The Silent Gift Page 2

  She quickly jerked it away from her mouth. “Oh, buddy, I’m sorry.” She blew on the milk several times and took another sip before sliding the mug back to Jack. “It’s okay now. Mommy’s so sorry.” Jack watched her a moment, then lifted it to his lips.

  After a quick glance at the clock on the wall, she pushed back from the table.

  “I’m sure it’s just the two of us for supper again tonight,” Mary said as she got to her feet. “So maybe we’ll have tomato soup and cheese sandwiches. They’re your favorites—right?” She ran her hand through Jack’s dark hair and tipped his chin up to make sure he saw her smile before answering her own question. “Right.”

  The winter shadows of evening had draped themselves over the house, and it was still chilly in spite of the heroic efforts of the furnace. Having removed their coats and dressed them both in wool sweaters, Mary settled Jack on the sagging couch in the living room and tucked a blanket over his lap. She knew he’d be content to sit there beside her, and for the moment she didn’t fight the way he seemed to retreat into himself, disappearing into his own mind to a place she didn’t understand but nonetheless had learned to accept as a big part of who he was.

  She curled a leg beneath her and sat down beside him, finally giving in to the nervous tension that had been building since she’d come home to find the note. She glanced at her watch and figured she had two or three hours to think of the least inflammatory way to start the conversation with her husband. His workdays recently had extended into long evenings, and most nights she was already in bed feigning sleep when he came home.

  Jerry didn’t like bad news; in fact, just the thought of having this conversation with him made her heart race. Somehow he would find a way to place the blame squarely on her shoulders. But taking the blame for all the things Jerry thought were wrong with his life didn’t bother her anymore. She would gladly be the scapegoat as long as it kept his anger and frustration from being directed at their son. That was something she’d never allow Jack to experience.

  Mary tried to think of the right way to tell Jerry about the note, how to phrase the news so he wouldn’t get as mad as she was expecting. For a moment she longed for the Jerry she’d met years ago, when she worked at the Lakeside Theater. The tall, good-looking twenty-year-old had smiled tentatively the first time he’d come to her window to buy a ticket to the matinee showing of The Iron Mask. The next day he was back and must have gotten up the nerve to ask her name when he bought another ticket. The third day he slid a quarter across the counter and said, “Mary me.”

  Her jaw dropped, and he offered a charming smile. “Mary, me need a ticket to The Iron Mask.”

  It was a fast courtship, and though Mary was only sixteen, she knew she was completely in love with Jerry Sinclair.

  “We’re gonna have a great life, Mary,” he’d promise when they would talk about the future. “I can sell rice to a Chinaman and snow to an Eskimo. I’ll be the best salesman Minnesota has ever seen!”

  “I know you will, Jerry.”

  “Tell me your dreams, and I’ll make them all come true.” He took her gloved hands in his own.

  “I want a house of our own and a yard filled with children. Children who’ll never know what it’s like to be sent from one foster home to another. Children who will always feel loved and safe and will know we’ll never leave them—no matter what,” she said. “That’s my dream.”

  Jerry had squeezed her hands and smiled. “That’s it? That’ll be a snap.”

  Mary believed him.

  She had always found it both ironic and sweet that it was during a double-feature intermission one Saturday when Jerry leaned over to hand her a bag of popcorn.

  “I want you to marry me,” he said quietly.

  She smiled. “I want to marry you.”

  Jerry looked down at the popcorn, and Mary followed his gaze to a gold chain lying across the top—a chain looped through a gold wedding band.

  “I know you can’t wear a ring on account of your hands—and the gloves,” he said, his voice low. “But if you wear the ring around your neck, everyone will know you’re mine.”

  The wedding was a quick affair at City Hall, and then ten months later—Jack. Baby Jack born on a stormy night in stormy circumstances.

  “He’s our little miracle boy, Mary,” Jerry used to say, leaning over the tiny infant’s cradle to watch him sleep. “He’s going to be special someday. You mark my words. He’s going to do great things.”

