Sign Language

Deanna had arranged for a flight back to Milwaukee that would depart a few hours after Mom and Dad’s arrival, and spent the morning throwing the clothes she’d strewn all over their room into her duffel bag.

Abby sat on the edge of the bed watching Deanna scurry about and cuss about how late she was. She’d made her reservation the previous afternoon but, as usual, had put off packing until the last minute. Deanna could only function in crisis mode.

“Can I come with you to the airport?” Abby asked.

Deanna stopped packing for a moment and looked at Abby in the bureau mirror.

“Um. No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mom said . . . I just need to talk to Mom.”

“Why can’t I be there?”

“Just because.”

So much for the bonding Abby and Deanna had done the day before. She stomped out of the bedroom and went downstairs into the living room. When Deanna hurried down, dragging her duffel bag behind her, Abby slipped her shoes on.

“Where are you going?” Deanna asked, propping the screen door open with her rear end and stuffing the bag through the doorway.

“With you,” Abby said.

“No!” Deanna shouted. She dropped her bag on the front porch and walked toward Abby, letting the screen door bang shut behind her.

“Abby, come on,” she said, looking Abby squarely in the eyes and resting her hands on her shoulders. Abby pulled away. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come with me or that Mom and Dad don’t want to see you. It’s just that . . .” Deanna’s voice trailed off and she started to cry again. Loudly.

Deanna startled Abby by grabbing her by the shoulders and squeezing her in a bear hug, Deanna’s body shaking as she sobbed. This time her sadness seemed real.

“I just need to talk to them alone,” Deanna whispered as she released Abby. “You’ll understand soon.”

Ever since Abby could remember, Deanna had been telling her that she’d understand this or that when she got older, but the older she got, the more she realized that Deanna was full of it. Abby didn’t press the issue this time. Instead she followed her sister and watched her pull the Impala around the circle driveway and onto the gravel road. Deanna stopped the car on the other side of the massive oak tree in the front yard and rolled down the window.

“I love you,” Deanna croaked, her mouth turned downward like she was going to cry again.

Abby was stunned. It was the first time she could remember anyone in her family telling her that they loved her. Abby knew that they did, and they knew that Abby loved them back, but they just didn’t say that stuff. Hearing it from her sister was shocking, and a little embarrassing, and scary. It was just too strange. Everything was getting so strange.

Abby waved, not courageous enough to tell her sister that she loved her, too, and Deanna sped off, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.

Leaving Abby in the dust behind her.

When Abby went back inside, Josh had just stumbled downstairs.

“Where’s Deanna?” Josh mumbled.

“She just left.”

Josh nodded and went into the kitchen. He’d reached his quota of words for the morning, but Abby didn’t care. It was going to be a good day. Mom and Dad were coming home and neither her sister’s weirdness nor her brother’s indifference was going to get her down.

ABBY WAS ON THE PHONE WITH LEISE TALKING ABOUT A bunch of nothing when she heard the Impala pull into the driveway.

“Gotta go, Leise,” Abby said, hopping off her seat on the kitchen counter and setting the cordless receiver in its cradle. She bounded into the living room and looked out the window. Mom parked the car in its usual spot in the circle driveway, got out, and went to help Dad out the passenger door. Abby had grown used to this kind of backwardness. Mom had become the house fixer, the snow shoveler, the cook, the house cleaner, the clothes washer, the nurturer—she kept it all together. Josh had taken over mowing the lawn, which was once Dad’s job, and Abby pulled weeds and did the dishes. Dad still helped out with whatever he could, but that wasn’t much anymore. Even folding the laundry wore him out.

Dad winced as he climbed out of the passenger seat and leaned against the window for support. Mom held his other arm, crouched a bit, as if she was prepared to catch him if he fell. And all five foot two, one hundred ten pounds of her, she would have. She’d have been happy to carry him around on a satin pillow.

Dad regained his posture, and so did Mom. They both stood still for a moment, gazing at the house. Mom’s chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh and she shook her head. She said something to Dad and started to cry, and this time it was his turn to steady her. Dad held her tight and whispered into her ear. Whatever he said seemed to help, for she nodded, wiped her tears away vigorously with her palms, and stood up straight.

Dad clasped Mom’s hand in his and together they walked toward the house. Abby ducked and scrambled away, not wanting them to know she’d seen. When the door opened Abby was lounging on the couch watching television as if she’d been doing so for hours.

“Well, hello!” Dad said cheerily, walking gingerly toward Abby and leaning to kiss her forehead. Abby pretended to wipe the kiss off, then carefully held him by the shoulders and eased him back to standing.

“Hi, punkin’,” Mom said, digging through her purse as if she was searching for something. Abby knew that she was trying to hide her eyes.

