I jumped over the back of the sofa, regretted it when I landed and almost took out a rubber tree plant, and interpreted what Amber had said.
Quentin shrugged and nodded. “Sure, thanks.”
And Amber was lost.
“Hi,” he said to Cookie.
She took his hand in hers. “It’s so nice to see you again, and you are welcome here anytime, Quentin.”
I interpreted, then added, “But only if Cookie and I are here as well.”
He gave me a thumbs-up, understanding my meaning completely. I didn’t miss the interest in his eyes when Amber opened the door. This had trouble written all over it. In permanent marker.
Amber took Quentin’s arm and led him over to the table, where she took out a pen and paper for them to write notes. I was soon demoted to third wheel. Since I’d been summarily dismissed without so much as a severance check, I went to help Cookie in the kitchen, which – very much like my own apartment – was about five inches from where we just stood.
“Oh, heavens, Charley, I just can’t get over him. He is an absolute doll.”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping a close watch on the rascal, “that’s my worry. So how’d it go today?”
“Oh, my gosh, I learned so much.”
“Yeah, that’s great. But seriously, I have to figure out what’s going on with these women. I can hardly get through my apartment. And Nicolette? She’s alive? What’s up with that? They never come back to life.”
For some reason, Cookie poured the pasta into her own bowls.
“You realize you’re not fooling anyone.”
She ignored me. “Is Nicolette, you know, like a zombie?”
I curled a string of spaghetti onto a fork and slid it into my mouth. “She didn’t really look like the walking dead,” I said, talking with my mouth full. “You look more like the walking dead than she did. You know, in the mornings anyway.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“Do you know me at all?”
After Quentin and I crashed the Kowalski dinner, we sat around the table drinking tea and telling embarrassing stories about Amber. She was so in love, she didn’t notice when I told the one about where she’d tried to dye her hair with Kool-Aid and it turned gray for a solid week.
“I know sign language, too,” she chimed in after a bit.
“You signed ‘sorry’ earlier,” I said. “I was impressed.”
She blushed. “Yeah, I learned some in the second grade. My teacher taught us. She took a class in college.”
“A whole class?” I asked, trying not to sound facetious, even though I was. “That’s great.”
“Yeah.”
“And you still remember what she taught you?” Cookie asked her.
She nodded.
Quentin raised his brows, waiting for her to show him something. There were few things Deaf people found more amusing than hearing people who knew just enough sign to be dangerous. But he seemed genuinely interested.
“But it’s dumb,” she said, deflating a little now that the spotlight was on her.
“No.” I encouraged her to stand. “I bet it’s great.”
“Okay, well, I can sign ‘I am very special.’ ”
“Perfect,” I said. I had interpreted for Quentin so he would know what to expect, just in case what she signed was nowhere near what she was trying to say.
Since she had the room, Amber stood and cleared her throat. No idea why. She lifted her hands and produced three signs for us that were supposed to be I, very, and special. I was thrilled she didn’t throw in the am. There was no such word in American Sign Language. The am that did exist was thanks to any number of English sign systems that had very little to do with the actual language. Very was bad enough, but I could forgive her that one.
Still, there is a certain nuance to any language, a certain gradation, and shifting that nuance can change the meaning of a message entirely. One misplaced hand shape or one wrong movement, and the sign switches from a noun to a verb, or from one adjective to another. It would be like replacing the p in puck with an f. It may be one small sound away from the same word, but it was one giant step away from carrying the same meaning.
So when Amber did the movement in the English word very backwards, and extended the movement in the word special, using all the fingers on her right hand instead of the two allotted, I found myself more than a little taken aback.
I blinked.
Quentin blinked.
And believing we hadn’t understood her, Amber signed her sentence again, to my utter horror. I lunged forward and grabbed her hands before glancing back at Quentin. He now wore a smile that expressed just how much he appreciated Amber’s forthrightness.
I slammed my hands over his eyes. He giggled and tugged them down.
“What?” Amber said in dismay, clamping her hands behind her back. “What did I say?”
“She – She didn’t mean that,” I said to Quentin.
“I didn’t mean what?”
“I’m pretty sure she did,” he said.
“Nothing, sweetheart.” I pulled Quentin out of his chair. “We need to be going anyway. Thanks for dinner.”
Cookie sat with her mouth open, trying to figure out what had just happened.
“I think we should stay,” Quentin said, the smile on his face gleaming. “See what else she knows.”
“Absolutely not.” I dragged him out the door.