Heart Unheard Page 9

  “Are you making fresh sauce?” he asked.

  Brent shook his head. “Mom.”

  Scott’s hunger increased. If her sauce was anything like her pie, he was in for a treat.

  Dean began talking to Brent once again and then stood up. He waved goodbye, and Scott shook his hand once again.

  “It was nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Dean said and headed for the door, taking his beer with him. Brent showed him out, closing the door, then leaned against it dramatically.

  “Does he come over like that often?”

  Brent grabbed a pad, and Scott looked forward to not having to have everyone write shit down all the time. It was driving him crazy.

  Brent came over and tossed the pad onto the table. Sometimes. He’s feeling adrift right now. Recovering from a bad boyfriend and breakup. He’s screwed a bunch of guys, but he’s lonely and wants to try to find someone, but doesn’t know how.

  Brent leaned in, and Scott’s temperature rose through the roof in a matter of seconds. Brent hadn’t even touched him and Scott’s skin ached for it. Brent came closer, pressing their lips together. Scott wound his arms around Brent’s neck, holding him tighter, deepening the kiss. He was hungrier for Brent than he was for the amazing food whose scent called to him like a siren song.

  “Eat?”

  Scott pulled him closer once again, humming softly to himself as he tugged Brent down onto the sofa. He felt rumbles run through Brent’s chest and realized he was laughing. Scott pulled away, glaring at him. “Am I funny? Do I kiss funny?”

  Brent cradled his cheeks in his hands, looking deeply into Scott’s eyes without the hint of a smile. All he saw was heat mixed with care. Scott tried to imagine what it would be like to go to bed seeing those eyes and then wake up each morning, seeing them again before anything else. As soon as the notion crossed his mind, Scott dismissed it as ridiculous. Yes, Brent was being kind to him now. But if his hearing never returned—and in Scott’s mind, that was becoming more and more likely—then he was going to need assistance for the rest of his life in one way or another. It was easy enough for Brent to say he was going to take signing classes, but two years was the minimum for the basics. Fluency took years, and somehow he didn’t see a guy like Brent—handsome, strong, hot as all hell—going through that for a guy like him.

  Brent reached for the pad and wrote a quick note. What’s the matter? I saw the shadow pass over your eyes.

  Scott shook his head. “Just a dose of reality.”

  Whatever Brent said, Scott didn’t catch, but he stroked his cheeks, leaned closer, and kissed him hard enough to short-circuit Scott’s thought processes for a week. Scott caught his breath, returning the kiss, holding Brent as close as he dared with his sore ribs, and letting go of his reservations. He was on fire, burning up, and he needed relief, but Brent wasn’t providing any. Second by second, the heat built until Scott closed his eyes and allowed himself to just feel.

  When Brent pulled away, Scott slid his eyes open to find Brent looking back at him intently, as though he were the only other person on earth.

  “What happens when you get tired of being with someone who can’t hear?” Scott asked. “I know I’m talking, but I can’t even hear myself. Mom makes these motions when I talk too loud and—”

  Brent cupped his chin gently and didn’t move his lips. Instead, he stared at him until Scott began to squirm. He looked away, and Brent reached behind him to get a pad.

  So you can’t hear. Do you think that’s the worst thing in the world? Deaf people are incredibly independent. Yes, they sometimes have communication challenges, but we will work through those. He shook the pad and wrote again. If I have to buy up every notepad in town, I will.

  “But it’s so hard and….” He swallowed as Brent nodded, and a spike of fear raced through him. Was Brent agreeing with him that it was hard for him too?

  No. It’s pretty easy. Being around you is easy. I don’t feel like I have to be anyone but me. Brent seemed surprised, and he slowly set down the pad, looking back at him. Then he grabbed it again. My mom always said that the way she knew she loved my dad was because she could be herself with him. She didn’t have to wear fancy clothes or put on tons of makeup. He liked her the way she came, and that’s how I like you. As you are. He handed Scott the notebook and held up one finger before leaving the room.