Josh broke out of his Xbox trance long enough to come upstairs and say hello, and then he headed out to unload their luggage from the trunk. What a suck-up. Mom went outside to assist him, after warning Dad not to even think about it, and Dad sat in his recliner beside Abby.

“Whatcha watchin’?” Dad asked.

“No idea,” Abby replied.

“Funny name for a show.”

“So what have you been up to this week?”

“Nothing. Homework and stuff.”

Josh and Mom walked in, their arms weighted down with luggage.

“What have you been up to this week?” Abby asked Josh. She’d warned him that she would tell.

“Nothing,” Josh said, glaring at her.

Abby snorted. “Yeah. That’s how much of your homework you got done.”

“I did my homework.”

“You did not.”

“Whatever.”

All this seemed lost on their parents. Mom climbed the stairs juggling a suitcase, and Dad had his head leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. Obviously they weren’t concerned in the least about Josh’s behavior while they’d been away. They didn’t care who was the good kid and who was not. Abby had completely wasted her energy all week; she’d toed the line for nada. Oh, the unfairness of it all.

Mom came back downstairs to retrieve a second load. Josh asked if he could go to Billy’s. Dad’s lids sprang open and his eyes locked with Mom’s.

“No,” Mom said, staring at Dad. “We all need to talk after dinner.”

“But it’s only four o’clock,” Josh protested.

“We’ll have an early dinner,” Mom said flatly. “I’ll get it started in a minute. I need you to stay here.”

Josh groaned in exasperation, and Abby’s excitement heightened. Revenge was sweet. Looked like Josh was going to get it after all.

THE NORTH FAMILY ATE DINNER IN VIRTUAL SILENCE, everyone sitting in their regular spots at the trestle table, avoiding each other’s eyes. Except for Abby, that was. Soon after dinner the ball was going to drop on her brother, and Abby searched her parents’ faces for signs. Their blank expressions held no clues, however, so Abby was forced to wait until after they’d all finished. It looked like that was going to be an eternity, the way Mom and Dad picked at their food, but Mom finally, mercifully announced that dinner was over. Abby had been much too excited to eat.

Everyone stood, and Mom cleared the table while Abby opened up the dishwasher and deposited her rinsed dish inside. Mom set the dirty dishes on the countertop beside the sink.

“That can wait,” she said dully, touching Abby’s elbow and gently nudging her toward the living room. This was serious. Big-time serious. Mom never let Abby do anything after dinner until the dishwasher was loaded and running and the tables and countertops wiped down.

Abby sat on the living room couch beside Josh; Dad was in his recliner, facing them, his elbows on his knees, trying his best to suck air into his lungs. He was doing this thing with his hands—clasping them, unclasping them, clasping them again. Abby had never seen her father look so nervous.

Mom stood behind Dad’s chair, resting her hands on his shoulders. When it appeared that he wasn’t about to speak, she did.

“Things didn’t go well at the hospital.”

“That’s what Deanna said,” Abby replied. Now get on with it! Off with his head!

“What did she tell you?” Mom asked, her eyes wide. It wasn’t fear, was it?

“Not much,” Abby said. “Just that the treatments didn’t work.”

Mom nodded slowly.

“Dad wasn’t a candidate for treatment,” she corrected. “The cancer has spread like wildfire. It’s in his other kidney, his lungs, his bones. . . .” She fell silent and stared at the wall.

“So you’re not going to get better?” Abby asked Dad.

Dad, who had been putting a lot of effort into focusing on his hands, looked at Abby and smiled softly.

“I’m going to die,” he said.

Mom probably lost it then, Josh probably broke out of his teenage catatonia and spoke like a real person, Dad probably lied and said everything would be okay. But Abby didn’t know. What Abby heard was a needle in the run-out groove of an old 45 on Dad’s ancient record player after the song had ended.

Shh-bmp. Shh-bmp. Shh-bmp.

Abby didn’t know where she went or how she got there or what it looked like, but it sounded like Shh-bmp. Crackle. Shh-bmp. Crackle.

Over the deafening noise Abby heard Dad’s voice in the distance.

“I’m gonna kick the bucket, meet my maker, bite the dust, give up the ghost—”

“That’s not funny!” Mom screamed. “That’s sick! This is not a joke! This is not funny!”

Through a thick fog Abby saw Mom run into the kitchen, Dad’s eyes chasing her helplessly. His gaze darted from the kitchen to them, back to the kitchen, back to them. He looked powerless and scared. Guilty.

“How long do you have?” Josh asked from somewhere far away.

“The doctors say less than six months,” Dad replied. “But you never know.”

Six months. It was April, so that meant that Dad would die by October. He’d be a ghost for Halloween.

Abby’s senses shut down and she turned back toward the fog, now comforted by the thick blanket of nothingness that engulfed her, and rocked to the rhythmic sound of the old 45.

Shh-bmp.