And I can’t wait to get away from him.

  Chapter 4

  Jason

  She’s leaving.

  I look from the woman back to my son. He’s poised with his arms held high in the air, bent at the elbows, with his fingers curled like talons. His brow is furrowed, so that he looks like a vicious, evil character. As if my angelic son could look like a villain! As he watches the woman move to leave, his arms fall. His face falls too, and his mask of evil morphs into sweet, wide-eyed confusion.

  “You’re going?” he signs.

  To my surprise, she signs back “Yes.”

  It’s rare that Charlie meets people that can sign with him, and when they can, it’s usually just a limited number of words. But this woman is fluent. Her hands flash quickly through the air as she tells Charlie, “Thanks for playing with me.”

  Charlie’s face falls further, sliding from confusion into disappointment.

  “Don’t go,” he says.

  She smiles. “Your dad’s here now, and I should be getting back to my room.”

  Walking a few paces, she stoops to pick up her ski jacket, which is lying on the floor. Then, she gathers up two books in one hand, and her wine glass in the other.

  “What is that?” Charlie signs.

  The woman glances at her drink. Her hands are full. I step forward, answering so that she doesn’t have to.

  “Chocolate milk,” I sign. Charlie’s still wearing one ski boot, and I kneel forward on the ground in front of him, and start undoing the buckles.

  “Can I have some, Dad?” he asks me, plunking down on the floor. He places a hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes while I tug on his boot.

  I think for a moment. My conversation with hotel management got me absolutely nowhere. We’re going to be here for a while. At least for the afternoon. My fingers are crossed that something will get figured out and we’ll be able to take a red-eye home, but I’m well aware that the chances are slim. Red-eye or not, we still have plenty of time for a drink.

  “Sure,” I sign. “I’ll make it for you.”

  Charlie shakes his head, and his messy hair sweeps back and forth across his forehead. The kid really needs a haircut. “No!” he signs. “You always put too much chocolate in.” He looks over at the woman. “I want Harper to make it. Hers is just right.”

  So that’s her name.

  I look at Harper, who is watching us.

  She glances at her glass. “I am an expert,” she says.

  “I can make my son a glass of milk,” I snap. For some reason, I’m offended that Charlie wants her to fix his drink instead of me, his own dad. Or maybe I’m still worked up over the fact that we’re probably going to miss our flight. I might as well throw twenty million dollars out a window right now, and watch it scatter away with the breeze.

  “Okay then,” Harper says carefully, noting my edgy tone. She turns to leave again, and I watch my son’s lips turn downwards into a genuine frown. It breaks my heart.

  “Wait,” I say, softly. “Harper… Wait. Maybe you could…show me?”

  Charlie sees my lips moving, and I’m sure he’s reading enough to pick up on what I’m saying. His face begins to light up, and the trend continues as Harper stops walking. She hesitates for a moment, and then turns fully around.

  “I guess I can be a little bit aggressive with the chocolate,” I find myself admitting. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.

  “Yeah, you’re a little aggressive with a lot of things,” she says.

  “Oh…” I scrunch up my mouth. “You did hear me yelling there on the phone, didn’t you? I’m…” I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s not the management’s fault that we’re stranded here,” Harper says.

  “I beg to differ. It was irresponsible of them to give such short notice about the evacuation. We could have been hurt.”

  “But that’s not what you’re upset about, is it?” Harper asks.

  She must have overheard more than I thought. “Well, no. There’s a meeting back in New York that I need to be at tomorrow morning. My job is very…high stakes.”

  She doesn’t look impressed. Why would she? She probably has no idea what it’s like to have the pressure of a multimillion-dollar deal sitting on her shoulders. She’s a waitress, after all. “You wouldn’t understand,” I say.

  She crosses her arms over her chest, and shoots me a glare. I’ve said something that offends her—again. Good lord, this woman is sensitive.

  Charlie steps forward and takes Harper’s hand. He looks up at her with such an adoring look, it makes my heart swell up. That boy is so full of love. Instantly, I soften my tone again. “I think Charlie would like it if you hung out with us, for a little while.” I say.

  She looks down at my son, and I see her nod.

  She grins at Charlie, but when she looks up at me, her face is stony again. “All right,” she says. “But I’ve about had it with that tone of yours—like you’re better than me. If I’m going to stay, I’d like for you to talk to me like I’m a human.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? I have heard that my tone can be a bit condescending sometimes, but what’s the big deal, really?

  Charlie’s hands start moving. “Can we read the next chapter?” he asks.

  “Sure,” Harper signs back.

  Charlie grins and releases her hand. I see him scamper between two tall shelves in the middle of the room.

  “How is it that you’re fluent in sign language?” I ask. “Do you really use it, waiting tables?”

  “Well…” Harper says slowly, “It so happens that my older brother is deaf. I’ve been using sign since I was born. And…” she looks pointedly at me now, and places a hand on her hip. “It has come in very handy, in my career as a teacher.”

  She emphasizes the last word, which confuses me for a second.

  What does she mean, teacher?

