Signs (20 page)

Luc smiled wanly. “I guess.” He opened his mouth to ask something, then shut it again. Carrie-Anne caught the action.

“What is it?”

“Would you please tell me,” Luc asked, aware of the desperation in his own voice, “about why he doesn’t talk anymore?”

Caleb’s mom looked to his dad and back again, her face worried.

“He won’t mind,” Luc said.

“What do you know already?” she asked.

“That he doesn’t vocalize, although he can’t tell me why,” Luc said. “He said that you could tell me more.”

Mark nodded. “Caleb had lost most of his hearing by the time he turned nine years old and stopped vocalizing when he was ten or eleven.”

“You don’t know when?”

“It didn’t happen overnight,” Mark said gently. “We noticed over a period of months. By the time he’d stopped completely he was nearly twelve. He went to therapy for a long time after that, but he was never able to say exactly what triggered his reluctance to speak. Or attempt to speak.”

“We think he might have been bullied,” Carrie-Anne said. “There’s no proof of that, but it was around the time that most children start going through puberty, and we think Caleb was under a lot more pressure than other children his age to try and fit in. He was self-conscious about his voice before. I think that was exacerbated by whatever else was happening with his school at the same time.”

“It was noticed too late,” Mark added. “And believe me, I have a lot of regrets about that. We should have got him help sooner. There’s no going back, though. We can only keep going forward. You should know how unusual it is for Caleb to make friends with someone new. Someone who doesn’t know his home sign.”

Luc nodded. “The fact that we have video chats helps, I think. He can type pretty quickly. It’s the same sort of speed as a regular conversation, and he doesn’t have to worry about his voice, or signing, or me not understanding.”

“That makes sense.”

“Caleb’s communication problems don’t start and end with his deafness,” Carrie-Anne said with a wry smile. “He doesn’t use facial expressions in the same way a lot of his deaf peers do, he doesn’t attempt to vocalize, and he loathes having to write things down to make himself understood.”

“But he does that with me,” Luc said.

“Yes,” she said. “He does. And again… that’s very unusual.”

“I don’t know why,” Luc said lamely. “We just sort of… clicked.”

“We’ve been waiting for something—
anything
—to click for Caleb for years,” Mark said. “If that’s you, then as far as I’m concerned, that’s fantastic.”

“Thanks.”

Feeling awkward, Luc was ready to go and find Caleb. He had the answers he’d been looking for, or some of them, anyway.

“Go on and see him,” Mark said, clapping his hand on Luc’s shoulder. “Hopefully he’ll talk to you.”

Luc nodded. “That’s all I want,” he mumbled under his breath.

T
HE
DOOR
to Caleb’s bedroom was closed, and Luc hesitated before letting himself in. He hated when people barged into his own room unannounced, but it wasn’t like he could knock, and there was no response to his pressing the small doorbell he knew connected to the flashing light.

Inside Caleb’s room the curtains were drawn, and Luc could just about make out a lump under the covers that he guessed was his boyfriend. Not knowing what else to do, he shut the door behind himself and kicked off his shoes, then crawled into the bed and curved himself around Caleb’s body. This at least was familiar.

For a moment Caleb didn’t move. Then he rolled over and rearranged their bodies so his head was tucked under Luc’s chin and his arm anchored them together. He didn’t seem surprised, or shocked, or much of anything at all. Luc pressed his lips to Caleb’s hair and held on to him as tight as he dared.

Luc made the sign for “sorry” over Caleb’s chest, then did it again and again until he was sure Caleb had seen it. Caleb caught hold of his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his lips lingering there.

They lay like that for a while longer, carefully holding on to each other, fingers and lips quietly exploring. Luc was hyperaware of the fact that he was wearing the same clothes he’d worn to school that day—black jeans and a T-shirt—and Caleb was wearing a baggy T-shirt and boxers and nothing else.

From what he could tell, Caleb seemed calm, maybe a little sad, introspective. That was Caleb most of the time, though.

When Caleb caught hold of his wrist, Luc forced himself to pay attention. Still, it took him a moment to understand what Caleb was doing—finger signing a series of letters against his palm.

