Love Comes Silently(Senses 1) (8 page)

Ken saw Hanna smile, and then she returned to her breakfast. Ken tried to return to his, but kept watching Patrick, who took a few bites and then set down his fork again. Ken stopped eating as well and watched as Patrick looked around the table. Ken opened the drawer behind him and found a small pad and pen, which he handed to Patrick. After a few seconds, Patrick handed the pad back to Ken. “
I didn’t want to sound like a computer
,” Ken read before lifting his gaze to Patrick and nodding slowly. Patrick took the pad back, and Ken took a bite of pancake, chewed, and swallowed while Patrick wrote, not taking his eyes off him the entire time. Eventually Patrick handed him the papers after tearing them off the pad, and Ken read what Patrick had written, a chill running up his back as he did.

“
I used to be a singer
,” Patrick had written. “
All my life that was all I ever wanted to do. I sang all the time since I was nine years old
.” Ken looked up from the paper and saw Patrick writing some more. Lowering his gaze, he checked on Hanna before continuing to read. “
All I ever wanted to do was sing. I thought about going into opera, but I met a man when I was in college. He’d heard me sing at a small club on campus and asked me if I’d be willing to sing for him
.” Ken set down the papers, and Patrick handed him more. “
That man was Devon Rand. He helped me make my first record and then my second. He also arranged for me to go on tour. He was like family
.” Ken could barely continue reading the words, his heart ached sohard for Patrick. He could almost feel the loss. Without thinking, Ken reached over to Hanna, placing his hand on her shoulder. He needed to feel her because the fear he’d had of losing her was the only thing that came close to how Patrick must have felt. “
Two years ago, I was in Chicago after a performance. We were celebrating a new record deal as well as a sellout concert when a man entered the restaurant and started shooting. I got hit in the throat
.” The words on the paper ended, and Ken looked up to see that Patrick had pushed his plate aside and had his head down on the table with what looked like two additional pieces of paper clutched between his fingers.

“It’s okay, Patrick,” Hanna said as she slid down off her chair and walked over to where Patrick sat. She tapped his shoulder, and when he sat back up, Hanna climbed onto his lap and hugged him. Ken saw Patrick look over her shoulder, then push two small pieces of paper toward him.

“
The doctors said it was a miracle I wasn’t killed
.” Patrick’s writing was getting hard to read, but that might have been a combination of what Patrick was feeling and Ken’s watery eyes. “
There happened to be a doctor in the restaurant and he managed to keep me from bleeding to death. He helped me breathe, and when help arrived, he went with me to the hospital. I can barely remember much of it, but I remember waking up on a hospital bed with tubes down my throat
.” Ken placed the pages on the table, unable to read any more. He had a pretty good idea of what they said anyway.

“Hanna,” Ken said as he lifted her off Patrick’s lap and set her on her feet. “Please go into the living room and watch your video, I need to talk to Patrick, okay?” She nodded and slowly left the room. Ken carried her juice into the living room and got Hanna settled before returning to where Patrick sat at the table. After sitting down next to him, Ken lightly touched Patrick on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about what happened. Was it Hanna’s singing that…?”

Patrick shook his head before taking a deep breath and pointing toward the papers. Ken picked them up again and began to read, wondering just what Patrick wanted to say. “
I couldn’t talk or swallow and I could barely keep my eyes open. There was a hole in my throat with a tube that I was using to breathe
.” Ken read as fast as he could. “
The doctors all said I was lucky to be alive, and then they gave me the bad news that I would never talk again. At first, I didn’t believe them, but over the weeks as I began to heal and the tubes came out, when I tried to speak, all that came out were grunts and noises. My throat hurt all the time, and I kept thinking that the doctors were wrong and that over time I would talk again. But I never did
.” Ken set down the paper and read the last sheet. “
Eventually I came back here and tried to build some sort of life for myself away from the stage and the life I’d known and wanted
.”

