Silence (25 page)

I look around at the paintings on the walls. Ocean landscapes seemingly washed by waves and sand. Rock formations teetering above a cougar ready to pounce. Horses running in herds, wild and free. American Indians, as natural as the scenery surrounding them.

I am absorbed by the images around me. Transported to other times and places. So much that at first, I don’t notice. Not until I am right behind him do I see him: Connor Williams, with his arm wrapped around someone. Only it isn’t Lily. My eyes flick to Hayden’s. He sees it too. I hold his gaze briefly, but my eyes are drawn back to Connor and the girl who isn’t Lily. She is turned sideways to me, so I can see her profile. I recognize her as one of Lily’s posse.

I let go of Hayden’s hand, try to side step away. To disappear into the camouflage of bodies. But at that moment, everything changes. As if in slow motion, Connor swivels around. Catches me. I freeze, poised to bolt. But I am already in his sights, clamped as though in iron cuffs. I see recognition register in his expression. And something happens to me. Darkness trickles through the glow of my happiness. Seeps like water into my ears. Throbbing. Triggering my fight-or-flight response. Flight is my choice.

But in the whirl of colors around me, I see no escape. Panic staggers my breathing. I have to get away.

Then—a hand on the center of my back. It’s moving me away from Connor. Into the crowd. Hayden guides me in my flight. All I know is his touch. Anchoring me. Freeing me.

Saving me.

Within seconds, the encounter is over, though shivers still run up my spine. And I still have the disturbing sense of being watched.

Hayden guides me to my mother, Emerson, and Gramps. And instantly, my mind clears. Mom stands as still as one of the sculptures. Her eyes are fixed on a medium-sized canvas on the wall.

A meadow of white and yellow wildflowers stretches lazily beneath the canopy of an azure sky. My eyes are drawn to the right side, where a golden horse stands in knee-high grasses, head raised, as though she has been waiting for us. Ears cocked forward, listening. Eyes luminous. Gentle.

And I know my mom is transfixed by this painting.

This looks exactly like her horse. The one she had when she was my age. I’ve seen photographs of it. Melody. It’s like it was painted from my mother’s memories.

I reach out for her hand. She doesn’t turn to look at me. But she squeezes my hand. Telling me. I squeeze back.
I see it, too.

A man steps forward. Medium build. Dark hair swept back as though he’s just run a hand through it. Fine-lined olive skin. Wide open, chestnut eyes. It’s his smile that defines him, though. He grins at Gramps. A sideways, almost impish, smile. Making him at once boyish and charming. He embraces Gramps and then Hayden. Gramps turns to Mom. She lets go of my hand so she can shake the man’s hand. I watch as Emerson is introduced as well. Then it is my turn. Hayden makes the introduction, which makes me incredibly grateful.

“Stella, this is Christophe Durand. These are his paintings.” I reach out to take the hand Christophe offers me. He smiles that engaging grin once more. His eyes glance mischievously to Hayden. As heat rises in my cheeks, I am gratified to see that Hayden is also blushing.

Then Christophe steps back to speak to my mother. She gestures to the painting, and I know, even without hearing her words, that she is telling him about Melody. Christophe steps closer to the painting, waving his hands over the horse as he speaks to her. I look to Hayden for help.

“He’s telling her about his process. He has a few horses of his own, but he watches horses all the time then paints them from memory. This horse, though, was different. It came to him in a dream. And he painted the dream.”

Something happens then. In a brief, earth-stopping moment. My mother and this painter look into each other’s eyes. And Hayden doesn’t need to translate for me, because no words are spoken. But the meaning is clear. To my mother. To Christophe. And from the glance that passes between me and Emerson, to both of us. I cannot remember ever seeing my mother look like this. She glows. That’s what she must have looked like when she was my age. Christophe points to another painting, one of a herd of wild horses running through a canyon. Their hooves churn the dust into a cloud behind them. Their manes are tangled, heads thrown high to catch the wind. Wild and free.

Emerson walks to stand next to me. She looks at Mom then back to me with raised eyebrows.

“I know,” I say.

Gramps motions to Hayden, needing him for a moment. Hayden turns to me. “I’ll be right back.”

