Holding Her Hand

  They read seven more books, and each person in the group performs a different story. Then it’s time for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Mick picks up the book and the kids go crazy.

  Ryan looks at me and winks. Then he gets up and goes to sit on the floor by Mick. I had no idea he would be performing.

  He starts to tell the story of a very hungry caterpillar who hatched from a cocoon. He shows the struggle to hatch with his hands and makes a tiny little worm with his finger, and then has it crawl up and down his own arm. He has to impart how very hungry the caterpillar is, so he holds his belly and shakes it, sinking his cheeks in by sucking on them. The kids are mesmerized as he goes through the story. He’s making it come alive. Mick reads and turns pages for the kids, but none of them are actually looking at the book. They’re raptly watching Ryan, and I can see why.

  Ryan is really good at this. When he gets to the part of the book where the caterpillar eats oranges, he pretends to shoot himself in the eye with a spray of juice. The kids giggle and laugh all the way to the end of the story. When it’s over, there’s an audible sigh of sadness. Then the clapping starts.

  Ryan gets up and takes a bow. Then he takes another. And another. And he’s so over the top that it’s hilarious. Mick makes a big show of making him stop by hooking him with an imaginary cane and pulling him back. The crew of signers and storytellers wave to the kids, and they scream back their thanks.

  Ryan comes to get me and pulls me up off the floor by taking my hand. “That was amazing,” I tell him.

  “You liked it?” he asks me, his face turned to the side like he’s shy. He wasn’t shy a minute ago.

  “Are you kidding? Loved it. It was fantastic.”

  Mick pats him on the shoulder to get his attention. “You killed it,” he says.

  “I know, right?” Ryan responds. “What can I say? I’m awesome.”

  “And so humble,” Mick replies. “Might be hard for you to top that next week.”

  Ryan pats his chest. “No worries. I’m doing a story about Elmo and a coconut tree. You’ll see.”

  “Do you ever use props?” I ask.

  Ryan looks offended. “Two hands. No props.”

  “Oh, I see.” I take a step back, but then he grins and I know he’s not offended.

  “We’re going to lunch,” Mick says. “You going?” he asks Ryan.

  Ryan looks at me and scrunches his face up. “You go ahead. I’ll see you at Mom’s on Sunday.”

  Mick looks at me. “Are you sure?” He jerks a thumb toward the group. “They wouldn’t mind if Lark went.”

  “Too much trouble,” Ryan says. “You go. See you later.” He turns back to me. “What?” he asks.

  I point to myself. “I’m too much trouble?”

  He waves his hands like he’s clearing the air in front of us. “Not you. Them.”

  “But you would have gone with them if I wasn’t here.”

  He shrugs. “Probably.”

  “You should go.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Really, you should go with your friends.”

  “I’d rather hang out with you.”

  My heart warms at his statement, but there’s a tiny little thing I can’t even identify gnawing at me. “We could catch up with them.”

  “Deaf chat,” he says. “It will bore you.”

  “How do you know what will bore me?”

  He shrugs. “Because you’re not deaf.”

  “Neither is Mick.”

  “But Mick’s first language is ASL. He learned ASL before he learned to speak. He fits in.”

  “Oh.” But my heart is suddenly heavy. “You think I won’t fit in.”

  He stares at me but doesn’t say anything.

  “Thank you for bringing me to watch the storytelling. I appreciate it.” I pretend to look down at a watch I’m not wearing. “Well, I have to go.”

  “No lunch?” he says.

  I shake my head. “Not today. But thank you.”

  He tilts his head and watches me for a second. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I glance around like I’m in a hurry. “I have to go.” But, honestly, I have nowhere I need to be. No one to meet. And no group of his friends who would want to hang out with me. Ever.

  “Hey,” he says, looking at my purse. “Did you bring my cap?”

  “No.” But I wish I had. Because it’s pretty clear that this isn’t going in the direction I’d hoped, despite that kiss that nearly scorched my toes last night. “But I’ll be sure and get it back to you soon. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He leans over and kisses my cheek, but I dodge him.

  His brow furrows. “I’ll see you later,” I say. “Thanks again for inviting me to the storytelling.”

  I wave at him as I start off toward home. My security guard is close behind me, but I still feel more alone than ever.

  Ryan

  I’ve just settled in to work when Peck, Sam’s wife, comes into the tattoo shop. I wave at her, because she has always been really nice to me, and she glowers at me. Sam’s not here right now, so I assume she’s here to see Friday or one of the other Reed brothers.

  She surprises the hell out of me when she walks straight to me, digs in her purse, pulls out my baseball cap, and shoves it against my chest. I rock back on my heels as I hold it to my chest. Damn, she’s strong. And angry. And I can’t figure out what the hell I’ve done.

  “There’s your stupid cap,” she signs.

  I jerk it onto my head and pull the brim down. “Why do you have my cap?” I ask.

  “Lark asked me to bring it to you. I tried to talk her into flushing it in the toilet, but she’s too nice for that. So, there’s your stupid cap. Enjoy it.” She turns her back on me.