He’d read about this technique, most often used for people who were hard of sight as well as hard of hearing. Each letter of the ASL alphabet was formed against the recipient’s open palm—a more long-winded way of having a conversation but one where Caleb wasn’t forced to move from his spot on Luc’s chest to communicate.

Caleb paused between each letter, but Luc wasn’t used to feeling them. He had trouble remembering what they looked like most of the time. Still, he caught:

A-N-K-S…
a space
… 4… C-M-I-N-G.

Not sure how to respond, Luc took hold of Caleb’s palm and traced a heart on the surface. Then he pulled Caleb back into his arms.

F
OR
A
couple of hours they snoozed, not really sleeping but definitely not awake either. Luc often felt like this at the end of a long drive. It took time for his brain to unwind.

He was woken by a soft knock at the door and a light that flashed above Caleb’s desk. He didn’t bother to call out. The door was already being opened, and Carrie-Anne stuck her head around.

“
Dinner
?” she signed.

“
Yes, please
.” Luc realized he was hungry and that Caleb’s mom looked like she’d been crying.

She pointed to Caleb, who was still sprawled over Luc’s chest, sleeping fitfully. Whether he wanted dinner or not, Luc was going to make him eat some, so he nodded again. Carrie-Anne nodded and made to leave. Luc shot his hand out to signal for her to stop, then felt awkward about how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“I don’t eat meat,” he said quietly, embarrassed.

She just smiled and nodded. “I know.”

Luc bit his lip and signed, “
Thank you
.”

She nodded and carefully closed the door behind her.

Awake now, Luc started to gently smooth Caleb’s hair, hoping to nudge him into wakefulness too. Plus his boyfriend had terrible bedhead, and he felt it was his responsibility to fix it for him.

When Caleb blinked awake, Luc smiled, pleased to see a little of the sadness from before had slipped away.

“
Hi
,” he signed.

Caleb looked at him for a few moments, then wriggled up the bed and pressed their lips together in a hard kiss.

“
We should go eat dinner
,” Luc signed, feeling confident enough that his ASL, although stilted, was getting better.

Caleb nodded but didn’t sign anything in response and pulled on sweatpants before lacing his fingers with Luc’s and heading down the stairs.

Dinner was awkward. There was no conversation, just four people around a table pointedly
not
talking to each other. About halfway through the meal, Luc felt something tapping at his ankle. He glanced up, but Caleb wasn’t looking at him. Luc had to fight his grin.

He hooked his foot around Caleb’s ankle and finished his risotto with a new sense of peace.

A
FTER
DINNER
Luc called Ilse and explained to her what had happened. He begged her to call the school and say he was sick so he could stay with the Stones all weekend. She was pissed that he’d taken the car without asking and only relented when he explained about the CI trial.

“Tell Caleb it’ll work itself out,” Ilse said.

“Thanks, Illy.”

Caleb was back on his bed, but on top of the covers this time instead of huddled beneath them. Since Luc had only thrown a few things into his backpack before leaving the city he borrowed a pair of Caleb’s boxers and a T-shirt to sleep in. Even though it was still early, he changed for bed anyway.

“Did you ever have speech therapy?” Luc asked when he settled on the bed in front of Caleb, feeling like he was drowning in the oversize T-shirt.

Caleb winced. “
Yes. It was awful
.”

“Really?”

“
Yes. They would always say ‘great!’
”—he signed the word with an overexaggerated expression of encouragement—“
or ‘awesome!’ I’m not stupid. I know when things are wrong
.”

“So they would tell you you were doing things right when you weren’t?”

“
Yes
.”

“That sucks.”

Caleb laughed. “
I don’t go to that therapist anymore
.”

“I don’t blame you. Caleb…. Can I try something?” Luc said carefully.

Caleb nodded—reluctantly.

Luc shuffled forward on the bed and crossed his legs. Then he gestured for Caleb to move closer and closer, then grabbed hold of his ankles and pulled him forward until Caleb’s thighs were resting on top of Luc’s. It was a little awkward but not uncomfortable.

Their noses were only inches apart. Caleb thought this might be the point.