  Mary now reached for the chain around her neck and slowly lifted it from beneath her sweater. The gold of that wedding band seemed to have dulled over the years, though at one time it had been her most cherished possession. But it was at present simply a reminder of all that had gone wrong—the world shattered for Jerry—for both of them—while they stood in a doctor’s office.

  “You were right to be concerned, Mrs. Sinclair. . . . He’s profoundly deaf. . . .

  “No effort at communication at all . . .

  “Most likely a mute . . . other problems as well. Some kind of faulty connection in his brain . . . we don’t know why. Possibly due to the strange circumstances of his birth . . .

  “Do you give him plenty of love? Spend enough time with him? Or maybe you’ve spent too much time with him—coddled him?

  “There are facilities for people like this. The state can assume the burden. He’ ll never be able to lead a normal life. . . .

  “To be frank—it’s a complete mystery.”

  It had been the beginning of the end of their marriage. While Mary fiercely nurtured and protected her son, Jerry withdrew. As her heart expanded with love for Jack, Jerry’s seemed to harden. He stopped holding Jack’s hand, stopped sitting with him or looking into his eyes. As far as Jerry was concerned, it was almost as if Jack had stopped existing. Jerry was a different man than the one she’d married.

  Or is he really different? Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see. . . .

  Outside the wind was howling, and there was something else. Mary heard an automobile engine—then two round orbs of light passed across the front window.

  “He’s home early,” she whispered as she pulled Jack from the couch. “Sorry, buddy, but it’s early to bed for you tonight.” She led him across the small living room, and they stepped over the threshold of his bedroom just as the front door banged open. Even from the back of the house, she could hear Jerry blowing noisily on his fingers. She drew in a steadying breath, finished hurrying Jack under the covers, then materialized back in the living room.

  “You’re home early,” Mary said, keeping her tone neutral.

  Jerry stamped his feet and brushed the snow from the lapels of his overcoat as he looked over at her and smiled. “Yep.” He took off his coat and folded it over his arm.

  For a moment Mary was taken aback by his uncharacteristic smile. But she quickly recovered and moved across the room, her hand outstretched, to hang up the coat as she did every evening.

  “I’ve got it.” He brushed past her to the coat closet.

  She dropped her arm, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her gloves. As he strode across the threadbare rug, Jerry squared his shoulders in the neatly pressed blue suit and ran a hand over his already smooth hair.

  “It’s cold in here,” he noted as he hung up the coat.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the thermostat again,” she said carefully. “It’s still not working right. . . .” A pause. “Maybe you could take a look—”

  “I’ll warm up in a hot shower.” He quickly closed the closet door.

  “I’ll have your supper ready by the time you’re cleaned up—”

  “Don’t bother.” He headed toward the bathroom. “I’m really only home to throw a few things into a suitcase.”

  “Suitcase? Where—?”

  “A golden opportunity, Mary.” He turned to face her from the hallway. “I got a lead on a company that’s looking for a new insurance agent. I’m not wasting any time on this. Figure I’ll head a
hundred miles down the road and be the first rep there when they open their doors tomorrow morning.”

  “Another business trip?” she dared ask. “How . . . how long will you be gone?”

  He shrugged. “Long as it takes.”

  “So things are good—with business, I mean?”

  “Same as always.” He loosened his tie and pulled it out of his collar. “I’m gonna take that shower now.” He turned back toward the bathroom.

  Mary walked toward him and pulled the note from her cardigan pocket. “Wait, Jerry,” she said. “You need to see this.”

  He blew out a sigh. “I’m in a hurry, Mary. . . .” But he stopped and faced her again.

  She held the piece of paper out to him. “We got another note from Mr. Carmichael. He’s pretty steamed this time. He says we’ve got to come up with the past three months’ rent, or he’ll evict us in ten days.”