  Scott sat back, watching Brent head toward the bathroom, wondering what had just happened. He went over the conversation, reading the note again. Then he smiled as the full potential of those words sank in.

  When Brent came back out, he went right to the kitchen, working on lunch once again.

  “Did you mean it?” Scott asked. “Or was that something you said and it got out of hand?”

  Brent had pulled out a head of lettuce and was cutting it up. His knife came to a stop and he looked up from what he was doing. “I meant it,” he said slowly, then returned to what he’d been doing.

  Scott stood and walked to where Brent was sliding the lettuce into a bowl and cutting up a tomato. “If that’s true, then why are you more interested in vegetables than looking at me?”

  Brent stopped once again. He reached for a pad. I wasn’t expecting to say anything. Sometimes things happen really fast and they surprise you. I think that’s what happened to me. Isn’t it too soon for me to be telling you stuff like that? Fear rose in Brent’s eyes as he wrote.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  Brent snatched the pad off the counter and wrote again. Then he handed the page to Scott and frantically worked to finish lunch. Scott read the note, glancing at Brent and then back at the words, almost unable to believe them. “What do you mean, that you might not be good enough?” He tossed the pad on the counter, trying to process what might be behind them. But he wasn’t getting anywhere. This was a side of Brent he hadn’t seen, and it took him a little by surprise. Brent had been pursuing him, supporting and helping, and now all of a sudden, he was stepping back in a way that Scott didn’t understand.

  Brent reached for the pad. It’s not important. He held up the sign, then motioned Scott around and dipped a spoon into the sauce for him to taste. This was clearly a way to pull the conversation from what had just happened. Scott was still deciding if he was going to allow himself the distraction when the spicy richness hit his mouth. The sauce was as incredible as it smelled, and Scott hummed in his throat. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it, and at least he knew he was making some sort of sound to show his pleasure. Scott swallowed and nodded. It was truly delicious. That was the only word that came to mind.

  But once the taste had slipped away and the intensity faded, he still looked at Brent. Something was going on; Scott could feel it. Brent bit his lower lip, and if Scott wasn’t mistaken, nervous energy had replaced the easy camaraderie they’d had not too long before.

  Scott pulled up the stool from next to the stove and sat at the end of the counter. This was so frustrating, and he wanted to be able to get to the bottom of what was happening with Brent. And if Brent was going to try to hide or pull back, there was nothing he could do about it. It felt like part of Scott’s heart had been cut away as Brent distanced himself.

  It would have been so easy before. He’d have simply asked Brent again, and then they might have gone to the sofa or Scott would have pulled an explanation out of him and listened. But things were different now. Just like that, what might have carried the weight of sadness or gravity were now simply words on a flat sheet of paper. That was what really sucked. And Brent had to be feeling it too. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering him. It wasn’t as though Scott could feel the hurt in Brent’s voice.

  Maybe what Brent needed was to talk about this with Dean. At least they could listen to each other. Scott watched Brent like a hawk, as though he could divine some important revelation from his body language, but all he got was that something was bothering him. He saw it in the way Brent’s back was so straight
and his movements forced and choppy.

  “Did I do something?” Scott asked. God, he hoped not.

  Brent shook his head, but it didn’t have any impact on Scott. There must have been something that made Brent feel this way, and the only person in the room at the time was him, so therefore he must be the cause.

  Scott gripped the edge of the counter nervously, wondering if he should ask Brent to take him home instead of getting angry. “I’m still here, Brent,” he spat angrily. It was so easy for others to cut him out now. Brent reached for the pad, but Scott stopped his hand. “You need to talk to me. I know it’s hard because I can’t hear.” He huffed and wanted to smack the counter. He released Brent’s hand, and Brent took the pad.

  This has nothing to do with you not being able to hear. Brent underlined “nothing” a bunch of times. It’s just me, and there are some things I need to work through. Brent paused with the pen hovering over the paper.

