Dash looked at her again, his eyes such a torment of longing she couldn’t have said no for all the politeness in the world. She hesitated for a second more, then nodded and said, “Okay.”
Dash was so happy he clenched his fists and jumped up and down. He took the ball reverently from the man’s outstretched hand and said in his slightly slurred voice, “Thank you thank you thank you!”
The man nodded. And then signed, You’re welcome.
Dash was so flabbergasted that for a moment he forgot he was holding the ball and tried to sign back. He hooted and shoved the ball off to Evie, who herself was so surprised she almost dropped it.
You know sign? Dash signed.
Yes, the man signed back. I’m deaf.
So am I!
I know. I saw you signing with your mother. You sign better than she does.
Dash laughed. Yes, I always tell her that.
The man smiled. There was something… wistful about it, as though his face was unaccustomed to the expression, as though he distrusted the feeling behind it.
Dash signed, Why did you give me the ball?
You looked like you wanted it.
But don’t you want it, too?
Not as much as you do.
Evie was watching the exchange, dumbfounded. Then, remembering herself, she placed the ball in her bag and signed, Thank you. That was really nice of you.
The man shook his head, as though embarrassed by their gratitude, and stood.
Evie had to admit, she liked his looks. About forty, she guessed. With sandy brown hair and a darker stubble of beard. She stole a glance at his left hand and noted the absence of a ring. There was something intriguing, and appealing, about how calm he’d been while all those people tried to get the ball away from him. She liked his smile — and that odd reluctance, or sadness, she sensed behind it. And of course it was hard not to be blown away by how nice he’d just been to Dash, and by how Dash had responded. She was always nervous about dating because she’d heard so many horror stories about pedophiles using single mothers to get to their children. But everything in life involved some risk, right? And besides, she had ways of checking up on dates most people could only dream about.
Without thinking it through any further and before she lost her nerve, she signed, We were going to get a hot dog on Eutaw Street. Would you like to join us?
It’s nice of you, the man signed, but I don’t want to intrude.
Are you sure? It’s no intrusion.
The man glanced down for a moment, his expression conflicted. She sensed he wanted to accept her invitation, and tried to figure out what could be behind his reluctance. Was he just being polite? Did he sense her attraction, but not share it?
Dash touched the man’s knee, and when the man looked at him, signed, Don’t you like hot dogs?
The man looked momentarily perplexed. Everyone likes hot dogs, he signed.
Then why don’t you come with us?
The man’s hands floated for a moment, seemingly stuck. He looked at Evie as though for help.
Come on, she signed, smiling. Let me buy you a hot dog. Just a small thank-you for being so nice.
CHAPTER
16
Manus went along with the woman and her son, aware he had handled things badly, confused about what to do next. The baseball meant nothing to him; he should have just let it drop. Why had he caught it? He hadn’t thought, he just saw it coming and stuck up his hand. And then giving it to the boy… even stupider. It had made people notice him. Worse, it had made the woman and boy notice him. So much so that he was now in the surreal position of being on his way with them to get a hot dog.
But… the director wanted him to watch the woman, didn’t he? And he hadn’t specified the degree to which Manus was supposed to be surreptitious about it. He’d mentioned the boy’s deafness as a possible entry route, which meant he didn’t object to some level of interaction, and might even welcome it. Yes, that was all true. Maybe that was why Manus had given the boy the ball.
He tried to convince himself, but he knew better. Because there had been no thought at all behind the decision. Instead, he’d been watching them for hours, and something about the way the woman looked at the boy, and signed with him, and tousled his hair had all made Manus feel… something. Something from a long time before, from another little boy’s life, a life so distant he was no longer even aware of its absence. And yet it existed still, stirred to consciousness by this woman and her son.
Or was there more? He didn’t think the woman’s face was what most people would call beautiful, but there was something about her smile, something warm and inviting and genuine, that made him want to look at her. And her body, he had to admit. It had such a… ripeness to it. So soft and curvy and full. She was wearing a V-neck cotton sweater, and Manus had to force himself not to glance at the area at the lowest part of the collar, the smooth skin there, the swell of her breasts, the hint of cleavage.
Fortunately, Eutaw Street was adjacent to the ballpark, because the walk over was somewhat awkward. The crowds were thick, which made it hard to watch the woman while she talked and signed. The boy made things more comfortable, darting in and out of the people around them so he could briefly pause, turn to Manus, and sign him all sorts of questions about Manus’s favorite Orioles players. Manus didn’t care about baseball, but it would have been hard to live in the area and not know the names of at least a few of the most famous players. So he mentioned what he knew, and otherwise covered for his ignorance by asking the boy about his own favorites, and how many games he’d been to, and other such nonsense.
Evie ordered them hot dogs at a stand on Eutaw. One of the advantages of being deaf was that you could talk with your mouth full, and Manus carried on his animated conversation with the boy while they munched on foot-longers covered in mustard and relish. The woman spelled out her name—Evelyn, but please call me Evie—and Manus did the same, Marvin.
My name’s Dash, the boy signed. Because I’m fast.
Your parents must have known you were fast early on.
They could tell.
Evie smiled, and Manus had a feeling she’d heard this exchange before.
What do you do, Marvin? she signed.
I’m a contractor.
She glanced at his work boots. Construction?
Yes. And what do you do?
I work at NSA. Computer stuff.
Thousands of people in the area worked at the giant intelligence organization, so the acknowledgment itself was unremarkable. But to add computer stuff was as informative as if Manus had followed the news that he was in construction with a mention of hammers and nails. The redundancy was just an indication that she couldn’t discuss her job beyond the bare fact of her employment. That was fine with Manus. The director hadn’t shared anything specific about the woman’s work, which meant for Manus it wasn’t relevant.
They chatted more, the crowds gradually dissipating, the light fading from the sky. The boy went to a special school in the area. He was on the baseball team, and wanted one day to play shortstop for the Orioles. His signing was voluble, enthusiastic, unselfconscious. He didn’t seem at all afraid of or uncomfortable with Manus, which for Manus was an unfamiliar thing. The woman, too, seemed intrigued by her son’s ease with this stranger, smiling indulgently while the boy regaled him with information about his school and statistics about baseball and complaints about homework. He asked Manus whether he had been born deaf, and Manus told him he had, a lie so long-standing and consistent it now felt like the truth. Not me, the boy told him. I had meningitis. He conveyed it simply as a bit of interesting information, the same way he might have shared the breed of his dog or color of his bike or where his grandparents lived. Manus thought he detected the tiniest wince in the woman’s expression at the mention of the disease, but also pride at how unaffected her son was in the telling of it.