Once Upon a Road Trip (42 page)

Over the next several hours, Angie tried to concentrate on reading. She picked out Deena’s grating voice from time to time, thanks to the openness of the workspace arrangement. And every time she did, it seemed that the woman was making a point of badgering someone.

People came and went along the outer hallway, with a few stopping by to ask Vince computer-related questions. Some wanted his help with their work machines, and others were seeking advice on personal computers they either owned or planned to buy. Vince met every inquiry with a thorough and genial response.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Angie was coming to respect the way Vince conducted himself. She caught herself watching him with some frequency, though she was careful not to let him notice. Eventually she gave up on her book, trading it for her journal in hopes of clearing her thoughts.

July 22
,

I went with Vince this morning to his office job. Fortunately, his work isn’t too strenuous. I get the impression that he ends up doing a lot of things around here that aren’t in his job description. If he weren’t as young as he is, I doubt people would be taking advantage of his helpfulness as much as they seem to.

I’m confused again today. And I guess I’m hoping that if I write it down, it’ll help somehow. Last night, Vince kissed me. I’m still trying to process that. I know it was meant to express affection, but I feel badly. I didn’t mean for him to become too attached to me; just like I didn’t mean for it to happen with Scott. I wish I knew what’s wrong with me. Now when I leave tomorrow, it’ll be more like I’m abandoning Vince. He’s been through so much...I don’t want to be just one more person that hurts or abandons him. I have to try not to be stupid and pray that something works out for the better.

I always used to wish guys would like me and pay more attention to me. But now, I think it’s more responsibility than I can handle...

“It’s about lunch time.” Vince spoke just loud enough to break her concentration. He smiled when she looked up at him. “Mom’s coming to meet us. She doesn’t think you should leave without experiencing some good southern barbeque.”

Angie blinked, surprised by how quickly the time had passed. “Oh, okay. Sure.” Vince stood up and she followed, stuffing her belongings into her handbag. While she’d thought she was resolved to keep her distance from his personal business, curiosity got the better of her.

“So, is all of this computer work you end up doing for people actually part of your job?” she asked.

Vince shook his head. “The IT department is on the top floor, and they’re usually swamped. So I kind of unofficially take care of most things on this floor.”

“Without being compensated for the kind of work you’re doing?”

Vince rolled a shoulder. “I keep applying and taking the tests to compete for a computer tech position, but once they dock the affirmative action points, my scores don’t get me anywhere.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “Why would they take points away from your score?”

“Because...I’m a male,” he said, sounding resigned to the predicament. “And because I’m technically considered “white.” My grandma may have been Native American, but it isn’t documented in any way that can help me.”

Angie gaped at this. “That doesn’t seem fair. You’re smart and you know what you’re doing—” she began, knowing her tone was aggravated but unable to temper it.

Vince held up a hand to stop her, “But these are state government jobs. They have to make a ratio quota.” He gave a weak smile, lowering his voice to a hushed level. “It’s okay—I’ve already accepted that I’ll have to look at private companies if I’m going to move up in the world.” He frowned then. “My parents won’t be happy when I find something else. They think a government pension is the ticket to stability. But, this isn’t what I want to be doing.”

He motioned with his chin for her to follow as he ducked out of the cubicle and headed left down the hall.

A man wearing khaki pants and a yellow dress shirt was walking well ahead of them in the same direction, and Vince seemed to recognize him. But instead of calling to the man, he came to an abrupt halt and stomped his foot three times in quick succession. Angie stopped just short of running into his back, perplexed by his odd behavior.

The man ahead of them spun around, smiled, and began signing to Vince as he walked back toward them. He was of a fit medium build, sporting short, curly blond hair and a close-trimmed beard to match. She guessed him to be anywhere from his mid-thirties to forties. The signing continued back and forth between the two as Angie strained to discern something out of the silent, spirited conversation.

“Sorry,” Vince looked to her and then motioned to the man. “This is Marshal. He’s one of our deaf counselors.”

Marshal signed “hello,” and then spoke in a muted but articulate voice, “You must be Angie.”

She recognized the rapid, one-handed spelling of her name. Nodding, she repeating the motions back to him at half speed. “That’s me.”