Emerson drifts back to stand next to Mom. And I find myself alone. I spot an open door to my left and make my way toward it.

I step onto a balcony. The night air bites my bare shoulders, slaps my cheeks. Tiny lights overhead illuminate the small area. I see no one else. Leaning over the edge, I look up at the stars. Wish I knew the name of even one constellation.

Suddenly, I know I am no longer alone.

I don’t hear someone approach. I feel it on the back of my neck. Warning me a split second before I realize that even though my senses can now operate independently of my hearing, I am incredibly vulnerable. Without hearing, I cannot protect myself from someone sneaking up on me.

I glance over my shoulder. Connor. Alone. Somehow I already knew it was him.

I try to appear casual as I turn to face him. “Hi, Connor. I thought that was you.” His eyes narrow. He takes a step toward me, closing the gap between us. He is tall. Broad from years of sculpting his body. Strong. His eyes are so dark they reflect the balcony lights. Eyes of fire.

He speaks. And I understand his words as clearly as if I could read his lips. I understand them from his body language. His menacing posture. Narrowed eyes. Strained neck muscles in the space where his shirt opens at the top. And from the scent of sweat and the tang of adrenaline he wears like cologne.

Connor is threatening me.

Without realizing it, I have backed up. I am now pressed against the stone banister. I lean back to keep distance between Connor’s face and mine.

I can’t back up any more or I will fall over the top of the balcony.

He says something else and leans in even closer. His hands are now on the railing. His arms closing me in on both sides.

Warning bells ring in my head. Bells I can hear.

I turn my head to the side and duck at the same moment. My sudden movement gives me the advantage of surprise. Split seconds to slide under his arm and around him. To free myself.

“I won’t tell Lily about this,” I say. “Any of it.”

He has a gleam in his eyes. Anger or frustration. Maybe even shame. But I don’t want to find out which. I turn and rush for the door. Fling it open and step back into a world of light and color.

I find my mother and Emerson quickly. They are sampling an assortment of desserts. Mini chocolate cakes and tiny raspberry cheesecakes. Emerson offers me a cup of lemonade. I take it and drink it down, suddenly exhausted.

Hayden and Gramps join us. “What’s wrong?” Hayden asks immediately. I am a fool to think he doesn’t know me well enough to tell when I am upset.

I shake my head. Not now.

“Did something happen?” His eyes narrow as he looks at my expression. Trying to read me. Hayden waits for me to answer. Not willing to let it drop.

I nod. Lean in close to speak to him. Tonight he smells like cool ocean breezes. I breathe him in. Then I speak. “Connor followed me outside. I think he was afraid I would tell Lily that he is here with someone else.”

“Did he hurt you?” Hayden asks. His jaw tenses. He is fighting with himself. He is fighting his feelings for me.

I shake my head. “I forgot for a moment,” I tell him honestly. “I forgot that without my hearing, people can sneak up on me. I have to remember that.” It makes me sad. Just admitting it makes it more real. And the fact pains me even more when he doesn’t argue the point. Hayden nods.

Emerson offers me an oatmeal cookie. Glad for the distraction, I take it. Turn to find a napkin. I don’t see Hayden walk away. I don’t see Connor on the other side of the room.

So I am too late to stop him. Too late to call him back.

Instinct
overpowering reason

— 
Hayden
 —

I see fear in her eyes, color on her cheeks—and something snaps inside me. Something that has been buried for so long, I didn’t even know it existed.

It’s more than anger; it’s something more powerful, potentially deadly.

Rage.

Connor stands across the room from me, arm around his date. His parents speak with one of the artists. He watches me out of the corner of his eye, just as I watch him. We are like two wolves circling each other, each waiting for the other to strike.

Stella’s accident wasn’t entirely Connor’s fault, but he didn’t help her, and neither did Lily. I was there, and I remember the things she didn’t see. Connor and Lily ran around, making the tragedy about them while Stella was carried away on a stretcher.

At school I hear all the things Stella cannot hear. People blame Connor, even if Stella doesn’t. If someone took a poll of his popularity before the accident—and after—they would find he is no longer worshipped like he was before.

