A Perfect Mistake, page 13
If my parents didn’t fly back to Florida in the morning I was going to pretend a restraining order had been issued.
Dad: That doesn’t change the inappropriate nature of the request.
Cam: Is it inappropriate because we’re dating, or because of her job?
I stopped in front of the large window of the coffee shop and squinted through the metal blinds, where Nica and Lexie laughed. I wanted to be laughing with them rather than having this ridiculous conversation.
Dad: Cameron.
Cam: Look, it doesn’t matter. If someone else wants it it’s theirs. Nica wouldn’t dream of accepting something from her clients, not like this. So continue picking through a dead woman’s belongings like it’s a grand old flea market and leave me out of it.
Dad: Cameron!
The downside to text messaging, my parents now had a way to effectively yell at me. Messages filled with capital letters would be coming next. I didn’t expect any reaction beyond yelling; Dad always played Mom’s games. It was one thing to turn his back on his parents, but Mom had him so controlled he never even bothered getting to know me.
Cam: What?
No one had acknowledged this was a life they were arguing over. A life now gone, with only a few belongings, a few memories, and a few ungrateful family members left behind.
Dad: I’m sorry Grandma’s gone.
The first ounce of sympathy the man had shown in years. A rare glimpse at the man inside and not the puppet.
Cam: She was your mother.
Dad: Life’s convoluted, son.
Like having a Deaf son. I was really tempted to type my thoughts. What would Dad say to that?
Cam: After arguing with me over my complicated relationship with Nica, you come out with that line?
Dad: We’ve all gotten off on the wrong foot. Why don’t the four of us get dinner before Mom and I fly back home?
I peered through the window again at Nica. Her eyes caught mine, and she gave me an encouraging smile.
Cam: Only if you promise Mom will behave.
Chapter 14
Nica
I shuffled through the hangers in my closet for the tenth time. Maybe if my hands stopped shaking I could concentrate on finding an appropriate outfit. One that said, “Please don’t hate me for being Cassie’s case manager and sleeping with your son.” No, don’t go there. Pick a damn top.
I grabbed one and turned around to face Cam. “What do you think?”
“It’s fine, they’re all fine.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. Your mother already hates me. I need to be on my best behavior.”
He tugged me close, my shirt squashing between us. “Just be yourself.”
I sighed and yanked the shirt free. It was a long-sleeve blue top in a silky material. “This one isn’t right,” I said before making my way back into my closet. I grabbed a long-sleeve black top, with lace trim and a tie at the waist. Black wasn’t my first choice after a funeral, but it looked good and sent off a professional yet casual vibe.
Finally dressed I stepped out of the closet and faced Cam with my hands held out.
“Beautiful, now come here.” He collected me in his arms, melting me with a devastatingly sweet kiss, like always. Only now I realized how dangerous he was, how dangerous we were.
I shifted back. “I’ve never been so nervous about being judged before. Normally when I meet someone’s parents it’s amusing to see how they react to my job.”
“Why?”
“Either they think it’s wonderful, they think it’s going to be too stressful, or they are convinced I do charity work.” I thought for a moment. “They might be right about the last one.”
“You help people.”
“By working for pennies. What language do I use with your parents?”
“What do you mean?”
“You only speak with them, no sign, your brothers sign with you but not when your parents are involved in the conversation. I refuse to make communication difficult for you, but I don’t want to cause any problems.”
He smiled. “You answered your own question. Sign and speak. They’ll have to deal.”
“But why don’t your brothers sign and speak at the same time?”
Cam’s smile faded. “ASL was banned. Mom didn’t want me using it as a crutch. They know Dan and Ben sign now, but it’s habit to put the hands away at the dinner table.”
The temperature of my boiling blood rose higher with each of Cam’s signs. “That’s horrible. Absolutely horrible.” I paced in a circle, trying to calm my trembling hands. “I’m really sorry I didn’t commiserate with your grandmother more.”
“It’s normal. Sad but true. I had my grandparents. I had my brothers. I had it better than most.”
“I don’t care. They should have known better. They should have—”
He stopped me with his lips, a hand pressed into the small of my back, soothing the raging fire inside me. “Let it go or you’ll never get through dinner. Remember they go back to Florida in the morning.”
I sucked in some air and nodded. Was it too early for a drink?
*****
Cam
I had to admit, dinner started off better than expected. Even Nica relaxed as the conversation stayed determinedly on current events, and my parents didn’t flinch at her signing. Mom kept conversation light, smiling at appropriate intervals, even allowing her face to crease at one point. I couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this nice to any of my dates. The sudden change of heart worried me.
Empty dishes were waiting to be cleared when, without warning, the conversation shifted. “Do you have… clients, Nica?” My mother’s face was cool and calm. It wasn’t a good sign.
Nica’s cheeks turned pink. But she held herself confidently. “I have almost a hundred clients.” Whether my parents realized it or not, Nica did her best to find some way to work the question into her answer, no doubt to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.