  “That old coot is full of hot air,” Jerry scoffed. “He’s not going to toss out tenants he’s had for six years.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid he will,” Mary said quietly. She looked again at the note trembling in her hand, then back at Jerry. “If things are okay at work, how come we can’t pay the rent? Where are we going to live if he kicks us out? It’s not just us, Jerry. We’ve got Jack to think about.” She blinked quickly against threatening tears. Jerry hated it when she cried.

  Jerry rolled his eyes. “Is there a single stupid minute when you’re not thinking about him?” He swore at her. “Isn’t it enough we’ve built our whole existence around a kid who doesn’t show any more emotion than that chair over there? He’s like that blasted thermostat—broken and useless.”

  Mary knew he was just getting warmed up. Let it go, let it go. . . . Don’t make him mad. . . .

  But she had to know. “Don’t we have the money for the rent?” Her heart pounded at the confrontational sound of the question and what it might provoke.

  “Quit worrying about it,” he shot back. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “But if we don’t have the money . . . ?”

  He marched down the hallway into the living room and threw a hand toward the front window. “If we didn’t have the money, do you think I’d have been able to get that?”

  Mary followed him and looked out . . . at a shiny blue Cadillac parked by the sidewalk.

  “Whose car—?”

  “I traded in our old Ford and picked up that baby for a song,” he said easily.

  “You bought a . . . a new car?” She was so shocked she couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

  “How do you expect my clients to take me seriously if I’m driving around in an old heap? What does that say about Jerry Sinclair? That he can’t even afford a decent vehicle. You gotta spend money to make money. Besides, the old car was always breaking down. You don’t want me out on the highway in something that’s unreliable, do you?”

  Jerry stepped out of his black wing tips, wiped at a few wet spots from the snow, and crossed the room to place them carefully by the front door.

  “I can’t believe you bought a new car when we—”

  He moved back to the hallway and the bathroom, waving a dismissive hand around the simple room and worn furnishings. “I’m tired of settling, Mary—and for what?” He shook his head. “Besides, I don’t have time to talk about this right now. I need a shower before I leave. I hope you haven’t used up all the hot water bathing Jack.”

  “It was too cold to give him a bath,” she said quietly, trying to hold her emotions in check. “That’s why I was hoping you could take a look at the furnace. . . .”

  “Don’t start whining, Mary,” he warned, finger pointing at her. “I’m in a good mood, and I hate it when you spoil my good mood.” He whirled away from her to the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Mary heard him start the shower and the familiar ping as the pipes in the walls expanded. She stood in the middle of the small living room, hands held stiffly at her sides.

  She glanced once more out the window at the new car, then walked quickly to the closet and pulled out Jerry’s overcoat. She felt inside the pockets, and her hand shook as she withdrew a set of papers folded neatly into thirds—along with a postcard. The picture on the front showed a man and woman, each pulling on opposite sides of a wedding band while the words above proclaimed Six Weeks in Nevada! Divorce Court Made Easy.

  Now her whole body trembled as she turned the postcard over to read words written in a confident feminine script: If you want me— here’s the answer. AJ. It only took a second for her to open the papers and realize they were legal documents petitioning for divorce. “AJ” had even helpfully filled in some of the blanks.

  Her stunned mind raced with the revelation and all it meant for her—and Jack. She shoved the papers back into the coat pocket and forced herself to check the other one. The white envelope was fat and heavy, and when she opened the flap, Mary was staring at more cash than she’d ever seen in her entire life.

  Mary was sitting on the edge of the sofa when she heard the shower stop. It was still cold in the room, and her cardigan did little to ward off the chill, though she hardly noticed it now. Jerry was whistling some tune behind the bathroom door. “The only good thing about having a deaf kid is I never have to be quiet,” he’d told her once. “You could drop a bomb right next to him, and he’d never even notice it.”

  Mary’s legs bounced nervously while she waited for her husband, but when he finally entered the room, she stilled her nerves with practiced skill and hoped her smile looked sincere. She didn’t have to search for a compliment—he was dressed as meticulously as always.