Ken set the last page on the table, looking at Patrick as he stared back. “I don’t know what to say.” Patrick shrugged and pointed to the bottom of the page where Ken saw the name Pat Flaherty printed cleanly, and he gasped. Ken knew that name. In fact, he had both the albums Patrick had referred to earlier in his notes. Ken stared at Patrick, almost unable to believe what he’d been reading. But he also seemed to remember Pat Flaherty suddenly disappearing, and at the time Ken had wondered why. Now he knew. “I loved your music, but that wasn’t everything you were then or are now.” Ken stood up, touching Patrick on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, and I can understand why you’d rather be silent than sound like a computer.” Ken leaned forward, put his arms around Patrick’s neck and pulled him into a hug that felt so right it nearly took Ken’s breath away. “I know what it’s like to lose, or in my case, nearly lose something very precious.” He felt Patrick nod against his shoulder and heard a soft sound. He wondered if Patrick was trying to speak, but the sound ended and Ken felt Patrick’s arms wind around his waist.

“I have to see what she wants,” Ken explained, and Patrick nodded. As Ken walked toward the other room, he wondered just how many people knew Patrick’s story, and he realized there couldn’t be many that he’d ever taken the time or the effort to explain to just what had happened. People in town must know who he was and the barest outline of events, but Ken figured he was in exclusive company to have Patrick explain what had happened in his own words. “What is it, honey?” Ken asked as he approached where Hanna sat watching television.

“Yes. He was just upset, but it wasn’t anything you did,” Ken explained, and he heard footsteps. Turning around, he saw Patrick standing in the doorway with his coat on, nodding his thanks. “You’re welcome anytime,” Ken said, hoping Patrick would visit again.

Hanna slid off the sofa, hurrying to where Patrick stood. “I’m sorry if I made you sad. I won’t pick on you anymore.” Patrick lifted her into his arms, and she hugged him enthusiastically. “I promise,” she said before adding, “even if you decide to kiss Daddy.” She added that last part in her version of a stage whisper before bursting into a fit of giggles. Patrick smiled as well before setting Hanna down, and Ken saw him to the door, part of him wishing Patrick would take Hanna up on her offer and kiss him. He wanted to kiss Patrick and hold him in his arms, but he wasn’t sure either would be welcome, so he opened the door. “Thank you for joining us and for telling me your story.” Ken touched Patrick’s shoulder as he passed. “I know you don’t explain that to many people, and I appreciate the courage and trust it took to tell me.” Patrick nodded and half smiled before walking out the door.

Ken closed the door and leaned against it, thinking. “Daddy, can I have some more juice?” Hanna asked from the other room, and he hurried in, scooping her up off the sofa to giggly protests.

“Yes. I’ll bring you juice, and you can work with me in the studio,” Ken said, and he carried Hanna to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic cup and the juice along the way. Hanna was still giggling as he set her down in front of where she’d been doing her drawings. They hadn’t been in the studio in quite a while. Ken turned on the heat, listening to the registers ting softly as they heated up. Hanna settled and began to draw as the room warmed, and Ken began opening the drawers behind him, pulling out tubes of paint after he’d set a canvas on his easel. The white canvas was already gone, colors and shapes already filling his vision. The rest of the world around him faded to the background, and Ken felt the usual tingle as the vision of what he wanted to do came into focus. That hadn’t happened in such a long time that he barely recognized the feeling as his heart raced and the blood pounded through his veins. Reaching for a brush, he began to apply paint directly to the canvas.

Often with his ideas, he sketched and worked out his thoughts thoroughly before actually placing it on the canvas, but the feeling was so strong and the image so clear, he simply began to work.

Ken lost all track of time as he continued working. The only person outside of himself that he was aware of was Hanna, and she worked quietly at her table, drawing and coloring. After a while, she said she was hungry, and Ken got her something to eat, remaining in a bit of a fog until he got back to his canvas. Eventually, Hanna curled up on the old sofa, and Ken covered her with a blanket and kissed her on the forehead before returning to work. He continued working, and it wasn’t until he heard Hanna stirring that he cleaned out his brushes and put everything away. Sometimes, when he worked this way, he worked as fast as he could because he was always afraid his vision would fade, but this one was so strong and rich that he knew he’d remember it for months. When he had everything cleaned up, Ken glanced at the clock, surprised that he’d been working for most of the day. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll make you some dinner, and we can watch television together.”

