Eric. We’re both educated enough to know what that means.” I turn back to the doctor. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
Dr. Moore lets out a slight sigh. “Yes.”
Change never comes slowly, brewing on the horizon. It’s always in a second. Balanced on the tip of a razor blade, in empty pill bottles, behind two pink lines, or learning that one of your children is slowly slipping into a world of silence. And you can’t leave your husband. Not now.
Chapter 19
“Thank God the Clarke School is in Northampton, and they have a kindergarten program,” I say to Eric as I pour a glass of wine after the boys have gone to bed. The Clarke School for Hearing and Speech is a fabulous school, with campuses across the state. And, thankfully, one right down the road. “I’ll call them in the morning.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty? Shouldn’t we see where this goes?” Eric sits at the kitchen table, elbows rooted in the light wood.
“What? Were you not in the same office I was?” My voice cracks for a second, “Ollie’s going deaf, Eric, and we need to get all the support in place before his hearing is totally gone.” I sit and gulp my wine.
“So, what, we’re all going to have to learn sign language now?” His petulant tone rises like bile through my stomach.
“Oh, I’m sorry, does that not fit into your pretty little schedule? Yes, we’re going to have to learn sign language. Again, you heard her, Dr. Moore said it’s clear that Ollie’s starting to teach himself how to read lips. Don’t you notice how he always stares really hard at our faces when we talk?”
“So then why do we need to learn sign language?”
“To give him the most options for communication—what’s your fucking issue? Given the nature of his condition, hearing aids and cochlear implants aren’t a great option; we’ve got to encourage him to read lips and use sign language to make his transition as smooth as possible.”
Eric slams his fist on the table but says nothing. I stare, waiting.
“Well,” I continue after a minute of silence, “if that’s all, I’m going to call my parents and fill them in. I’ll tell them about what we discussed with the doctor for their trip next wee—”
“You’re still sending them to your parents’?” Eric doesn’t look away from the table.
“Yes. I’m not going to start treating Oliver like he’s a glass figurine, Eric. That will only make things worse. Dr. Moore said we need to keep things as normal—”
“Screw what the doctor says, Natalie! We just found out our son is going deaf and you still can’t wait to ship them off to your mom and dad’s for a week.” His chair tumbles to the ground as he pushes himself away from the table.
I swear, if he cuts me off again, I’ll punch him. “What the hell are you talking about? They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, and you know what?” Tears spill out just when I thought I didn’t have any left. “If Oliver ends up totally losing his hearing before the summer is over, I’d like him to be able to have a chance at remembering what his grandparents’ voices sounded like!”
Eric’s dark eyes take on a vacancy I’ve never seen from him. “Do what you want. You always do. I’m going out.”
Meeting him at the door, I grab his wrist. “You’re not walking away from this.”
Eric shrugs and stares through my eyes. “Why not? You get to walk away from everything else.” He tugs his hand free.
“You’re such a bastard,” I sneer, four inches from his face. “If I got to walk away from everything else, you and I both know we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. At all.”
His eyebrows twitch in angry understanding.
“Blame it on me, Nat, go ahead. But you would do well to remember that you wouldn’t be upset over that little boy at all if you’d had your way almost six years ago.”
My stomach sinks as the word “abortion” hangs in mocking silence between us.
“You’re a fucking prick,” I whisper, turning back for the table.
I don’t watch him leave, but I jump when the door slams behind him. I study the last drop of wine strolling down the inside of the glass, when a little voice makes me jump again.
“Mommy?” Ollie’s standing in the bedroom doorway.
“Go to bed, Sweetie.”
He takes two steps out of his room, blankie in hand. “Can you sing me the