Dad’s mouth movements were gibberish, but his face telegraphed bafflement.
Nica relaxed a bit. “I do what I can to manage them all. It’s not easy. The caseloads have been getting larger and larger in the past few years. The clients are also getting frailer. It’s a juggling game. I only see my clients once or twice a year. At any given time I have quite a few who are quiet, giving me time to devote to the rest.”
“You help them…?”
I understood the sentence to be a question, based on years of studying Mom’s face. Pain radiated from the back of my eye sockets as I tried to piece together the rest of her words. I hadn’t recovered from the past few days. How had I ever survived the constant lip-reading of my childhood?
I rubbed my temples, grateful Nica insisted on signing as she spoke. “Not quite. All my clients are receiving services in their homes. These services range from cleaning, to shopping, to personal care, and beyond. The goal is to take an elder that would otherwise be at risk for nursing-home placement, or struggling to meet their daily needs, and keep them safe at home.”
She turned to Dad. “Your mother started off having trouble with cleaning, her body unable to perform the tasks. She never had an issue with food shopping, thanks to Cam. Closer to the end she no longer could bathe herself, and we started with a personal care worker. At that point I shared the case with a nurse, who wrote the care plan to make sure Cassie would be safe in the shower. Then we stepped back once Hospice started.”
My parents stared at me. Dad’s eyes bulged while Mom scowled, both perplexed by what had gone on. I held up my hands. “Don’t look at me. I was there for the whole thing.”
“It was Cam who noticed showering was becoming an issue. He e-mailed me and I was able to step in. Then we both had to talk Cassie into accepting it.”
I remembered Grandma’s dramatic plea to die “smelling like a cheap whore.” “She was stubborn. Nica worked hard to get a worker Grandma would like.”
Nica nodded. “Yes. I knew I had one chance. I called my favorite vendor and made a very specific request. It worked.”
I glanced across the table and found my parents dumbfounded. Well, they were out of the loop by choice. I tried talking to them about all of this; they told me to deal with it, part of the lifelong insistence of lumping the Deaf family members together. This lumping had worked for me and my grandparents until now.
“You two… a lot of communication…” Mom said as she eyed us both. I held in the urge to roll my eyes. Here we go again.
“Yes, we did have a lot of communication over the years, he was very involved,” Nica said, her spine stiffening.
“…” Dad gestured between us. “Is new?”
This time I did roll my eyes. I let a grumble escape before catching myself. “Yes. We emailed maybe a few times a year. We never met or used our nicknames. It was business only.”
Nica placed her napkin on the table. “Excuse me.” She left for the bathroom, and I wondered how she knew I needed a moment to smack my parents.
Once she was no longer visible I spoke. “I thought you were giving her a chance?”
“We are… If… handle the complications…” Mom’s perfectly manicured eyebrows rose.
The throbbing increased. “Then stop interrogating us, especially Nica.” They could chastise me all they wanted, as long as they left Nica alone.
“It’s interesting… how much you knew… over the years.”
I held in a groan. “Professionally. She helped me out when no one else was there. I couldn’t turn to any of Grandma’s children for support. The rest of the grandchildren were busy with their own families. It was just me. Nica was the only person I could contact and get help from. Even now.” I was two steps away from up and leaving.
“It… too perfect,” Mom said with all the cultured air she could muster in the tilt of her chin.
“Perfect? As in Nica doing her job when the rest of you forced me to handle Grandma on my own?”
Mom bared her teeth. “… impossible for you two to know each other… stemming back… years… worked with Grandma.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I clenched one hand under the table.
“… don’t… Nica until… Sarah.”
I rubbed one temple. “Not this again.”
“Yes… Sarah… better match. None… social worker crap. She’d… need… look normal.”
I blinked but I knew deep down I saw that right. “You mean not Deaf?” I purposely moved my hands with my voice, tempted to not speak at all, give them a taste of their own ineffective medicine.
Mom picked at something invisible on her sleeve. Dad refused to make eye contact. I yanked out my wallet, threw some money on the table, and stood.
I grabbed Nica’s belongings. “Have a safe flight back to Florida.” It was better than telling them to have a nice life. But I meant those sentiments with every fiber of my being. I had no parents. The two slack-mouthed humans sitting at the table were not my family. My family was dead.
I pressed my free hand to the ache in my chest. In a family filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, I was alone. I never truly realized it until this moment. I used to think I was special to be like my grandparents, to be the only other one like the matriarch and patriarch of the family. Now I knew better. Special wasn’t the label, freak was. Disabled. Less than. For thirty years my parents had looked down on me. No more. If Dan and Ben wanted to stay in touch, so be it. But not the baby of the family. Not the unwanted third son.
Family. What I wouldn’t give for a family of my own. Where I wasn’t an outsider, regardless of the hearing status of the other members. I needed a place to belong almost as much as I needed my next breath.
In the narrow hallway that housed the bathrooms I leaned back against one wall, knee bent, eyes trained on the stick figure with a skirt on one door. Family. The woman behind that door was mine.
