Страница 9 из 9
Mark stopped in his tracks. “Wow, how’d that happen?”
“Stupidity,” Rod said. “On my part. I should have been more aware. It was my fault for hiring too fast and too soon, for hiring both of you before it was in the bag.” Rod placed both hands flat on the table. Mark and I sat down next to each other and across from him. I was conscious of how close Mark was to me.
“Jolene and I have the money to keep both you and Mark for a couple of weeks if you want,” Rod said. “There are a couple of other projects we’re bidding on. I don’t want to be unfair about this. You’ve done a lot of work already and I want to make sure you’re fairly compensated.”
Mark tapped his long fingers on the table. He took off his glasses, folded them shut and placed them on the table. I heard a thump from upstairs, wondered if I should run up there and check on Maddy, decided not to when I heard no more. Jolene was up there. Jolene could take care of it.
Mark said, “To say I’m not disappointed would be a lie. I’ve really enjoyed working with Ally on this.” He seemed to move a little closer to me when he said this. I felt a heat rise in my face. He went on, “But, I’ve been in this business long enough to know how things work. And how sometimes they don’t work the way we plan.” Quietly, he added, “I know God will have something else for me….”
I was very still as I looked at a spot on the table. I flicked at it with a fingernail. His casual reference to God u
Rod started in about future bids and direction while Mark stared at my printouts. His eyes were still on them when he said, “I could always go back to Florida. There might be work for me there…back at the marina.”
I listened as Rod talked about future projects, about future ideas and directions. I could barely concentrate. More than anything I wanted to grab that stack of papers from beside my computer and shove it deep within the confines of my garbage can.
When we were finished I asked if anyone would like coffee. I’d made some.
“Not me,” Jolene said emerging from the hallway and holding Maddy’s hand. “But if you have any herbal tea, I’d kiss your little ears.”
She signed as she spoke, and Maddy burst out laughing. Jolene’s hair was held back, I noticed, by one of Maddy’s pink butterfly barrettes. The three of us females went into the kitchen.
Jolene maneuvered herself into one of my kitchen chairs and we chatted about how she was feeling, signing at the same time so Maddy could be part of the conversation. When I first started studying American sign language, Jolene joined me. She’s now fairly fluent and says she’s pla
Jolene was also with me when I first understood that Maddy was deaf. My baby didn’t turn to loud noises. I would stand to one side of her and clap my hands and she wouldn’t turn or flinch. I would stand behind her and call her name. Nothing.
I’d sit on my couch and rock back and forth and hope I had it wrong. Maybe it was something simple. But I knew the worst one day while visiting Rod and Jolene and we were outside in the backyard. A truck rumbled by. Just as it neared the house it backfired. The sound was loud and excruciating. All of us jumped. Maddy sat in her high chair and gri
Jolene went with me the next day when I took her to the doctor and then the audiologist who confirmed my suspicion. She was profoundly deaf, cause unknown.
I knew absolutely nothing about deafness then or caring for a deaf child. I barely knew that there was a sign language. Through the years I’ve learned enough to fill a bookshelf. And I have. I have many books on deafness. I have pamphlets and printouts from the Internet, information on the deaf culture, signing, and hundreds of government leaflets and pamphlets on everything from implants to hearing aids to deaf literacy. Amassing this information, learning everything I can, meeting and talking with many deaf people has been, practically, my full-time job since Maddy was born.
My own career took a back seat.
By the time we went back to the dining room with mugs of coffee on a tray, Rod was hunched into his laptop, furiously clacking at the keys, and Mark had actually picked up the sheaf of papers I’d printed and was leafing through them. He raised his eyebrows at me when I came in.
I put the tray on the table and Mark asked me if he could see my boat design. I said, maybe. He carefully put the printouts back beside my computer aligning the edges and stacking them precisely. He patted the stack as a final gesture.
I stirred in milk and sugar and said, “Did you guys find anything?”
Rod said, “We’ve been surfing the Web for possible projects.”
Jolene said, “I think you should work on the Maddy.”
“The what?” Mark said.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said.
“It’s not nothing,” Jolene said. “It’s Ally’s idea for a slick, one-person racing sailboat.”
His eyes brightened. “Really? I’d like to see that.”
“Maybe sometime. It’s not ready. Have some coffee.”
While we drank our coffee and Maddy played with her ponies on the floor, Mark tried to get me to talk about my design. Just like the previous day, when the meeting naturally came to an end, Mark didn’t rise to leave first.
I handed Mark his coat, and said that I guessed the meeting hadn’t been all that bad and how I was happy to get to work together for a little bit longer.
“I would like to continue working with you,” he said.
“Well, yes, it’s been fun.”
He paused, took a breath and said quietly, “May I ask why you printed out all those news articles on Paul? If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to. If I’m prying, that is.”
“I was interested in the story.”
“You always print off random articles?” He paused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”
“No, uh. It’s okay.” I paused. “Maybe you should know, especially because you knew Paul Ashton. Larry Fremont and I grew up in the same town.”
His eyes widened.
“So, um, naturally, I was curious. His mother owned the mine that employed ninety percent of the people in our town.”
“Did your father work in the mine?” His eyes were hooded when he looked at me and I couldn’t read his expression. Did I imagine it or did his eyes take on an intensity that wasn’t there before? Imperceptibly, I backed away slightly from him, but then I realized what it was. He knew Paul Ashton and Paul Ashton had died. No wonder he seemed intense, sad today. Anyone would, given those circumstances.
I shook my head, looked away from his piercing glance. “My father is a pharmacist. Fremont sent most of his business our way, so yes, I guess you could say that we, too, were employed by the Fremonts. My family moved to PEI when the mine closed.” I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice, but his eyes were frightening me. To change the subject I quickly asked, “How are the Ashtons today?”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.