Finding Gabriel
Over the years, Meghan had learned it was always wise to have an answer at hand before she told her mama about a problem. So on Thursday morning when they sat down to breakfast, she avoided any mention of Gabriel. Later on when she and Tracy were alone in the Snip ’N’ Save office, she asked, “Do you remember a guy named Gabriel Hawke?”
Tracy turned with a puzzled look. “From where?”
“He was a year or two ahead of you in high school. Tall, dark hair, good-looking, played the guitar.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. He hung out with the Jackson twins, right?”
Only vaguely remembering that part of his life, Meghan answered, “Possibly. Did you know Gabriel was deaf?”
Tracy thought for a moment, then gave a barely perceptible nod and turned back to the computer. “It wasn’t all that obvious.”
Meghan couldn’t have asked for a better lead-in. “That’s because his mama taught him how to talk. He was two years old before he said a word, then they found out he couldn’t hear.”
Tracy’s neck stiffened. With her brows pinched together and her eyes narrowed, she turned back to Meghan.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought because of Lucas it might be worthwhile—”
“Good grief, Meghan! Don’t I have enough to worry about without you trying to scare me over something like this?”
“I’m not trying to scare you, but if Lucas does have a problem hearing, it’s better to—”
“He doesn’t have a problem hearing!” Tracy snapped. “He has a problem paying attention. It’s got nothing to do with his hearing.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I do! The day before yesterday, Mama was making breakfast, and the cast-iron skillet slid out of her hands. When it hit the floor, Lucas looked like he was going to jump out of his skin. There’s no question he heard that crash.”
“Okay, he reacted. But that doesn’t mean he actually heard the sound. He may have reacted to the vibration of the skillet hitting the floor.”
Meghan started to explain what Gabriel had said about the vibrations of sound, but Tracy cut her off with a thunderous huff and turned back to the computer.
Not taking her eyes off the screen, she grumbled, “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Meghan knew that was that. She’d heard Tracy say those same words countless times before, and once she’d said them, it was the end of the discussion.
“I just thought maybe . . . ”
Meghan sighed and turned back to her laptop. Although nothing more was said, you could almost see lightninglike sparks of tension bouncing off Tracy. It was as if an invisible wall had suddenly sprung up in the narrow space between the two desks in the Snip ’N’ Save office.
That afternoon, Meghan angled her laptop so only she could see the screen and began her search for Gabriel Hawke. After going down a few blind alleys, she found him on a site for hearing-impaired children. Gabriel was the author of the blog. His profile said he ran a specialized training facility based in Barrington, Georgia, a town less than forty minutes away.
In the “About the Author” section, Gabriel told the story of how he himself had been found deaf at the age of two and how his mother had taught him his first few words by passing his hand over her throat and mouth to let him feel the movement of her lips and tongue as she repeated the word over and over again.
The website went on to say that most children diagnosed with a hearing disability prior to the age of two often achieve perfect speech with the aid of a cochlear implant. It explained the medical procedure and the challenge of teaching a child to talk once the implant was in position.
The website illustrated a number of tips to get started. Meghan studied them carefully, made notes on scraps of paper, then tucked the papers into her pocket and cleared the browsing history on her computer. Even if Tracy suspected something and tried snooping, she’d find nothing.
Now all Meghan could do was wait for an opportunity to present itself.
Sister love is an odd thing; it runs hot and cold, sometimes changing in less than the blink of an eye. It was something that boggled Lila’s mind. When she and her daughters sat down to lunch on Thursday, she noticed the way the girls barely spoke to one another, and she asked what was wrong.
“Wrong?” Meghan replied, as if she had no inkling what her mama meant.
Tracy simply said, “Nothing,” and chomped down on her sandwich.
Given the iciness between them, you’d think it was an issue that could roll into days or even weeks, but by Friday morning they were back to normal. Meghan reminded Tracy that she would be taking a part of the afternoon off.
“Sox has an appointment with Dr. Whitely,” she said. “Would you mind covering the Snip ’N’ Save this afternoon?”
“No problem,” Tracy said. “In fact, I was going to ask if you could babysit Lucas tomorrow. Mama’s busy, and I was hoping to join Kelly MacPharland and the girls for lunch.”
“Sure,” Meghan said. “Take the whole day if you want. I have no plans for Saturday.”
It was the opportunity Meghan had been hoping for, and if she’d had plans, she would have readily canceled them.
“If it’s a nice day, maybe I’ll take Sox and Lucas to the lake for a picnic.”
“That would be great, but keep a close eye on Lucas,” Tracy warned. “I don’t think he knows not to wander off into the water.”
“Oh, I will,” Meghan promised. “A very close eye.”