  “You look very nice, Jerry,” she said, getting up from the couch and crossing the room toward him. Her sweater was missing some buttons, but it was easy to hold closed with her hands pressed into the pockets. She reminded herself to stand up a little straighter. She knew he hated it when she slouched.

  “Jerry, I was wondering—”

  “Gotta go.” He moved to the closet door, opened it, and pulled out his coat in one fluid motion. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth and made herself move closer.

  “Are you sure you have to go?” she asked in a hopeful tone, hoping to distract him. “We never get to spend much time . . . you know . . . alone together anymore.”

  He paused and raised his brows. “What are you saying?”

  She dropped her gaze shyly and smiled. “I just mean that I . . . I miss you sometimes.” Tentatively, she withdrew a hand from her pocket, her sleeve riding up, and reached over to take his.

  She saw his eyes stare in surprise when he felt the bare skin of her hand on his. He yanked it away as if he’d been burned and looked down to see the red tips of her fingers barely visible under the sleeve of her sweater.

  “Why did you do that? You never . . .” He stepped backward, shaking his hand as if trying to get rid of his repugnance.

  Mary curled her fingers up under the sleeve and pushed her hand back into the sweater pocket. Her eyes filled with tears.

  He shook his head. “Gotta go.”

  “You’ll be back, though . . . won’t you?” She kept her voice as even as she could. Anything that sounded plaintive usually triggered an outburst—or worse.

  He drew his brows together as he plucked his wool scarf from the radiator by the door. “What kind of a dumb question is that?” Without looking back, he stepped outside and closed the door firmly behind him.

  Chapter Three

  MARY SAT FOR A FEW MINUTES on the sofa and stared at the closed door. A deep breath, then she stood and moved as quickly as she could, putting a few necessities for both of them into a small suitcase before waking her son. She had a fleeting moment of thankfulness that the house had been too cold to put Jack in his pajamas. He was still wearing his clothes and warm wool sweater as Mary bundled him into his jacket.

  Her heart was fluttering like a bird escaping a cage while she wrestled Jack into his boots and pulled on her overshoes. She picked up the
suitcase, scooped up Jack’s hat and scarf she’d left to dry near the front door, and rushed out into the frigid night.

  The streetlights along the road shone small amber circles on the snowy ground as Mary stepped off the front porch, took a quick look up and down the street, and hurried Jack down the sidewalk. Even in her rubber overshoes, she nearly fell twice on the icy pathway. Gulps of cold air burned her lungs, and she forced herself to slow down as she held tightly to Jack’s hand. Jerry’s long gone. We’ ll be okay . . . we’ ll be okay . . . we’ ll be okay swirled round and round in her head.

  And then she heard the revving of an engine a few blocks behind them. A frantic glance over her shoulder revealed a car sliding around a corner and coming to a halt in front of their house. With her heart sinking, she watched as Jerry yanked open the front door and disappeared into the house. She pulled Jack off the sidewalk. For once she was grateful he couldn’t ask her any questions as they stepped behind a neighbor’s house.

  In the next silent space, she heard Jerry bellow her name.

  “Mar-ree! You got something of mine! Get back here—now! I’m not kiddin’ around. I’m counting to five. One . . . two . . .”

  She could hear the hammering of her heart as she pulled Jack through adjacent backyards in a crouch. Jerry was still counting, his voice carrying through the quiet, cold night. A car door slammed, then the sound of the engine as it moved forward.

  The two darted between neighboring houses from shadowed patch to shadowed patch. Several houses later, they crouched under a fir tree with broad, snow-covered branches near a detached garage. She could see two circles of light slowly advancing up the street toward her, then stopping in front of the house next door.

  Mary watched in terror as Jerry left the motor running and got out. He walked around to the front of the car and stood in the beam of the headlights, his silhouette rigid as he scanned the area. The moon had claimed its place for the night and shed ambient light on the yard, revealing new footprints pressed in the snow. Jerry put his hands on his hips and stepped out of the cylinder of light, becoming nothing but a dark shadow.