charlie woke twice that night: once on the gurney on the way to the OR, snapping her eyes shut when the ceiling lights drilled right through her, then again in a calmer room, dim, her father asleep in a chair beside her, bent forward with his head on her leg. Was her mother here? She wanted to ask, or at least tell her father that she was awake, but nothing would move, not her tongue, not her fingers. Two languages, both useless, she thought before she sank back into the dark.
She came round again in the morning. By then her father, mother, and grandmother had all set up camp around her bed. Her mother noticed first, sprang from her chair and said a run of things Charlie couldn’t follow, kissed her forehead. Her father was next, tried using some signs with whatever he was saying, though Charlie was so overwhelmed it didn’t help. Her grandmother settled for a pat on the hand and said nothing at all.
Her mother raised the bed and adjusted Charlie’s pillows, held a Styrofoam cup before her so she could sip through a bendy straw. The water razed her throat and stung her empty stomach.
The three of them were staring at Charlie with such anticipation, she found herself thinking—what, do you want me to do a trick? But she could not wrangle her snark with the speed she was used to, and after some frustration, settled instead for, What happened?
Well, said her mother.
But Charlie’s eyes felt jumpy, and she couldn’t convert her mother’s lips into meaning. Perhaps the implant had helped more than she’d given it credit for. She looked to her father, hoping he might be able to sign, but he was out of his depth with anything medical. So she gestured at a pen; her mother took a stack of napkins from her purse and began to write.
I’ll go look for the interpreter, said her father.
Charlie watched him out the door. She wished he wouldn’t go. Her mother handed her the napkin.
Remember the implant moisture problem?
Charlie nodded. Next napkin:
There was a bit of a short circuit.
I got electrocuted?
Her mother’s eyes widened.
My implant electrocuted me. In the head.
Her mother was still frozen. Charlie looked to her grandmother.
In so many words, said her grandmother.
But they took it out? Am I gonna be okay?
Another napkin: Yes, wrote her mother. It’s out.
Her father returned, but much to Charlie’s horror, instead of an interpreter it was Austin behind him. She reached up to smooth her hair, but her hand met a clot of packed gauze and she yelped. Her mother, grandmother, and father all jumped, and Austin sucked in his cheek when he saw the wound, but she forced a smile and he returned it.
I was really worried about you, he said.
What are you doing here?
I was really worried about you.
Have you been here this whole time?
A nurse in lavender scrubs appeared, leaning in too close and speaking with exaggerated lip movements at Charlie; she and Austin both cringed.
WELL LOOK WHO’S AWAKE, she said.
Not long today. I came by yesterday.
Yesterday?
The nurse slid her stethoscope beneath Charlie’s shirt and the chill of the metal on her chest made her gasp. She closed her eyes—she couldn’t look at Austin with this woman’s hands up her shirt. Then the nurse stood and gave Charlie a thumbs-up, and began to futz with the bag of fluids on the pole above her, making notations on a whiteboard.
You’ve been out for two days.
Well shit.
HUNGRY? the nurse said, miming a spoon dramatically.
A little, she said, trying not to laugh at the woman’s clownish expression.
How do you feel?
O-k now. I think there’s some drugs in here.
She tapped the IV tether running down into her hand.
Fun.
I’LL BRING A MENU, said the nurse.
Does everyone at school hate me?
Hate you? No! Why?
I ruined the play.
That was the most interesting ending to Peter Pan ever.
Charlie smiled.
Was Gabriella mad?
Oh, she was furious. That was a bonus.
Austin tapped out a quick message on his phone, shoved it back in his pocket. Charlie laughed, then winced. Austin’s phone flashed and he looked at it with disappointment.
My mom’s out front. I gotta go.
Go, she said, shooing him toward the door.
Text me when you charge your phone?
She looked around, wondering where all her stuff was, and spotted a plastic bag with the hospital’s logo hanging on the far wall, one leg of her black jeans protruding out the top.
I will.
Then Austin leaned down and kissed her on the lips, right there in front of everyone, waved to her family, and left. Her mother began to tidy the room in an aggressive manner designed to attract attention. Finally, Charlie returned her gaze.
What was that? her mother said.
What?
Her mother tilted her head toward the door.
Mom, you’ve met him.
Yes, but—
But what? Me dating a Deaf guy makes it harder for you to live in your fantasy world?
Her mother reddened, and Charlie held up a hand to halt any response she was preparing.
No. No more of this until I get to talk to the doctor about exactly how fried my brain is.
Did we find an interpreter? she asked her father, who had reentered the room.
Her mother dropped back into her chair as if she’d been shoved.
I think your brain’s fine, said her father.
No thanks to you, Charlie thought, though she realized he was probably right: things were clearer to her now than they ever had been. The old battles were still raging and her father couldn’t protect her. No one could.
february was in the shower when her cover was blown. She’d been standing under the pulsing water tweaking the speech she would give at the summit when Mel stuck her head into the steaming bathroom, delivering the news almost sweetly: A Realtor is here to take photos to list our house. He says the school district sent him. Care to comment?
February wrenched the water off and stepped out of the shower, wide-eyed. Unsurprisingly, Mel’s saccharine tone was not mirrored in her facial expression.
I—
February strained to reach her towel from its hook on the back of the door. She still had soap on her arm and swiped it away.
What the fuck is going on?
February hung her head.
Mel, I’m so sorry.
Fuck sorry. What is happening?
River Valley’s closing. I didn’t know how to tell you.
You didn’t know how?
I tried! I just couldn’t deal.
How you “deal” is by talking to your wife about a life-altering event.
I know, you’re right.
Or at least have the common courtesy to let me know I’m being evicted from my own damn house!
You’re right.
How long have you known? Mel said.
February shuddered.
Since the district meeting, she said, though it had been even longer.
Jesus Christ. December?
I’m so sorry, babe. Really.
Who else knows?
No one. Phil. And Henry. He was the terp at the meeting.
Your teachers?
February shook her head.
Swall and I have to tell them at the faculty meeting tomorrow.
Wanda?
Though she was looking down at her feet, she could feel the weight of Mel’s eyes.
I—
Oh for fuck’s sake, said Mel.
She slammed the bathroom door on her way out. February hurried to pull on her robe and go after her, but when she got down the stairs, there was only a bewildered-looking man in a sport coat, holding a tape measure and a digital camera.
Ma’am? If this is a bad time I can come back later.
No, please, said February with ire in her voice and a sweeping grand gesture toward the living room. Now’s just perfect.
After the Realtor left, February wrote a long, convoluted text to Mel, saying she was sorry, and that she was going to stay in Old Quarters so they had space until Mel was ready to talk, and sorry one more time. It was hard to say whether Mel would see this as a courtesy or just another selfish move on February’s part, but she didn’t know what else to do. She had to deal with her teachers on Monday, and couldn’t be fighting this war on two fronts. She packed a suitcase and wheeled it down the street toward campus.
deaf president now