Though the appointment with Dr. Whitely wasn’t until five thirty, Meghan powered off her laptop shortly after three and trotted upstairs to her room. That afternoon she painted her toenails the rose color of sunset and twisted her hair into curls that cascaded down her back. Gathering a handful of hair at each temple, she crisscrossed the small clusters into two narrow braids and pinned them up so they circled the back of her head.
It was after five when she came downstairs wearing the short black skirt, a cold shoulder top, and strappy sandals.
“Wow!” Tracy exclaimed. “You look fantastic!”
Lila raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you kind of dressed up for a visit to the vet?”
“It’s just a denim skirt,” Meghan said.
True, it was a casual skirt, but it wasn’t just the skirt. There was the glowing look of Meghan’s complexion, the touch of mascara she’d brushed onto her lashes, and the curls that replaced a rubber-banded ponytail. She looked every bit as pretty as she did when Trent Gallagher had taken her to the Elks Club dance the previous month, the only difference being she’d worn a silk dress that evening.
Before Lila could go deeper into questioning her intent, Meghan whistled for Sox, grabbed his leash, and headed out the door. Just as she was leaving, she hollered back, “Don’t wait on dinner for me!” Then she was gone.
Lila stood there for a moment, then glanced at Tracy with her nose scrunched. “Why did she say don’t wait on dinner?”
Tracy laughed. “I think maybe she likes the new vet.”
Meghan anticipated a few red lights and a bit of traffic, but she encountered neither and arrived at the Anderson Animal Clinic at twenty minutes past five. Hopefully it wouldn’t make her seem overanxious or, heaven forbid, desperate.
Figuring it was the end of the day and no one else would be in the reception room, Meghan allowed Sox to walk beside her and didn’t bother with a leash. When they pushed through the door, she was surprised to see a silver-haired woman with a pet carrier sitting alongside her feet.
Emily, the receptionist, was already pulling her car keys from her purse.
“We had a last-minute emergency, so Dr. Whitely is running late,” she said. “I don’t like to run off and leave you, but tonight is book club, and it’s at my house. I’ve got to get ready.”
“Don’t give it a second thought.”
As Emily hurried out the door, Meghan settled into the chair across from the silver-haired woman. Sox sat next to her for a moment, then began sniffing beneath the chairs.
“Would you prefer I put my dog on his leash?” Meghan asked.
“No need,” the woman replied. “He’s not bothering Winnie.”
Sitting opposite each other as they were, Meghan couldn’t help but notice the look of anguish on the woman’s face. Her shoulders were slumped, and her fingers continuously plucked invisible bits of lint from her skirt. Trying to ease the tension in the room, Meghan smiled and gave a nod to the carrier.
“Dog or cat?” she asked.
“Winnie’s a cat.” The woman glanced down at the carrier and then looked back to Meghan. “She’s seventeen years old.”
“Oh, my, that’s quite . . . ” Meghan was going to say “old” but thought better of it and substituted, “Astonishing.”
The woman gave a solemn nod. “Yes, it is astonishing, and up until now she’s been very healthy.”
The woman introduced herself as Agatha Wilton, and one word followed another until the two women found themselves deep in a conversation about the love of pets. As they chatted, neither of them noticed Sox edging closer and closer to the carrier.
Agatha was in the middle of telling how she’d gotten Winnie as a tiny kitten when they heard a gagging noise followed by something that sounded like a cross between a baby’s cry and an old man’s moan.
“Oh, dear,” Agatha said. She bent down and whispered into the cage, “Try to be patient, Winnie dear.”
She looked back to Meghan and said, “Poor Winnie has been sick to her stomach for the past two days. She’s fussy because she’s not feeling well.”
Meghan noticed Sox had now backed away from the carrier. “Is it possible the dog coming so close upset her?”
“I don’t think so. She’s just cranky because she’s sick.”
“Poor thing.” Meghan got out of her chair, crossed over to the carrier, and squatted in front of it. She peered in at the silver-haired cat with eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea.
“Winnie’s a Persian,” Agatha said. “They have wonderful dispositions. It’s unlike her to be so irritable.”
“Hi there, Winnie,” Meghan said gently.
The cat moved into a lunge position, flattened her ears, and spewed a nasty hiss.
“Winnie, shame on you making such a ruckus!” Agatha said. “This lovely young lady is just being friendly.”
Without saying another word, the cat turned herself so she was facing the back end of the carrier and all they could see was the bushy tail.
Agatha gave an apologetic shrug. “That’s the problem with cats. They’re fiercely independent.”
Moments later, Tom Whitely came into the reception room.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” he said. “We had an emergency—”
“We know,” Agatha cut in, obviously anxious to have him see Winnie. “Emily already told us.”
By then she had the carrier in her hand and was headed toward the examination room.
Tom looked back at Meghan, smiled, and mouthed the words I won’t be long.
Seeing the glint in his eye, Meghan knew wearing the skirt had been a good move.