Sweet Soul (Sweet Home #5)(65)

Clara sat back in her chair, but her attention never strayed away from me. Centering my calm, I trudged a foot forward, then another, and before I knew it, I was walking back inside the house, moving toward the sunroom.

Noises from the therapy sessions faded into the background as I entered the large domed glass room. Empty chairs were positioned round this large space, but only one was occupied—by Clara, overlooking the flowing river beyond the garden.

My panic faded the closer I got to the young girl, and it evaporated as I sat before her. She’s pretty, I thought, as I surveyed her fair skin and long brown hair. She flicked her eyes in my direction, brown eyes that could have been pretty if they weren’t filled with such pain. It’s strange how the eyes can show you so much. I agreed with the saying, ‘eyes are the window to the soul’. And Clara’s soul was broken, I could see it was shredded into pieces.

Clara’s eyes dipped, then focused back on the window. Shaking my hands, I held them in the air and signed, “Hello, Clara.”

Clara’s head turned back to me as my hands moved. Her eyes darted up to my eyes. For a moment I wondered if I had signed it wrong, or if she didn’t want me here. I worried that I was invading her space.

But a few seconds later, Clara lifted her hands and signed, “Hi.” She paused then added, “Who are you?”

“Elsie,” I signed. “I’m a friend of Lexi’s. I came here today to see the center.” I pointed around the sunroom. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s pretty here,” Clara signed back, and pointed out of the window.

I nodded my head and asked, “You like water?”

“It’s calming. Peaceful,” she signed. I pulled my chair opposite hers, carefully placing myself in her line of sight.

I stared at the water too, now able to hear it’s gentle flowing current through the open window above me. I must have tilted my head up for my good ear to hear it. Clara’s eyebrows pulled down in confusion.

“You can hear?” she signed as I watched her forehead line.

I tapped my right ear. “I have some hearing in this ear.” I turned my head to show her the aid that gave me partial hearing.

Clara leaned forward, looked, then backed away. Her haunted eyes turned back to the river. She enquired, “What does it sound like?” I followed her pointing finger and stared at the running river.

“The river?” I signed.

Clara nodded her head. I closed my eyes, wondering how to explain the sound to a girl trapped in silence. Opening my eyes, I leaned forward and traced my finger down her arm. I curved the invisible line I was making until it fell away at her wrist. “Like that,” I signed. “Only imagine several fingers increasing the volume.”

Clara stared down at her arm and retraced the path I’d just traced with my finger. Her eyes closed and my heart melted when I saw a tiny smile tug on her lips.

Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and, when her lids opened, her brown eyes weren’t quite as sad as before. Clara’s head dropped, when her hands asked, “Have you always been able to hear?”

I shook my head. “I had a tiny amount of hearing, only about seven percent. Mainly it was just little sounds, but nothing was clear. I had an operation when I was eight and suddenly I could hear. It was strange at first, but I had to learn how to deal with it quickly.”

“I can’t hear anything,” she divulged. “Neither could my mom.”

I remembered Lexi said her mom had died, and I replied, “My mom was fully deaf too.”

Clara’s expression relaxed, then it morphed into sadness. “My mom died,” she signed. “Last year. From cancer.”

A deep ache set in my chest because I understood what she was going through. I reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing her small fingers in support. Then I drew back, and confided, “My mom died too. Five years ago.”

Clara’s eyes shimmered. “Do you have a dad?”

I shook my head. “It was just us. When she died,” I stretched out my hands, and quickly signed, “I was put into a group home.” Clara sucked in a breath, and I asked, “You have a dad?”

She nodded her head. “My stepdad. He’s nice, but he doesn’t really understand me. He can hear, and he can sign, and he loved my mom with all of his heart. But… but he moved us from California when Mom died. He got a new job and said he needed a new beginning.” Clara stopped signing and I could see anguish flit through her eyes. “I started a new school, but I never really fit in.”

I noticed that her hands had started to shake, and I knew. I just knew what was coming next. I knew because I’d lived it.

“It’s okay,’ I mouthed when I took hold of Clara’s hands. She read my lips and pulled her hands back. I sat forward as she glanced out of the window.

“It was two girls mainly.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “I went to a deaf school, so it wasn’t because of my lack of hearing.” Her eyebrows pulled down. “I don’t know why it was, I could never think of a reason for why they singled me out, but they didn’t like me almost from the minute I arrived.” My stomach griped in pain, in sympathy.

Clara blinked back tears, but nothing else was said. I could see she was lost in the memory, in the pain she was still living with each day. Reaching forward, I held her hand and we stayed that way for a while, the two of us watching the river flow past the house.