  “Are you afraid? Of me?” Scott found that hard to believe.

  Brent turned away, pulled the pasta off the stove, and drained the water in the sink. Then he added the sauce and stirred it together. Scott waited until he was done, knowing there was nothing he could do until Brent decided to write another note. It was frustrating. He could talk all he wanted, but he couldn’t make Brent answer him. Brent dished up two plates and carried them to the small table, then brought the salad and the rest of lunch.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” Scott’s frustration rose by the second, and he was probably yelling but didn’t care. “I’m tired of being cut out and passed over. My parents do it, but I didn’t think you would.”

  I’m not, Brent wrote. He laid the pad on the table, then turned it around. I’m a coward, okay?

  “No, you’re not,” Scott breathed.

  You don’t know, Brent scrawled and sat down. You’re scared that I might get tired of you or something, so why can’t I be afraid that I’m not good enough for you?

  Scott didn’t have an answer to that, and it made him feel better in some perverse way that Brent was scared too. Since he’d awakened in the hospital, Scott had been living with constant fear. Was his hearing going to come back? And then, when Brent seemed interested in him, was Brent going to stick around or was he going to get tired of him? Scott certainly hoped he didn’t, but knowing Brent was afraid as well put them on more equal footing.

  “I always thought of you as a really confident guy,” Scott said. “You run the garage like you were born to it, and all the guys like and respect you. They listen to you. I never thought you were a coward, not for a second.”

  There are things you don’t know.

  Brent stood and got the salt and pepper before rejoining him at the table. They began eating. It seemed strange to leave the conversation where they had, but Scott was getting used to conversations ending weirdly, because it sometimes took so much effort to maintain them.

  “Then maybe you should tell me.” That seemed like a real cop-out to him, but Brent closed his eyes and shook his head, withdrawing further. Clearly this was a no-go area for him. “You don’t have to.” It wasn’t like he had told Brent every single thing about himself either. And a person deserved some privacy if they wanted it. He reached across the table to take Brent’s hand. “It really is okay. You’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”

  Brent nodded and made an effort at a smile, which was heartening to see. “I’m sorry for being a downer,” Brent said twice. Scott understood it the second time.

  “It’s okay.” He grinned. “It’s nice to know we both have issues. If you were perfect, then I’d wonder about me.”

  Brent shook his head, clearly amused, and took the first bite of the farfalle pasta in meat sauce. Scott followed suit, and man, was it good. Rich tomato, garlic, onion, oregano. All the things that made life special. Scott’s mother was a good cook, but Italian food, especially sauce, was doctored stuff out of the jar. It was good, but it didn’t taste like tomato heaven.

  Lunch was amazing, the food spectacular. They didn’t talk about anything, mainly because their hands were otherwise occupied and it seemed ridiculous to try to pass notes back and forth. The earlier tension dissipated like fog against the summer sun, and things returned to how they were before.

  “I wish I could tell you a joke.” Scott used to love telling funny stories.

  “Go ahead.”

  Scott shook his head. “It’s one of those that requires input, and it wouldn’t work out. I tried joking with my dad, and he looked at me like I’d grown a second head.”

  Brent reached for the damn pad. Maybe there are deaf jokes. I mean, once you meet other deaf people, they’ll have their own jokes and culture. I read that local communities often develop their own signing slang as a way of speaking to each other. I bet they have their own humor.

  “I read that too.” Scott smiled as he swallowed his last bite of pasta and took a little more salad, very nearly full. “I’m really looking forward to meeting some people who can help me figure things out. I mean, I know I’m deaf and that my hearing isn’t going to come back. I can feel it in my bones, and I have to be prepared for that.”

  You know you have a lot of us behind you.

  He did, which was part of what made it easier to get up and face the day each morning. “I’m looking forward to seeing Lee again. I’m not sure how we’ll work together, but I think we can work it through. He came to the house yesterday for a little while and we hung out. It wasn’t the same as it was before, but we’ll get it. He had his tablet and we were able to talk, so it was good. I’m not sure how things will go when we’re at work.”

