laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little.
Sam turned his head. “Too loud, Dad?”
“A little,” Mitch had responded, making gestures with his hands. Signing.
That was how Tessa had learned Mitch’s son was hearing-impaired.
Sam had chattered the entire time she was eating. She’d tried hard to follow what he said, but it was sometimes difficult. Certain words were slurred, others hard to recognize. But Sam didn’t seem discouraged by her apologies for not understanding. He’d repeated himself patiently, as though it was second nature.
“Did you live in California very long? Did you ever meet a movie star? Did you go to Disneyland?”
“No and no and no,” Tessa had replied, laughing. “I’m afraid not.”
“That’s okay. I’ve been to Disney World. That’s in Florida, not California,” Sam had told her. “It was great.”
He hadn’t commented on her pregnancy, although she’d caught him sneaking a peek or two at her tummy.
“Dad,” he said now, watching her finish the last of her pancake. “It’s time for the school updates. If they cancel school, I won’t have to take my books to the store. Come to the house with me and listen for me.”
His words were matter-of-fact, without an ounce of self-pity, but Tessa thought Mitch’s eyes darkened a fraction, as though some old familiar sadness had stirred to life inside him.
“I’ll be along in a minute,” Mitch promised Sam.
“Take your time, son. I’ll go along with the young one.” Caleb held out his hand to Tessa. “It was a pleasure meeting you, young lady,” he said courteously.
“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “And thank you for the lovely breakfast. I…I wish I could repay you somehow.”
“No payment necessary. It was the neighborly thing to do. When I was a boy, my mother always had a meal or a dry place to sleep for a soul in need.” He picked up the tray and moved a little stiffly toward the door. “Have a safe journey, miss.”
“Thank you.”
“Glad me and mine could be of help.”
“Granddad!” Sam hollered from somewhere outside.
“That boy’s got no patience, just like his ma,” Caleb muttered as he left.
She was alone with Mitch. He was still standing in the same place, but he’d turned his back to the windows. Behind him she could see ghostly shapes of trees beyond the river. The fog was beginning to lift. It was going to be a lovely autumn day.
“Thanks for being so patient with Sam.”
“No, you thank him for being so patient with me.”
“Sam forgets strangers sometimes have trouble understanding his speech. His world is still small enough that, thankfully, it hasn’t been a big problem yet.”
“Do you all know sign language?” She shouldn’t be having this conversation. She shouldn’t be giving in to the urge to learn more about him. She should be shaking his hand and picking up her backpack, then climbing into her car and driving out of town.
“Some of his friends are learning a few words and phrases. It’s not just a translation of English words into ASL—American Sign Language—like most hearing people think. It’s a complete language, with French derivation. The sentences are constructed differently from English. It’s confusing sometimes. He’s in regular classes at school, and none of his teachers have had the time to learn sign. His speech therapist uses it. Granddad and I sign with him, but mostly we encourage him to read lips. Actually, it’s something of a controversy in the deaf world. To sign or to speak.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
He raked his hand through his hair and turned back to the windows for a moment. “It’s probably more than you wanted to know.”
“I’m not that shallow,” she defended herself, and was again surprised how much his good opinion of her mattered. “I just haven’t had much contact with hearing-impaired people. And none with hearing-impaired children.” She smoothed a hand over her stomach. “Was Sam born with his handicap?”
Mirch had turned back in time to see her instinctive protective gesture, and he raised his eyes to hers. “It’s the result of an illness when he was two. It was just one of those things that happen from time to time. No one’s fault.”
“He seems happy and well-adjusted. You and his mother must be very proud of him.”
“I’m divorced. His mother hasn’t seen him in sixteen months.”
“Oh. I…I’m sorry.” Now she really had to go. They were moving into personal territory. She was a private person. She didn’t talk like this to strangers. He seemed uncomfortable, too.
“And you don’t want to hear about that, either. Look, I’m keeping you from being on your way. The fog will be gone in an hour. It’s probably already lifted east of town. I have to get the store opened. My manager quit to take a job with one of the big chain hardwares. I’ve got to interview a couple of temp workers today.” He’d channeled the subject away from Sam’s mother with deliberate intent. The hard set of his face told her no questions about his ex-wife would be welcome.
“I worked in one of those stores for four and a half years,” Tessa said.
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. While I worked my way through college. I’m a history major. I…I would have graduated in the spring.” But now in the spring she would be taking care of her baby and trying to find a job and some sort of day care. Day care. Leaving her baby with strangers. The thought squeezed her heart.
“I would never have pegged you for a history major.” Mitch shoved his hands in the front pockets of his khakis and took a step toward her. He seemed to fill the small room, and Tessa fought against the impulse to take a matching step backward.
“Twentieth-century history,” she responded. “I had visions of getting my master’s and teaching. High school, maybe junior college. But—” She shut her mouth with a snap. There she was, confiding in him again! “But now I have my baby to think about, and making a home for the two of us comes ahead of getting my degree.”
“What about the baby’s father?”
“I don’t know how dependable he’s going to be. So I’m not going to depend on him at all.” Her chin came up a little and she looked him square in the eye. Somehow she couldn’t envision any woman ever having to admit that about Mitch.
“How about a job?” Mitch surprised her by asking, one corner of his mouth turning up in a rueful grin. “A temporary job at Sterling Hardware and Building Supply.”
“What?”
“I was going to pay the temp service eleven bucks an hour so they could give some poor guy seven and a half. I’ll give you the same. Eleven, I mean. Not
