when he was supposed to take Dash, he didn’t cause any trouble. He was going to meetings and seemed to have gotten the drinking under control. She had to nag him for support payments, and more than once she thought about going to court and having his salary garnished, but she just didn’t have the energy. That, and she didn’t want to rock the boat. On paper, he had rights to Dash. In practice, Dash was all hers. She didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.
Eventually, she learned from a friend in personnel that the reason Sean hadn’t gotten into the program was a problem with the polygraph — evidence of deception regarding alcohol and controlled substances. Which, she could see now, made perfect sense. She felt like a fool for not having recognized it earlier. Somehow it made her feel sorry for him. What terrible unhappiness plagued him that he would carry around a secret like that? Even after it had cost him the career he wanted? And though Tina, who had some trampy eye-candy appeal, might have seemed a salve, Evie knew better. Tina hadn’t been at the front of the line when whoever was in charge was handing out brains. Sean looked unhappy, and though they never spoke of it, she knew he regretted how things had turned out and wished he could do it over.
Which should have given her some satisfaction, she supposed. A feeling of vindication. Victory. Or something.
Instead, it just made her sad.
She pulled into the parking lot in front of the senior-care facility where her father stayed and tried to shake off the feeling. She knew there were stories out there ten times worse than hers, a hundred times worse. But still, sometimes it all just seemed so hard. So… perilous.
She got out of the car and looked at the building for a moment. It might have been anything. A low-slung medical center surrounded by a few afterthought shrubs; an office building filled with accountants and actuaries. So plain. So interchangeable. So soulless. Although she supposed if it were in any way lively or distinctive, she’d find it annoyingly false.
She sighed and went in, past the pretty receptionist, down the antiseptic-smelling corridor. The door to her father’s room was open, and she could see him propped up on the adjustable bed. He was wearing a bathrobe, not regular clothes, and she knew instantly he was having a bad day. She knocked on the jamb to get his attention, and when he looked up at her, the resentment she saw in his eyes made her want to cry.