Marshal grinned at her fumbling effort. His face was every bit as animated as his hands when he asked, “Has Vince been boring you silly?” He didn’t spell Vince’s name, but rather seemed to use some shortened version of it that involved forming the letter V with two fingers, tapping them first to the back of his wrist and then to the middle of his forearm.

“Not at all.” Angie shook her head, glancing to Vince and repeated the motion Marshal had made in reference to him. “What does this mean?” She attempted to ask both of them at once, making a point not to turn her face away from Marshal as she spoke.

Marshal nodded to Vince.

“It’s my name,” Vince said, chuckling. “But it’s more like a personalized nickname that only a deaf person can give you once they get to know you. It’s actually a modification of the sign for ‘computer.’” Vince formed a C with one hand in demonstration, tapping it once to the back of his wrist, and then again halfway up his forearm.

“Oh…I get it.” Angie smiled, charmed by the concept.

Marshal nodded, looking satisfied. “If you come back to visit again, I will have to give you your own name, too.” He stared at her for a moment, as though he were trying to decide something.

“That’d be an honor,” Angie said — and she meant it. Too bad she couldn’t see herself ever returning to Alabama.

Marshal looked to Vince then and formed the letter A with both of his hands, tapping them to his shoulders and opening them into fluid, rolling motions out to either side of him. “What do you think?”

Vince formed a faint smile. “More fitting than she knows.”

Marshal raised his pale brows and tapped his watch, directing to Vince, “I need to meet someone. Will you come by my office later? The Instant Messenger is acting up again.”

“No problem,” Vince said and signed back.

Marshal clapped him on the back and smiled once more to Angie before continuing down the hall.

Angie looked to Vince after Marshal’s departure. “What did that last one mean?” she asked, repeating the sign Marshal had suggested.

Instead of answering her, Vince continued down the hall. Angie was forced to take a few jogging steps to catch up with him. He cast her a backward glance, hesitating. “That was the sign for angel.”

“Oh.” Unsettled, Angie decided it would be best for both of them if she changed the subject. “So, can Marshal hear at all?”

“Just low tones. He loves any music with a lot of bass,” Vince answered. “I think he had partial hearing when he was born, so he’s able to speak pretty clearly from the sounds he remembers.”

“You’re pretty good with the ASL,” Angie said, though she tried not to betray the extent of her admiration.

“I’ve thought about studying to be an interpreter,” he said, offhand. “Deaf culture is pretty interesting. I wish I could have taken you to one of the Silent Dinners, but they only hold them once a month. The timing didn’t line up.”

“What’s a Silent Dinner?” Angie asked, falling back in step with him as they rounded a corner.

“Not as quiet of an experience as it sounds.” He laughed. “It’s sort of a club for deaf people, their families, and sign language students. They all pick a place to eat and sit around in a big group signing to each other the whole night. It’s kind of a crash course in conversational ASL. The first one I attended, I kinda faked my way through it using the only three signs I could remember.”

“Which signs?”

Vince smirked, dipping his chin in a look of vague embarrassment. He paused at the lobby door and signed each as he listed them to her. “What’s up?, Whatever, and Bull$#&%.”

Angie couldn’t help but laugh. She found it particularly entertaining that the last sign involved the use of the pinky and index finger to form the distinctive shape of bull horns.

Vince laughed with her. “Yeah, I know. Real sophisticated.”

As they moved into the lobby, Angie caught sight of Vince’s mother hovering near the front entrance. She wasn’t alone. Deena stood beside her, leaning in conspiratorially as they discussed something in low tones. While Marie appeared cheerful as ever, Deena had a more baleful cast to her pudgy features.

“I’ll be right back, I forgot something,” Vince told Angie just a few strides from their destination. When he turned and backtracked at a jog, she resisted the impulse to follow him.

Shuffling on toward Marie and Deena, she offered a pleasant smile for both women. “He’ll be right back,” she said. Angie was both confounded and relieved when Deena scowled, turned, and walked out the door without saying a word to her.

“Hey, girl!” Marie exclaimed with welcoming smile. “I’ve got us reservations at my favorite little place. Yer gonna love their cornbread cheese biscuits!”

