Someone Else's Ocean
Kate Stewart
For my dear friend Donna Cooksley Sanderson. Thank you for setting your coffee down to become responsible for me.
For my ASL teacher Billy, thank you for showing me the beauty of a soundless language.
And for the people of St. Thomas.
Note to reader
For the purpose of being mindful about the nature of American Sign Language and the perception of the deaf culture, I’m writing my personal experience with personalities of those I’ve known, while incorporating my own knowledge of the language. While I do have a formal education in ASL, in the way of interpreter training, I do not claim to be an expert on the language nor the culture. Please keep in mind that the ASL communication in this book is between two individuals with years of experience interacting with the other, therefore leaving a broad avenue for interpretation.
Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.
Kate
“IAN.”
I turned to face my ex-wife as she moved toward me at warp speed. “Where is she?”
“In X-ray. She’s got stitches from a large gash in her arm and suffered a nasty break in her right leg.”
Her shoulders slumped as she exhaled a stressed breath. “Are the other girls okay?”
I slipped my hands in my slacks. “Just bumps and scratches. Ella got the worst of it.”
Tara looked at me accusingly. “You couldn’t go with her to X-ray?”
“She didn’t want me to. She’s still in the midst of claiming her independence.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re the parent.”
“Right, so you keep reminding me. Yet I was here first.”
“I was working,” she hissed, a ready defense on her tongue.
I raised a brow. “So that’s what you call it these days?” Tara was an assistant to her new boyfriend, or rather, an old boyfriend that she’d taken up with after our divorce. He was a commercial builder based in Houston.
“I’m sure the boss will have no issue giving you time off considering your duties last long past the five o’clock whistle.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her sundress lifting enough to see the six-hundred-dollar cowgirl boots I bought for our last anniversary. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were jealous.”
“But you know better,” I said, sounding as bitter as I felt about the situation which had nothing to do with who she was with. It had everything to do with our custody agreement and the fact that I was expecting her to dispute it any day to suit her new ‘professional’ situation. And if the law saw fit, that meant my daughter would leave Dallas because of a man her mother was crazy about.
She gave me a wary glance. “Can we not do this now?”
“Fine. That was petty. I apologize. Ella lost some blood, and they had to give her a transfusion.”
Tara’s face went pale.
“She’s fine,” I assured her. “Thankfully she had been keeping up with her meds, so that helped. I didn’t know her blood type. I felt horrible. How could I not know that? She’s anemic for God’s sake.”
“We only just discovered it when she got her period a few months ago. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Tara swallowed and stared at me with wide eyes. “By the way it’s—”
“Type B, I know now of course.” I moved to sit next to her as she studied me carefully. She was looking for anger. I knew it from years of being with her. What would I be angry about? She flinched as I took the cracked blue plastic seat next to her. The hospital’s bones were dinosaur, but the healthcare was top-notch. It was the only reason I wasn’t crawling out of my skin with worry.
“So, they did a blood test?” she asked quietly, her eyes cast down.
“Actually, I asked for a few tests just in case something like this arose again. The doctor said it’s a good precaution with her condition.”
Tara began shaking next to me, her fearful eyes meeting mine briefly before they flit away.
“What is it, Tara?”
“Ian, I—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Kemp?” The doctor interrupted and we both stood. “She’s going to be fine. We’ve ruled out surgery, managed to set her leg and have given her something mild for the pain.”
I blew out a long breath of relief. “Thank you.”
Tara spoke up. “We were supposed to leave for vacation tomorrow. We’re driving to my parents’ house in Houston. Will she be able to travel?”
“She’s going to have some discomfort no matter what, but it’s a short trip and as long as you’re equipped to care for her there, it should be fine.”
“She can stay with me—”
“That’s ridiculous,” Tara scoffed. “The whole point is for us to spend time together.”
“I thought the whole point was to spend time with Daniel?” I challenged.
Tara glanced away briefly in an attempt to hide her agitation before producing a fake smile for the doctor. “We’ll be fine. Can we see her?”
I was being a dick, but I rather enjoyed it at her expense. Tara had a way of getting under my skin by her presence alone.
The doctor’s eyes bounced between us. “They’re finishing up now, but you can go back.”
The walk down the stark white corridor was hell on earth. I was thankful the injuries weren’t severe and said a little prayer of gratitude. No feeling in the world had ever been worse than that phone call from the paramedics.
Ella perked up when I walked into the room behind her mother. Her eyes wide and lingering on her bright purple cast before she gave me a weak smile. She lifted her hands as I leaned in and kissed her forehead. I beat her to the punch, signing to her.
Had to go and break a leg, brat?
She grinned. You’re such an asshole, Daddy.
Does it hurt much?
Not too bad.
Who was driving?
She lifted her hands reluctantly. Jessica.
It was my worst fear as a parent. Most kids don’t pay much attention in driving school—I know I didn’t—and did the bare minimum just to get their driving freedom. Unfortunately, all you needed as a sixteen-year-old to get a license was decent eyesight and a little confidence to obtain that independence. With her friend Jessica being deaf and a new driver in a car full of deaf friends, she was already at a disadvantage. Sirens from speeding ambulances, warning sounds from car horns, and skidding brakes were forever silenced. Add youth and the fact that the girls relied solely on their hands for communication and it was a recipe for this father’s worst nightmare. There were plenty of deaf and hard of hearing drivers on the road. I knew Ella would be a responsible and defensive driver when she got her license, but it did little to ease my nerves. She was still a year away from driving on her own and I was selfishly thankful for that blessing. My relief was cut short when I found out Ella had plenty of friends already behind the wheel. I had all but begged her mother to keep her away from the shitty clique of impressionable girls who were too old for her to hang out with. Tara hadn’t taken my pleas under consideration. It was another reason for my irritation with her that day. Ignoring the surfacing anger toward her mother, I spoke to my daughter to keep the peace. Still, I couldn’t help my hands.
You’re fourteen. You don’t need to be hanging out with sixteen-year-old girls.
Ella guffawed audibly and rolled her eyes.
I’m not that much younger. I turn fifteen next week. And I don’t need a lecture. It was an accident.
Don’t roll your eyes at me. And you’ll get lectures until I’m dead. What happened?
I could see in Ella’s hesitance to answer that the accident was Jessica’s fault. And though it might not have anything to do with her disadvantage, her slow hands reluctant to respond told me different. Reading my face, Ella stiffened, her anger simmering. She was a lot like me and hated to admit when she was wrong.
I don’t want to talk about it. I’m hurt and sleepy. Go back to work, Daddy.
Okay. I’ll let you get to sleep. FaceTime me every day while you’re in Houston. I’ll miss you. Be good for your mother. With the sign of a P, I rubbed my hand over my chest. Promise?