Love Comes Silently(Senses 1) (6 page)

Julianne read it and then laughed. “Yes, he may need some time to heal, but that doesn’t mean you should sit on the sidelines and wait until the time is right.” Julianne went quiet, and Patrick knew she was up to something. “If you’re not sure, then it wouldn’t hurt to become his friend. We could all use more friends.”

Patrick touched his throat, and Julianne chuckled before giving him a hug. “Sometimes words are overrated,” she quipped. “You’ll figure out a way.” Julianne moved toward the door, her long coat swaying as she walked. “Stop by for dinner on Sunday,” she commanded, and Patrick saluted her as she pulled open the door. “Stop being a pain in my ass or I’ll serve brussels sprouts,” she threatened, and Patrick made a face.

After Julianne left, Patrick didn’t feel like going back to work, so he cleaned up, left the workshop, and went back to the house. It had begun snowing again, but he wasn’t in the mood to shovel again, either, so he went inside and began making dinner. Patrick loved to cook, but he didn’t like making dinner for just himself. There was something lonely about it, and he always ended up making too much and then eating the same thing for the next week. He went ahead and made dinner anyway, then sat down at the same table he’d eaten at since he was a kid. As he began to eat, he thought about what Julianne had said. Patrick had accepted that he was gay for some time now, but he’d only done something about it once before, and that had been, well, nice to start with, but… he hated to even think about it. He’d never told his parents, because they would never understand. Then there was the accident, and….

Patrick sighed and ate a bite of pasta, looking around the room. Maybe Julianne was right. Looking at the kitchen, Patrick knew he hadn’t moved on. It looked the same as when his mother was alive, as did most of the rest of the house. How could he ever expect to move on with his life if he was still living in the past? Or worse, someone else’s past? He had to do something about that. Patrick glanced around the room once again, this time with a critical eye. He needed to paint and take down all the cutesy decorations his mother had always collected. Maybe he could make himself a dining table and chairs. He’d made enough of them for other people. Patrick finished his dinner as he thought of all the things he’d like to do with the house.

As he was cleaning up, his doorbell rang, and Patrick walked through the house to answer it. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Mormons or canvassers had knocked on his door, and they’d been a bit disappointed when he wouldn’t answer their questions. There were times when not being able to speak was a blessing. He opened the door and was surprised to see Hanna standing on his doorstep, with her father behind her.

“Daddy and I ba ked cookies,” Hanna said, and Patrick smiled at the plate of oddly shaped cookies. Obviously Hanna had helped quite a bit.

“They taste better than they look,” Ken said, and Patrick took the plate with a smile before motioning them inside. It had been quite a while since he’d had company. He half expected Hanna and Ken to decline, but Hanna stepped inside and walked into Patrick’s living room. He turned on lights and then set the cookies on the table before going to the kitchen for glasses of milk. He wondered what they wanted as he opened the refrigerator to pull out the carton of milk he’d gotten that morning. Peering in the refrigerator, he wondered if he should offer Ken a beer. He didn’t really drink very often, but he pulled two of those out as well. If Ken accepted one, he wouldn’t let him drink alone. After putting glasses, the milk, and the beer bottles on a tray, he carefully walked back into the living room, wondering how awkward this visit was going to be.

“I made you a picture,” Hanna said as Patr ick set the tray down on the coffee table. The little girl didn’t seem in the least shy, and when he sat down, she sat next to him. Patrick watched as she then jumped back up and rummaged in the pocket of the coat she’d placed in one of the chairs. As shedid, Patrick noticed with a smile that she was still wearing the pink hat he’d given her. It pleased him that she liked it. Hanna found what she was looking for and returned to the sofa, bouncing down next to him. Patrick wasn’t used to people he’d hardly met being comfortable with him. Hell, there were days when he wasn’t comfortable with himself. “This is to thank you for the mac-cheese. It was really good,” Hanna explained with the tone and smile only a pleased little girl could muster. It must have been the same tone they used to wrap their fathers around their little fingers. She handed him the paper, and Patrick unfolded it.

His eyes widened. He had been expecting the crude, barely discernible drawing of a little girl. He hadn’t expected a picture of himself that actually looked like him. Patrick opened his mouth out of an old, nearly forgotten habit and began to say “thank you,” but of course no sound came out. He wanted to scream in frustration that he couldn’t make a sound and never would again. Oh, he could grunt and make sounds like an animal, but not the sounds of a human being, not like he used to.

“You’re welcome,” Hanna said, and Patrick looked at Ken for an explanation, hoping she wasn’t making fun of him. He’d had people make fun of him before and he ignored it, but he knew this little girl doing it would hurt.

“Is it true you can’t talk?” Hanna asked innocently before going on without waiting for an answer. “Because Daddy says I sometimes talk enough for two people, so maybe I’m talking for you too.” Hanna reached for a cookie, and Patrick tried to keep the dumbfounded look off his face. Patrick pulled open the coffee table drawer and took out a pad and paper. He thought writing things down might help, but then he realized Hanna wasn’t likely to be able to read yet. Instead, Patrick wrote the note and handed it to Ken. Their hands touched for a split second as he passed it over, and Patrick wished he could touch Ken again, but that was way too forward. “What does it say, Daddy?”

“Patrick said that he was in an accident and he was hurt and lost his voice,” Ken read from the note in his rich, resonant voice. “Do you know sign language?” Ken asked, and Patrick shook his head. “Was the accident long ago?” Patrick raised two fingers to indicate about two years ago. After picking up a bottle of beer, he raised it to Ken, who smiled. “Thank you.”