  Brent wrote, then handed him the pad and began clearing the dishes.

  Lee will be your ears and you will be his eyes. The rest will sort itself out.

  Scott ate the last bite of salad, and Brent took care of his plate before setting an amazing pecan pie on the table.

  Do you want dessert now or later?

  Scott rubbed his full belly and thought later was probably the smart choice. He stood, waving the pie off for now, and Brent got a couple of Cokes and joined him on the sofa.

  “I never know what to do when we sit like this. Before I used to watch movies and play video games. I can still do both, but they’re flat now. Half the time it isn’t what’s on the screen that makes a movie exciting, but the soundtrack. It’s the spooky music that makes a horror movie fun or gives it the undercurrent of suspense that makes a tingle go up your spine. I can’t hear any of that anymore. All I get is dialog on the screen and the occasional indication that music is playing. Even video games aren’t as fun, because half the experience is the soundtrack.”

  What do you think we should do? Brent asked.

  “We can watch a movie or television if you want. You turned on the closed captioning, so that will be fine.”

  Brent jumped to his feet. He showed him the pad. I know. How about a walk?

  “I can’t walk too far.”

  Brent pulled out the pad once again. The park is a block away, and there are some wonderful things I want to show you. He held out his hand, and Scott took it, letting Brent help him up. Brent then raced through the apartment, coming up with his keys and the things he needed. He met Scott at the door and led him down to the main entryway of the building.

  The air outside was warm, the sun strong, the breeze making it perfect. Brent walked slowly, and Scott took careful steps, testing his muscles and finding the discomfort from earlier in the day was nowhere to be found. He walked a little faster, enjoying the time away from the confines of his mom and dad, and in Brent’s company.

  Brent pointed and Scott looked, watching a hawk as it circled in the air, riding the currents high above them. Before he might have heard it cry, but now he was content to watch it. “I need to learn to be grateful for what I have instead of longing for what’s been taken.”

  Brent patted him on the hand, smiling, and nodded.

  “Maybe I should have T-shirts pr
inted.”

  Brent threw his head back and laughed so hard, his body trembled.

  Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

  They continued walking, with Brent holding his arm, the outward display of affection surprising and nice. A block from Brent’s apartment, they entered a canopy of large trees, and in an instant, they were surrounded by coolness. “This is nice.” He sighed and looked up, watching the sun play through the leaves, sending shafts of light to the grass under his shoes.

  Brent pointed, and they headed in that direction. The path traveled through thick growth and then widened as a small creek passed next to it, the water cooling the air even further. It was amazing. Brent stopped and took out the pad. We’ll follow the path along the stream for a little ways. He pointed, and Scott nodded, letting Brent guide the way.

  After ten minutes, they came to a stop, and Scott sat on the end of an upturned log next to a small waterwheel that turned slowly in the current. “Is this what you wanted me to see?”

  Brent nodded, already writing. I used to play here when I was a kid. Our house, the one Mom still lives in, is a few blocks that way. He pointed. My dad used to bring me here all the time, and I’d play with the waterwheel and the creek, making raceways and dams that the water would wash away. It was magical.

  Scott could imagine that.

  I was ten when the waterwheel broke, and my dad took it back to the garage and built a new one for me. Brent pointed again, and Scott realized that was the one he was looking at. I don’t know how much longer it will last, but it’s turned for a lot of years now. Dad built it strong. Brent put his arm around Scott, holding him close.

  Scott held Brent in return, knowing instinctively it was what he needed. Whatever had been bothering Brent had to do with his dad. The more words he wrote about him, the sadder Brent had become. It didn’t take a genius to know whatever had happened between the two of them bothered Brent greatly. Scott sat, watching the little wheel turn around and around. He imagined the sound of the water as it splashed over the edge.