Angie counted it as ironic that the thickest southern accent she’d encountered thus far belonged to someone who’d been transplanted from the Northeast. She found herself resisting the urge to mimic the woman’s twang in responding. “That sounds great.” Angie smiled to Marie and then gestured toward the glass exit door and Deena’s retreating form. “Do you mind if I ask what that was about?”

Marie gave her a glazed look before seeming to catch up to the meaning behind the question. “Oh…oh! That was nothin’. Just sour ol’ Miss Deena, stickin’ her nose where it don’t belong. If it were a pastime that paid, she’d be the richest person I know.” She tossed her orange-red hair over one shoulder and laughed.

Angie frowned, staring past her out the door as she considered pressing for an answer she might regret. As it turned out, Marie didn’t need much prompting.

“She was just askin’ me about you,” Marie divulged. “Where you came from, how long you’re stayin’, where you’re stayin’—I just took her for curious at first.”

Angie centered her focus on Vince’s mother. “—but?”

  “Well, after I told her you were stayin’ with us, she wanted to know what room you were sleepin’ in. You know…like she was fixin’ ta uncover a scandal.” Marie patted Angie’s elbow in reassurance. “But don’t you worry sweetie, I told her that wasn’t any of her damn business.” She gave another tittering laugh. “Shoot, it ain’t none of my business either. If Vinny’s door is closed, I give him his space.”

Angie stiffened, feeling the uncomfortable flush of heat rising through her chest and up her neck. “It’s not like that!” she blurted out before she could catch herself. She dropped her head along with her volume, hoping the woman wouldn’t interpret anger. “And I think it -is- your business. It’s your house.” She glanced back up at Marie’s face. Angie knew the woman meant well, but the implications of her statement were overwhelming. “You can come into his room any time you want while I’m here. In fact, please do.”

“Alright, honey. Don’t you let her get to you.” Marie placed a hand on Angie’s shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” Vince’s concerned voice reached them as he came back through the lobby door. 

Marie brightened. “Nothin’ wrong, son. Deena was just bein’ her unfriendly self again.”

Angie looked to Vince, struggling to maintain a steady expression. He’d taken on a grimace at the news, and she decided to distract him from any deeper inquiries into the matter. “Sounds like she’s a special kind of vile. You think if I threw some water at her, she might melt?”

Vince’s mouth shifted, one corner tugging upward at her remark. “We’re not that lucky.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lydia gave the promised tour of the office building that afternoon.

On her way back to Vince’s workspace, Angie had to edge her way around Gill, whose towering frame took up most of the cubicle entryway. She sat back down in her designated chair in time to overhear the tail-end of the man’s contemplations on the idea of adopting a blind cat. Vince seemed to be listening to Gill and processing paperwork at the same time.

A boisterous voice carried down the hall. “Gill? You need ta get a move on. You’ve had somebody callin’ about their screen reader.”

Cut short mid-sentence, the blind man turned in the direction of the voice. “Is that so? I must have forgotten to check my messages—” He pivoted again and extended his cane as he set off in the other direction. “I’m on it!”

Moments later, Gill was replaced by an older, stately looking gentleman. His gray hair was neatly combed back and square-rimmed bifocals perched atop a hawkish nose, suggesting a seriousness about him that was contradicted by his mirthful expression. He wore a white dress shirt and teal tie over black slacks. His sizable paunch spilled forward over his belt, demanding he counterbalance with his shoulders thrown back and chest expanded. “Now, don’t let Gill get away with chatting your ear off. He’d talk to a dead dog in the road.” The man grumbled to no one in particular. Coming to a standstill, he noticed Angie sitting in the corner.

Vince set his papers to one side and gave the latest visitor a knowing smile. “Mr. Jim, this is Angeli. Angeli, this is Mr. Jim—the unit manager.”

Angie sat up at attention and offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir. And thank you for letting me be here for the day. I hope I haven’t gotten in anyone’s way.”

Jim accepted her hand, shaking it only once. “Not at all! It’s good for us to get more young faces in here. Keeps us old folk on our toes,” he said. “So you’re from Minnesota? You know, you don’t have much of an accent.” He sounded disappointed.