Connor will graduate in June, and I won’t graduate for another year, even though I will be eighteen this summer. I lost an entire year of school back in third grade. I wish I were graduating, moving on, so I wouldn’t have to see Stella every day next school year but not be with her.

My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I breathe deep to contain my emotions. I know what I am capable of, and I fight to keep control over the rage that threatens to explode. This room is filled with priceless art, patrons of my grandfather, and Stella. But Connor has threatened Stella—and I cannot remain silent.

Connor breaks away from his parents and his date and saunters toward the bar.

I find myself walking toward him before I am conscious of having made the decision. He stands with his back to me, ordering a soda. As he turns around, his face registers surprise, and I don’t give him time to recover.

I step very close, close enough to be intimidating. He has to look up at me. I keep my voice low, because I don’t want to make a scene. Not here, in the middle of an art gallery. “Watch yourself, Williams.”

Connor juts his chin at me. “You wanna take this outside?” he challenges, fixing a bright smile on his face as though he’d relish a fight.

I’d like nothing more right now than to smash my fist through his toothy grin. But I refuse to be like my mother, even now. Even when it’s to protect someone I love. “You aren’t worth it,” is my answer. But I’m not finished. “Just leave Stella alone.”

Connor sizes me up, considering his next move. He glances around to see if anyone is watching him. Rolls his shoulders back one at a time while he decides. His eyes dart back and forth rapidly, fear displayed in the movement, if not in his expression. I watch, alert to every move. Still not sure this won’t end in a fight. The seconds drag as I stand in silence. Now, I’m not silent because of fear, I’m silent in strength and power. Connor shifts his soda from his right hand to his left, and extends his right hand as an offering.

“Sorry, man, I lost it earlier. Won’t happen again.” He’s defusing the situation by backing down.

My hands are capable of inflicting serious harm, this I know. They are exactly like my mother’s hands. Anger can turn them into weapons. They can destroy. I will not let that happen. I force my hands to uncurl and stretch free, releasing the rage. I channel it into my words.

“No, you didn’t ‘lose it.’ You knew exactly what you were doing—and so do I. We both know you were an idiot that night, and you did nothing to help her. What if it was you that night, instead of her—and you could never play football again? What if you lost that scholarship to Michigan? What then?”

Connor drops his eyes to the floor, and when he raises his face to me, it is drained of bravado, of arrogance. What I see now is shame.

“High school is almost over for you. You know how many people will remember you next year? Not many. But you will remember you. So try to make choices you can live with.” I glance at Connor’s date, who is standing a few steps away, and then back at him. “Personally, I’d start with honesty.”

I watch his expression as my words register. He understands my meaning.

“Don’t ever threaten Stella again, or you’ll have to deal with me. Understand?”

Connor nods. Looks me fully in the eyes, speaking words he looks surprised to say. “You made your point.”

“Then we’re done here,” I answer, ignoring his hand. I wait for him to walk away first.

I have won. Not with my fists, but with words. I have won with the power of speech.

And it is at this moment I realize that I spoke my words to him clearly, without faltering. The words didn’t fight to be released, they did just what I asked them to do: protect Stella.

The thought triggers a memory, something I had forgotten until now. The night Stella fell into the water, I also spoke without hesitation—without tremors and stutters. I was in control. My speech didn’t falter.

I don’t know why I didn’t remember that until this moment.

But now I know.

I know possibility exists.

And where there is possibility, there is hope.

3

— 
Stella
 —

I wake Friday morning to see a gray sky.

Slate clouds. Ominous. Dark.

I roll over and go back to sleep.

Dream of kissing. Of Hayden. The person who protected me last night. Who knew what I needed and took care of me. No one has ever taken care of me like that before.

I wake hours later. Still thinking of Hayden. Last night, I didn’t see him walk away. I didn’t notice until it was too late. Until he was already talking to Connor. Hayden’s back was to me, so I couldn’t read his lips. Couldn’t see what he was saying. But I could read his body language. The way he challenged Connor. There was a moment, a split second, when I thought Hayden might punch him. But he didn’t. His words must have been powerful, because I’ve never seen Connor look so scared. He practically ran away from Hayden. When I asked Hayden what happened, he didn’t want to tell me. Just that he wanted to be sure I was safe.