  I reach for her elbow and try to spin her around so I can keep talking to her, but she glares at me over her shoulder, staring at my hand until I remove it and hold it up in surrender. She goes to talk to Friday.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Lark.

  Me: You sent my cap back?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: You said you wanted it back.

  I can’t figure out what to say, so I say nothing. If she doesn’t have my cap, she won’t send me any more cute hostage pictures of it.

  Me: I was waiting to see where you took it next.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Maybe you could give it to someone who will fit in with your group and then that person can send you cute photos of it.

  Oh, no. That wasn’t what I expected at all.

  Me: I hurt your feelings.

  She doesn’t reply for a minute, and then I get one word.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Yes.

  Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I understand. I’m not deaf. I don’t fit in with your group. I’m sorry I overstepped my bounds and tried to infiltrate the inner sanctum. I’ll go back to standing in my corner now.

  Crap. I fucked that all up. Friday is now glowering at me from across the room just like Peck. She flips me off when I look at her too long.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Paul Reed asks me.

  I jam my phone into my pocket. “I messed up.”

  “Well, that much is obvious.” He grins at me. “You have testicles. It’s bound to happen.” He narrows his eyes. “Was it bad?”

  I nod. “Apparently.” I point to the brim of my cap. “She sent my cap back.”

  He looks lost. “I have no idea what that’s code for.”

  “It means she’s done with me, I think.”

  Paul purses his lips. “I never picked you as someone who would roll over because a girl is pissed at you.”

  I stand a little straighter. “I’m not.” And she’s not pissed. She’s hurt, and that’s a lot worse.

  “Then what are you going to do about it?”

  I look around, and I know I don’t have another appointment today. I was just sitting here waiting to take walk-ins. “Do you care if I take off?”

&
nbsp; He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. “Where are you going?”

  “I think I need to apologize.”

  “Always a good start.” He nods. He turns and yells at Peck. “Hey, Peck!” At least I assume he’s yelling because she flinches and the veins in his neck stand out.

  She turns around slowly, and if looks could kill, I would be a dead lump on the floor. “What?”

  “Do you know where Lark is?” he asks her.

  She punches her fists into her hips. “Who wants to know?”

  “Oh, come on,” he cajoles. “Help the poor bastard out.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I made a fucking mistake and I need to go apologize!” I interject. “Now, either you can tell me where she is or I can go look for her, and if I have to go look for her, it’s going to take even longer for me to apologize properly, which means her feelings will be hurt even longer, which means she’s suffering needlessly.” And so am I, but I keep that part to myself.

  It pains me like a motherfucker knowing I hurt her feelings.

  Friday pumps her fist beside Peck, like she’s cheering for me. Peck glares at her.

  “What?” Friday says sheepishly. “He’s groveling. That means he sees the error of his ways. Tell him where she is.”

  “She’s at her apartment. But if you go see her, she’ll probably throw something at you. Or slam the door in your face. Or punch you in the nuts. So I wouldn’t advise a visit.”

  I grab for my gonads and wince.

  Then I pull my phone out.

  Me: Can I come and see you?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Why?

  Me: Because my cap misses you already.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m busy.

  Me: What are you doing?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Washing my hair.

  Me: A likely story.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Then I’m going to shave my legs. I’ll be busy all night. I might even put on an avocado mask, and you definitely don’t want to see that.

  Me: I want to see whatever you’ve got.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: But not when you’re around your friends and family.

  I jam my phone back in my pocket, clean up my station really quickly, and leave the tattoo shop. I walk on foot to her apartment building where I get stopped by building security.

  He says something to me, but I’m not sure what it is. No matter what some people lead you to believe, reading lips is difficult. I can’t catch but about forty percent of what I see on someone’s lips, and that leaves a lot of holes.

  “What?” I ask.

  He picks up a pen and a pad of paper. Do you have an appointment? he writes. You’re not on the list.

  I texted her and she told me to come over, I write for him.

  He narrows his eyes and motions for me to show him my phone. He takes it and reads what I wrote.

  “You poor bastard,” I think he says, but he says it out loud, so I can read his lips. I could be wrong. He motions for me to go ahead.

  The text didn’t really say she wanted me to come over, but it does imply her knowledge that I would be arriving.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Good luck,” I think he replies.

  I take the elevator up and stop in front of her door. I take off my cap and run my hand through my hair, trying to improve my appearance.

  I knock and the door opens.

  And that is where my heart fucking stops.

  Lark is standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped turban-style around her wet hair. Damp tendrils of it are hanging around her neck, and the collar of her Tweety Bird pajamas is damp. Her face is coated with a sticky green substance, so that only her brown eyes and lips are exposed. On her feet she’s wearing fluffy house shoes with cartoon characters on the toes. Tweety and Sylvester, I think.

  She takes a bite of a piece of pizza that was in her hand and talks around it.