Patrick poured Hanna a glass of milk, and she thanked him as she took it, then reached for another cookie. Patrick saw her looking around the house and he chuckled roughly—at least the accident hadn’t taken that bit of sound from him. “
The house was my parents’, and I haven’t had a chance to do much with it
,” he wrote and then handed the paper to Ken, who nodded.

“I understand. Sometimes there are more important things,” Ken told him as he looked at Hanna. Patrick had kept his heart closed for a long time. Probably too long, like Julianne sometimes said, and he could feel the first stirrings, maybe the first chink in the walls he’d built up over the years. Anyone who loved his daughter as much as Ken obviously did was someone he’d give almost anything to have love him. He nearly scoffed at the thought and forced his attention back to his guests. Hanna snagged a cookie and then took another one and handed it to him. Patrick ate it, making a show of how much he liked it before taking another. “What do you do?” Ken asked, and Patrick pointed to the coffee table, then ran his hand over the smooth finish. “Did you make that?” Ken asked, and Patrick smiled, nodding proudly. “How long have you been doing that?”

Patrick spread his hands apart to indicate a long time. He’d been making things with wood since his father first let him tinker in his woodshop. Patrick reached for the paper and wrote again, looking up from time to time at Ken’s patient expression. “
But I’ve been making my living crafting furniture for two years
,” Patrick wrote, and he saw Ken read the note and watched as understanding shone on his face. He could almost see the next question lining up in Ken’s mind, and Patrick braced himself for the disappointment that always accompanied the story of what he’d lost, but Ken didn’t ask, to Patrick’s relief.

“Thank you so very much for the mac-cheese. It was one of the most thoughtful things anyone has done in a while,” Ken said. “Bringing Hanna home has been wonderful and hectic.” Ken looked like he wanted to draw his daughter into his arms and hug her forever.

“Yes. She has a few more treatments, and then we wait to make sure everything we’ve done has been successful.” The hope and love in Ken’s eyes for his daughter filled Patrick with longing to have someone care for him that way. “That’s the really hard part for both of us,” Ken added.

Patrick turned, watching as Hanna set her cookie on her plate. “Then my hair will start to grow back,” Hanna informed Patrick brightly, and he smiled and nodded. Patrick wanted to hug her and say that she was lucky, and that like her daddy said, everything would be all right. She was so innocent and open, and he wished like anything that Hanna’s father was right and that what he hoped came true. Patrick knew it didn’t always work out, because everything hadn’t been all right for him. So often people told him he was lucky, and in some ways, he knew he was. If the injury had been just a little off, he probably would have died, but instead he’d been left without the ability to talk. There were worse things, he supposed, but even now, there were times when he was hard-pressed to think of them.

Hanna munched on her cookie once again, and Patrick watched as Ken did the same. The room was quiet except for the sound of chewing and glasses being set on the coasters. Situations like this were often uncomfortable for Patrick, but as he ate his cookie, he kept seeing Hanna and then Ken smiling at him like they understood that, sometimes, silence was golden.

“Did you ever learn to talk with your hands? I had a friend before we moved here who talked with her hands because she couldn’t hear. She learned me how to say some things,” Hanna told him happily before setting down her cookie and jumping to her feet to stand across the table from him. She proudly made somesigns. “That means sky,” Hanna informed him, and Patrick nodded. “And that means house,” Hanna said before sitting down once again.

“Hanna, finish your cookie. It’s getting close to your bedtime, and you can’t overdo it if you want to get better,” Ken prodded lightly, and she nodded, nibbling on her cookie like a large mouse. Patrick knew she was eating more slowly on purpose, and from the indulgent expression on Ken’s face, he did as well. Patrick watched a smile split Ken’s face, and Patrick smiled as well, as loneliness unlike anything he could remember welled up inside him. This was a man he could love. He knew it was dumb to think that, but he knew it could happen just from the love Ken showed his sick little girl. For a few seconds, he let hope expand inside him as he thought that maybe someone with as big a heart as Ken seemed to have might come to love him. “Come on, honey, finish your cookies and milk. You’ll see Patrick again.”

Hanna did as she was told, eating the last of her cookie and then finishing her milk before she picked up her coat. Ken helped her put it on along with her mittens. “Bye, Mr. Patrick,” Hanna said, and as he leaned down to say good-bye to her, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him. Patrick lightly hugged her back before letting go.

Ken extended his hand and Patrick shook it. “Thank you,” Ken said, and Patrick nodded, knowing Ken understood. Ken put on his coat as well before lifting Hanna into his arms. Patrick opened the door, watching as they left the house and headed down the walk back toward their own home. Patrick lifted his hand in a silent wave. Both Hanna and Ken waved back, and then Patrick stepped inside and closed the door.

He cleaned up the few dishes from the living room before wrapping the cookies and placing them on the counter. He shut off the kitchen lights and then sat in the family room and turned on the television to while away the time before he was ready to go to bed. As he flipped through the channels, he caught a glimpse of an old rerun. The remote slipped out of his hand and bounced on the floor, and the batteries rolled under the sofa. He tried looking for the batteries, but they were out of reach. He could hear the television show continuing behind him. “And now a new and one of the brightest stars to come along in a very long time,” the announcer said. Patrick lunged for the television, slapping the button to turn it off. The silence reverberated through the room, almost deafening in its complete lack of sound.

Patrick sat in a heap on th e floor, staring at the dark screen for a long time just to make sure it didn’t come on again. Then, after gathering the batteries from under the sofa, he slowly stood up. After putting the remote back together and somehow restraining himself from throwing it through the television, he set the controller on the table beside his chair and turned out the lights before climbing the stairs to go to bed. There were times when he wanted to sleep his entire life away. There was no pain, no longing, and in his dreams, he was free to be who he’d always wanted and what he’d wished for since he’d been a child was his once more. In his dreams, he could be whole again.