Ken took Hanna’s hand and led her to the kitchen, where he made a simple dinner that he somehow managed not to burn, and then he settled with Hanna on the sofa. Together they watched one of the DVDs until it was time for Hanna to go to bed. Ken helped her get ready and then tucked her in. “What story would you like?”

“
Madeline
,” Hanna said excitedly, and Ken began to wonder just how many times he was going to have to read her this story before Hanna had it memorized, but he grabbed the book and sat on the edge of her bed before opening the book and starting to read. Tonight he made it all the way through the story with Hanna wide awake. Ken turned out the light and then kissed her good night.

“I love you too, Daddy,” Hanna said as she rolled over, cuddling her doll, and Ken quietly left the room, closing the door partway before he walked back to the living room. Ken flopped down in his chair and turned on the television. After ten minutes, he still had no idea what he was watching—some show about icebergs or something. In the silence, he sat, and the image for the painting began to play in his head. Ken got out of the chair, walked to his studio, and grabbed a brush and paints.

He didn’t do anything as dramatic as close his eyes; he didn’t need to. The image he wanted was right in front of him. He’d been seeing it in hismind for hours. Patrick’s eyes already stared out at him for the canvas, and he was about to start work when he rushed back inside, then returned with two CDs that he placed in the player. Beautiful music began to play, and then the richest, deepest voice Ken had ever heard began to sing, and he felt tears come to his eyes knowing that voice was gone forever. Without thinking, Ken picked up his brush and got to work.

For hours, he worked on the nose and cheeks, getting just the right shade and coloration. Then he moved to the throat to get the muscles just right, and the chin lifted ever so slightly. Once he had that, he moved to the mouth, and then stopped, his brush paused just above the canvas as the music ceased and the room fell quiet. The spell broken, Ken stood without moving for a few moments, almost afraid to place his brush on the canvas. He thought of starting the music again, but he didn’t want to do that. Slowly, he set his brush down and stepped away from the easel, staring at the unfinished work. He still had hours of work to complete it, but he was amazed by what he’d gotten done so far. After cleaning everything up, Ken left the studio, turning off the lights after himself, and headed upstairs.

Ken checked on Hanna before heading to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed. He turned out the light and climbed beneath the crisp, cool sheets, shivering a few times before his skin warmed. Staring up at the ceiling, he willed the unsettled feeling away, but it wouldn’t leave. Part of him wanted to jump back out of bed and go to work again, but Ken knew he couldn’t force it. His mind needed time to process what he was feeling and what he was really striving to get onto that canvas. Closing his eyes, he rolled onto his side and tried to calm the pictures that continually flashed in his head. It was funny, but he hadn’t been in the mood to paint at all for months, since Hanna’s diagnosis and Mark’s departure, but now he couldn’t stop image after image from flooding his mind. Eventually, Ken got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt before hurrying back to the studio. He set aside the painting he’d been working on, put another canvas on the easel, and went to work, this time on a huge canvas that would be life-sized. He knew exactly what he wanted to paint, but he had to start on the face.

Ken worked for hours before eventually curling up on the sofa with the blanket Hanna had used pulled up over him, and he didn’t wake until he felt Hanna shake him. “Daddy, I’m really hot,” Hanna said, and Ken flew off the sofa like he’d been shot.

Ken’s heart skipped a beat as he touched Hanna’s forehead. She had a slight fever, and he lifted his daughter into his arms and carried her back through the house to the sofa, where he laid her down and then covered her with a blanket. “I’ll be right back,” he told her before getting a glass of juice. After he returned, Ken set down the glass and turned on the television for her. Once she was settled, Ken went back to the kitchen and called the doctor. Thankfully, he was put right through. He told Dr. Pierson that Hanna had a slight fever, but she didn’t seem too concerned.

“There’s a lot of bugs going around right now. Make sure she rests and gets plenty of fluids. If the fever doesn’t go away in the next day or so, I want to see her,” she said, and Ken heard the doctor rustling some papers. “Scratch that. I have an opening this afternoon. Bring her in, and we’ll have a quick look. It’s most likely nothing, but I want to be sure. Hanna’s been through a lot. Have you got any Tylenol?”