  It takes a beat for my brain to catch up and make the connection. I think over the events of the night before. Come to think of it, she did have a purse over her shoulder, didn’t she? And her white blouse was totally different than the staff uniforms, and she wasn’t even wearing an apron.

  Oh, wow. I’m an idiot.

  “You’re not a waitress, are you?” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I ask.

  “Does ‘I think you’ve made a mistake, I’m not a waitress’ ring any bells?” she asks.

  I snort. “Oh my God, you did say that, didn’t you?” I say, laughing with disbelief. “I’m an idiot!”

  “Yeah,” Harper says seriously, and then to my relief, her lips spread into a smile.

  I’m still laughing at myself, shocked at how oblivious I’ve been. “I thought you were in training or something! I asked to talk to your manager!”

  Harper laughs. “It was the weirdest thing in the world,” she says. “I mean, I looked right at you, and said that you’d made a mistake, and you just kept talking!”

  “I did, didn’t I?!” A tear from my laughter squeezes out of the corner of my eye, and I wipe it away. Harper’s laugh is sweet and melodic.

  As our laughter dies down, I start to apologize. “I am sorry,” I say. “Really, for being such a jerk last night, and…” I pause, recalling the way I treated her earlier in the cafe, “And for anything I said earlier—if I sounded full of myself. I thought you were staff here, not a guest. But that’s not an excuse.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Harper says.

  Charlie emerges from between the shelves, hugging a book to his chest. “Come on!” he says.

  He starts running out of the room. Harper and I have no choice but to follow after him.

  He turns the wrong way, and runs about ten feet away from the cafe. When he turns, I sign “This way, buddy.”

  He runs back toward us, and then straight past us, his little shoeless feet padding and sliding along the floor. Harper and I start walking toward the cafe, with Charlie running ahead of us.

  “Oh… Oops,” Harper says, as Charlie runs past the cafe entrance.

  “He’ll figure it out,” I say, waving my hand. “And at least this will tire him out. He’ll sleep well tonight.”

  Harper laughs. She really does have a nice laugh.

  “I am so sorry,” I say again. “You must think I’m a real asshole.”

  “I did,” Harper says. At least she’s using the past tense of the word. That gives me a little bit of hope.

  Charlie pauses, and looks back to us. I point to the cafe door, and he changes directions yet again, galloping toward us with enthusiasm.

  We laugh again.

  This time, he skids to a halt in front of the open cafe door, and points inside. I nod, and in a flash, he disappears inside. Harper and I are alone in the hallway.

  “No wonder you’re so good with Charlie,” I say. “You must teach elementary school.”

  Something about my question makes her clam up, and she doesn’t answer me immediately. When she does, her voice is hushed, as if she’s sharing a secret. “Second grade,” she whispers.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I say. “Charlie’s technically in first, but he’s taking a lot of second-grade level classes.”

  “He’s a good reader,” Harper says. “And he seems to like it.”

  “He loves to read,” I say. “One of his favorite places is the children’s center at the New York Public Library. You’d think it was an amusement park or something.”

  We reach the cafe, and find that Charlie’s climbed up on one of the round stools by the counter. He’s sitting there like the perfect customer, waiting to be served. Without hesitation, Harper walks behind the bar.

  As she gets the drink ready, I sign questions to her, pretending to be taking lessons. My questions are purely for Charlie’s sake. I think it makes him feel more included when other people sign, but it’s rarely an option. Since Harper knows ASL so well, I take advantage of it. She plays along, signing back her answers: twelve ounces of milk; two tablespoons of syrup; shaken, not stirred.

  I hide my laughter until the end, when Charlie is slurping happily from his glass through a brightly colored straw.

  Once he’s distracted, consuming his treat and flipping through the book that he’s carted here with him, I switch back to speaking.

  “How did your brother do…growing up?” I ask, as I look at my son. He’s six now, and I worry that soon he’s going to start feeling like he’s missing out on normal little-boy things, like tee-ball and classroom cliques. For now, he enjoys homeschooling, but what will he think a few years down the road?

  My question was vague, but Harper seems to pick up my point. “He was a happy kid,” she says. “He’s two years older than me. In our house, we all signed, all the time. I grew up thinking it was something every family did. In fact, when I went out of the house, I was usually shocked at how loud the world was. I had a pair of pink ear muffs, and I wore them all the time. Even in the summer, though summers in Boston can be hot. Well, you would know… You’re from New York?”

  I nod. “I grew up in Ireland, but New York is home base.”

  “So you know how muggy the summers can be,” Harper says. “But it didn’t matter. I wanted to wear those furry ear muffs. It was like I wanted to be deaf, like my brother.” She laughs.

  “That’s sweet,” I say. “Your brother must have been flattered.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Yeah, I think he probably was. He liked showing me the ropes.”

  “I know Charlie would have like to have a little sister or brother…” I say, before I can stop myself. I remember how my wife and I talked about having more children. I swallow. Harper looks over at me, curious.

  “He’s an only child?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. I leave it at that. I catch her looking down at my hand, and I realize she’s checking for a ring, and seeing my bare ring finger. At the same time, I look down at her hand.

  For some reason, I feel a whooshing sensation of relief when I see that her ring finger is bare as well.