  I have no idea what she said, since her hands and her mouth are both full. “You are so damn pretty,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes and walks into the living room, leaving the door open behind her. I close it and follow her into the room. Her pajama bottoms are tiny and they hug her ass. She pulls her shirt down to cover them, which is probably good because I think I can see the line where her butt meets her thigh. And it’s as pretty and curvy as the rest of her.

  I close the door behind me and follow her to the kitchen.

  She heaves out a heavy sigh. “What do you want?”

  “I want to apologize.”

  She shrugs. “So do it, so I can finish shaving my legs.”

  I look down, just because I’m nosy. She did tell me that’s what she would be doing, but I didn’t believe her.

  Then I realize she’s not wearing her gloves, either. She just let me in the door and she doesn’t have her arms covered. “Where are your gloves?” I ask.

  “I was in the bath ten minutes ago,” she tells me, glaring at me.

  “But you opened the door with no gloves on.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’ve already seen my scars.”

  “What if it wasn’t me?”

  “The doorman called and described you. I knew it was you.” She gets a bottle of water from the fridge and takes a sip. She doesn’t offer me one.

  But I realize that she just opened the door to me with her gloves off, and that means she trusts me. It makes my heart start tripping.

  “What do you want?” she asks again. She looks everywhere but at me.

  “I want to kiss you,” I blurt out.

  “Why?” She stares hard at me.

  “Because you’re so damn pretty.”

  She laughs, her mouth opening wide. “I look really beautiful right now, I’m sure.”

  “You could be wearing a sack and you’d still be beautiful.”

  She points to her ear. “Yet I’m hearing, so I’ll never be quite good enough for you.”

  She goes to the couch and flops down on it, lifting her bird and cat slippers to rest on the edge of the coffee table.

  I sit down next to her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have asked you if you wanted to go with them, and then let you decide if you wanted to spend time with me and with them. I was being selfish. I wasn’t really trying to keep you away from them. I just wanted to have you all to myself.” Heat creeps up my cheeks. “I know it seems different, like I didn’t want you to hang out with my friends, but that’s not the case.”

  She stares at me without saying a word. She has no emotion whatsoever on her face. Well, not that I can see her face under the green goop, but still.

  “I wanted to have lunch with you alone so I could get to know you a little better.” I feel the need to fan my hot face, but I try to refrain.

  “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “When you sent my cap back to me, I knew I fucked up.”

  She arches her brows.

  I hold my cap out between us. “This is my most prized possession in the whole world. My grandfather bought it for me at a Skyscrapers game and then he died the next week. So I was really worried you would lose it. But then I realized that it was a risk I was willing to take if you would keep holding it hostage, because that meant you would talk to me.”

  She still doesn’t reply.

  “I think you’re funny, and you’re smart, and if you don’t care that I’m deaf, I won’t hold it against you that you can hear.” She wiggles her toes and the slippers start flopping, so I let my eyes travel up the length of her legs. Half of her leg has been shaved and the other half is stubbly, but she doesn’t seem to care.

  Honestly, even with her looking like she does right now, she’s the hottest woman I have ever seen. I want more days like this, where she’s vulnerable and normal. But I’d also like for her to be happy.

  I reach out to dab a little of the green goop with my finger and then I rub it between my thumb and forefinger. “What the fuck is this stuff?”

  “Avocado mask
,” she says. She lifts the tail of her shirt and wipes my finger clean.

  “Now your shirt’s dirty,” I tell her.

  She finally smiles. She motions to her body. “Have you seen me today? A dirty shirt is the least of my problems.”

  “I think you look hot.” I grin. I can’t help it. “Really hot.”

  She blows out a raspberry, her lips vibrating as she does it. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Thank you for letting me plead my case.” I rub my sweaty palms up and down the thighs of my jeans. “I guess I should go so you can go back to…” I raise and lower my hand up and down the length of her body. “…whatever this is you’re doing.”

  “It’s called wallowing.” She stares at the TV, which isn’t even turned on.

  “What does wallowing consist of?”

  “Beauty rituals.” She points to her face. “Lots of unhealthy food.” She points to the kitchen counter where there are several bags of takeout waiting. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted.”

  “What did you get?” At least she’s talking to me.

  “Pizza. Chinese. Chicken parmesan from the Italian restaurant. Donuts from the bakery on the corner.” She pinches her lips closed. “Four flavors of ice cream.” She throws up her hands. “That’s how I wallow.”

  “You went out and got all that?”

  She shakes her head. “I sent someone. One of the benefits of always having security hanging around. They’re willing to go get food. I’m kind of glad you showed up, because now they won’t think I ate it all by myself.” She jerks a thumb toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? There’s a lot of food.”

  “I could eat.” I shrug. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  She laughs. “You’re looking at them.”

  “Can I hang out with you?” I hold my breath while I wait for her reply.

  “You want to hang out with this?” She motions to herself again.

  “I like this,” I say, making a move like she’s a prize on The Price is Right. “I like it a lot.” I look at her TV. “We could rent a movie.”

  Her brow furrows. “You enjoy movies?”