“Hello,” Luc said.

“
Hello
,” Caleb signed back with a smile.

Luc laughed and shook his head. “
You say it. I know you can
.”

Wincing, Caleb turned away and shook his head. Luc caught Caleb’s chin in his fingers and gently turned his head back. Then he placed a soft kiss on Caleb’s lips.

“No bullshit,” he said, leaning back so Caleb could read his lips. “I won’t give up. I won’t do the fake, sappy encouragement that doesn’t work. We’re going to get this right if it fucking kills us. Now, say hello to me.”

Caleb sighed. “Hello.” He knew it sounded terrible. He knew his vowels were all wrong and the consonants weren’t sharp enough. But Luc smiled anyway.

“Hello,” he repeated.

“Hello,” Caleb said.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, that one was better! Hello.”

They repeated the same word back to each other over and over, while Caleb’s vocal cords got their first proper workout in over a decade.

It didn’t take long for him to develop a headache, the result of straining to hear as much as he could to pick up the sounds. Luc seemed to understand and cut off the impromptu speech therapy session fairly early, lying back on the bed and dragging Caleb with him so they ended up splayed around and on top of each other.

While Caleb took deep, calming breaths, Luc ran his fingers gently through Caleb’s hair, soothing and reassuring. It felt good, Caleb realized, to be able to let go with someone like this. Luc had pushed him, but not too far.

They had three more sessions of Luc Le Bautillier branded speech therapy over the weekend. In the second session Caleb had pulled out the dreaded hearing aids and was forced to reluctantly admit that they helped. He made a list too of the most important words for him to be able to use. “Please.” “Help.” “Caleb.” “Deaf.”

After each time Caleb said something that Luc considered good or really good, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Caleb’s lips. This was what had been missing from his previous speech therapy lessons—motivation in the form of kisses from Luc. He wasn’t sure what he desired more, to get the word right or to get a kiss. Probably the kiss.

16. $

W
HEN
L
UC
arrived home in New York late on Sunday afternoon, he was tired and heartsore. Playing speech therapist with Caleb was exhausting, testing both his patience and his total adoration of his boyfriend. This was something that clearly tested Caleb too. He was quick to snap and grew easily frustrated. By the time Luc needed to leave on Sunday, kisses were no longer enough to keep Caleb motivated.

He parked the car in Ilse’s space and walked up the block to the house, wanting nothing more than a shower and his bed.

But his mother was home. She smelled faintly of vodka, something Luc had stopped noticing, and he thought it was maybe only because he’d been hugged by Caleb’s mom that he recognized the smell this time.

“You were with your boyfriend this weekend,” Frances said, leaning back in one of Ilse’s leather wing chairs. Her feet were bare, and there was a hole in the toe of her nylons.

“Yeah,” Luc said. For a moment, the smallest moment, he considered lying to her, claiming that Caleb was just a friend, nothing more. He had no issue with lying to his mother. He did, however, have a problem with reducing Caleb to anything less than what he was. Luc hesitated by the door of the living room, hoping desperately not to be sucked in. “He needed me.”

“Oh?”

“He wants a cochlear implant to help him hear again. But he got rejected for the trial, and it hit him pretty bad.”

“That’s really too bad.”

Luc watched as his mother toyed with the edge of her coffee cup. The contents were likely Irish as well as Columbian.

“I want to help him,” Luc said.

His mother shook her head, sighing heavily. “You cannot save the whole world, Lucien. It is a young fool’s dream….”

“I don’t want to save the world. I want to save Caleb,” he said angrily.

“How?”

“I don’t know… you could help. Get in contact with the people in your family, the ones with all the money. He’s ready for this treatment. They just can’t afford it. The trial was his last hope, and he won’t ask his parents to do it for him. He won’t bankrupt them even though it’s what he wants more than anything—”

“Luc,” Frances said sharply, interrupting her son. “I cannot go to them for money. I cannot. We have spent this long without asking them. It is not the time now to start.”

“So it’s not that you can’t help him, it’s that you won’t,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment, then sighed again. “No,” she said, agreeing. “I won’t.”