  What’s it to me? I wonder.

  She’s gorgeous, that’s what, I think, taking in her profile.

  I stare for a moment, until she glances over and catches me looking. We’ve both been leaning on the bar, and I suddenly notice how close together we’re standing—just six inches separate us. I straighten up, and step away from her. I look toward my son again.

  “Did he go to school with you?” I ask. “I mean, in a higher grade, but the same school?”

  Harper shakes her head. “No,” she says. “He went to a school with other deaf children. My parents thought it was best if he was around kids who he could communicate easily with, so he wouldn’t feel left out.”

  “Right,” I say, suddenly lost in thought again. The past six years have passed so fast. I never thought that it would be up to me—just me—to figure out Charlie’s schooling. If Sarah was here, she’d know what to do.

  “Did he like it?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Harper says. “He loved it. He actually loved it so much that he went to a college with a special campus for the hearing impaired, and now he lives in an apartment building where the majority of people communicate in sign. It’s in Seattle.”

  “Really?” I ask. “I had no idea there were places like that.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I love visiting him. It’s a great place.”

  “Hmm…” I sigh. There’s so much I don’t know. “It’s a hard balance,” I say. “I’m trying to figure it out—how to give him the right resources so that he can thrive, yet…” It’s hard to put my desires into words, but when I look over at Harper, she’s waiting patiently for me to finish my sentence. It’s nice, having this time stretch out before us. For the first time in—well, years, really—I don’t feel rushed.

  “I don’t know… I don’t want him to feel like being deaf is an obstacle. He’s so young still, and he’s led such a sheltered life. He doesn’t know that he’s different. I’m afraid he’s going to be crushed when he finds out.”

  I look at Harper, and see that she’s watching my son.

  She speaks, while her eyes are still on Charlie. “He knows more than you might think,” she says. “Kids are wiser than we give them credit for. And maybe it’s not the disadvantage that you think it is. My brother always says how blessed he is. He loves his community. He says they’re close-knit, and supportive, like a family. He might not have that kind of community if not for being ‘different’, as you put it.”

  I feel myself nodding. She’s making a good point, and I feel soothed by it.

  Talking with Harper makes me realize how much I’ve been holding my fears in. It’s such a little thing—standing here and talking to her—but it’s a luxury I don’t often indulge in. I didn’t even realize that I was so concerned about Charlie’s social life, yet now after speaking openly, I feel almost unburdened, as if a weight on my shoulders has lifted.

  “Thanks,” I say. “For listening. I haven’t really slowed down enough to talk to anyone about this in a while.”

  “Go, go, go,” Harper grins. “That’s the world we live in these days!”

  I smile. “Exactly. I guess it takes an avalanche to pause the rat race. I’m glad you get it. You must work long hours too. I’ve heard teachers have to these days.”

  She frowns for a fraction of a second, but then she smiles brightly. “Sometimes, a curse can turn into a blessing. Let me make you a chocolate milk, and we’ll toast to the avalanche. I bet Charlie would like that.”

  “He’s is pretty proud of his grown-up glass,” I say—Harper had insisted on serving Charlie’s milk up in a wine glass.

  “Of course he is!” Harper smiles. “What kid doesn’t love drinking out of a grown-up glass?”

  She moves to circle the bar, to take her position behind the countertop. I cut her off, protesting. “Hang on,” I say. “How about giving the student a shot? I should practice my new-found skills.”

  “You think you’re up to that?” She arches her brow playfully.

  I slip past her in the narrow entryway to the bar, and as I do, I place my hands on her hips, for just a moment. A feeling of electric attraction courses through me as I feel the heat of her body. It’s overwhelming.

  Wow.

  I haven’t felt that strong of an attraction to a woman in years.

  I can tell Harper felt it too. Our joking banter stops short, as each of us struggles to regain our composure.

  I wait for the feeling to pass, but it doesn’t. Instead, as the afternoon stretches on, I find myself experiencing more and more moments exactly like the first one. We toast to the avalanche, and when our eyes meet, I have the distinct feeling that we’re both wondering what our time in the empty hotel room might hold in store for us. Flashes of what I’d like to do to this gorgeous woman fly through my mind, leaving me dizzy with desire that I try to force down.

  We find a game of Monopoly on one of the cafe shelves, and spend the next few hours playing. Every time Harper leans across the board, or our hands touch while passing fake money or little green houses, we each freeze, for just a moment. That electric feeling fills me up.

  At six o’clock, Harper announces that she’s going to raid the cafe’s wine cabinet.

  A glass of wine sounds delightful to me, and I announce that Charlie and I will scrounge up some food from the kitchens. We agree to meet in the lobby area, and soon, we’re all sprawled out on one of the white couches, around a fire that I manage to start up in the fire pit in the middle of the table.

  Between bites of sandwich and sips of wine, we play “I spy”, each taking turns finding some random object in the lobby and letting the others guess what it is.

  It’s my turn, and I’m looking at a blue vase near the hotel’s doors.

  “Is it…the sky in that picture?” Harper signs, before pointing at the sky in a large oil landscape.