*****
Nica
I splashed cold water on my cheeks in the ladies room, trying to tone down the pink coloring and burning sensation. I stared at my face and attempted to soothe my racing pulse. My stomach clenched and tumbled. The face stared back at me, offering no words of comfort or support.
I’d known it wouldn’t be easy interacting with his parents; I didn’t expect to be put under the spotlight. I certainly didn’t expect for them to focus on the reason I held back for so long: the ethics of my job. It connected with my own internal struggles. I had to either let Cam go for good or accept that I couldn’t walk away from him, regardless of the complications.
My reflection stared back at me, knowing one option to be cowardice and the other to be true. My stomach clenched tighter. Leaving wasn’t an option.
I couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. I filled my lungs, gathering air up from my toes. The image in the mirror straightened and appeared confident. One more deep breath and I grasped the cool iron handle and stepped into the hall.
The door hit my back when I found Cam waiting for me.
“What happened?” I asked as I collected my purse and coat draped over his arm.
He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. Steam practically puffed out at each breath, even though he did his best to hold it in. “They wouldn’t let it go, so I told them to have a safe flight.”
A piece of my heart tore for him. “I don’t want to come between you and your parents.”
His expression softened but his body remained stiff. “You didn’t. We’ve been strained since birth. This is the perfect ending to that text I received seven years ago: Grandma isn’t doing well, go check on her. And that was the last time they or anyone else were involved. They don’t get to be surprised by a situation they know nothing about.”
“I’m sorry.” I gathered him into a hug. The stress had his body fused straight.
“Let’s go.”
I followed him to his car and slid in. We drove in silence for a while, me trying to find the right thing to say. When in doubt, ask.
I pressed the button for the interior light of the car and waited for Cam to glance at me. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A slow smile formed over his face, and his shoulders loosened. Fluid movement returned to his body. “Being with you makes it better.”
I melted, my earlier decision reinforced. “Would dessert help?”
His deep voice laughed, filling the car. “Always with the dessert.”
“I suspect there would be fewer problems if other people would follow suit.” I smiled.
“Right now I want a punching bag.”
“We could punch some dough? No, that won’t work. Dessert and an old movie?”
A slow smile formed over his lips. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”
Chapter 15
Cam
Monday morning I fought against the emptiness swelling inside my chest. Grief wrapped its prickly fingers around my throat. I focused on the tiny bumps on the ceiling, barely visible in the dim light struggling to infiltrate the room. Every fiber in my being wanted to collapse, wanted to stay right here in bed. Fuck the world. The emptiness spread, threatening to envelop me in a deep black hole.
I rolled to my feet and gripped the edge of my bed. I needed to get back into work. My bereavement leave had ended. I was expected. As co-director I needed to not play any stupid games. With strength I didn’t know I had, I ripped those prickly fingers aside and forced myself up.
It didn’t occur to me I hadn’t even waited for my alarm clock to go off; not until I stood outside Grant’s gym and the locked doors. Lights were on inside. Grant’s Jeep was parked in the lot. Only a little lock stood between me and what I needed.
Cam: Let me in, I want to use your weight room.
Grant: Why aren’t you lifting yourself off of a sexy blonde?
My friend watched me through the closed glass doors.
“Funny,” I signed. The doors remained closed, posing no barrier to a visual language, only a barrier to me and a punching bag.
Grant didn’t move but his face held none of the teasing his text message had. “You OK?”
I held out my hands. “I’m here, right?”
“Not an answer.”
I was so far from okay I didn’t have a word in either language. “I need to punch something. Either it’s a punching bag or your window. You choose.”
Grant shook his head but opened the door and let me do my thing. He didn’t follow, sensing the serious “back off” vibe rolling off me in waves. In the small room I didn’t even flip on the lights. I let the morning sun cast a yellow glow over the equipment and walked over to the punching bag. It hung motionless in the dim light, dead weight hanging from the ceiling like a useless lump.
I ran a hand down the smooth material, transferring the black hole in my chest to the black bag. Then I clenched one fist, sending the lifeless bag jerking on the chain in an attempt to get away. That one motion soothed and calmed and spurred me on to attack the bag again, and again. And again. The brutality of the action was in stark contrast to the sense of peace I found in beating the hell out of the thing. It became my parents, my pain, and my loss. When my arms ached and I could barely catch a breath I collapsed to the floor. Try as I did, not one of the punches eased the ache the way I needed. The hole remained.
The floor vibrated, and I glanced over at Grant by the door. “The answer is time. In the interim it sucks balls.”
I let my mouth turn upwards before pushing to my feet. Brutal exercise didn’t help. But going back to work might. It was still early, so I went back home, showered and changed, before walking into 409 Marketing. I was still the first one there.
I booted up my computer and started on my work. My e-mail inbox was near exploding, even with all the work I’d snuck in, and I relished the big to-do list. There were no phone messages to attend to, as Matt handled any voice calls. My inbox was down to fifteen when a hand on my shoulder forced me to stop hunching.
