Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

M itchell Glover laughed as Link told him about Dawson's "potato date" from the night before. He'd feel bad if Dawson wasn't right there on the screen, also laughing about it.

So it went well , he signed, not really asking. Dawson had a glow Mitch could probably get a tan from though he lived a thousand miles away from the Texas Panhandle.

Went great , Dawson said, as he knew a little sign language. Sometimes he had to have Link interpret for him, especially if Mitch signed too fast. Now that he lived around and with so many other deaf people, he sometimes forgot that he couldn't speed through the signs with his family.

I only ordered breakfast for her , Dawson said. It's her favorite meal, and then I got her a plate of French fries and an extra-bacon-loaded baked potato.

Wow , Mitch said. So you're to kissing level after a date like that.

Dawson looked at Link, who translated for him, and Dawson simply nodded. Mitch laughed again, so glad for his friend. He honestly was. But he knew this video call would end, and he'd be trapped back in his silent bubble.

You're being unfair , he told himself. He'd been really trying to call out his negative thought patterns when he had them. Mostly at the advice of his therapist, who asked at every appointment if he'd been able to start rewiring his mind.

Mitch reached for the notebook he kept on the table with his laptop, as he'd also identified that a lot of his self-depreciating thoughts came when he spoke with his family via video. Guilt had riddled him about that realization for the first few weeks, and with the help of his counselor, he'd been able to let that go.

The Glovers were simply a very hard family to live in. Amazing, but hard. So much to live up to , Mitch thought as he wrote the thought out.

He looked up again just as Link said …not listening.

No, Mitch wasn't listening, which he couldn't do anyway. Not in the way other people could. He hadn't been watching , and that was different than Link. He could write down a thought, even if his handwriting looked like chicken scratch, and hear the person on the other end of the call at the same time.

Mitch couldn't.

Focusing on what you can't do instead of what you can , he thought, and he held up his hand for Link, so he could write that down too.

Sorry , he finally said. Writing stuff down for my therapist.

Link immediately sobered, though he'd been grinning about something with Dawson. What's she having you do?

Write down negative thoughts , he said. It's working too. I can recognize them all the time now, and she's helping me switch them around.

Negative thoughts? Link looked over to Dawson. About what we were talking about?

Mitch didn't want to get into it right now. Link, though he lived far away, had been nothing but, well, Link. Kind and supportive, any way he could. He'd sent Mitch dinner on his birthday, as well as a ten-pound package of all of his favorite chocolate treats, with a card signed by every person in the Glover family—even the babies.

He felt loved and missed on every side, and he simply needed his mind to stop telling his heart that he wasn't.

He waved his hands like, No big deal , and Link nodded. He wouldn't drop it, but he'd leave it for now. No, Mitch had not started attending the deaf church at Whispering Paws, though he'd heard the pastor was a deaf man himself and said amazing things with his hands. A friend of his had said he could practically hear Pastor Darvy's passion and bellowing voice, though he was a non-vocal deaf person, like Mitch.

For now, Mitch relied on Link's testimony that God loved him, and when he was ready, he felt certain he'd be able to return to his faith. He hadn't spoken about any of it with his momma, as she was a pastor in Three Rivers. Not only that, but a pastor everyone loved. Absolutely adored.

Mitch couldn't even count how many people had told him how much they loved his momma's sermons—how much they loved her.

And Mitch did too, but he had a hard time separating her sermons from her as his mother, and he simply needed…time.

He knew church attendance was important. At least he supposed it was, but he knew people who didn't believe at all but went to church every week. Cactus, who Mitch called Dad, didn't attend church very often to this day, though the man had more faith in and love for God than anyone else Mitch knew.

So he needed time, and with Link's encouragement, Mitch had prayed to know what to do. God had answered him in the most maddening way in the world— what would you like to do, Mitch ?

He didn't want to decide. How about that? he'd asked God. Just tell me what to do.

He'd not gotten another answer after that, and the Lord had left it in his hands. Every day, Mitch got up in silence and went about his day in silence, the question blazing through his mind.

What would you like to do, Mitch?

Hey , he said next. I'm going for my cochlear implant consultation next week.

Link stayed sober as he nodded. When is it?

Mitch smiled and shook his head. I'm not telling you. Then you won't be able to show up unannounced.

Link glared at him, his blue eyes filled with challenge. Mitch , was all he said.

And you can't tell my parents , Mitch said, though Link had already sworn he wouldn't. Some of the best doctors in the world lived here in Virginia, and with the deaf school and college nearby, they had plenty of business for cochlear implants.

But such a device wasn't for everyone. Mitch had never been verbal, and he'd already learned that even with implants, he likely wouldn't be able to speak English with men like Link and Dawson for at least a decade after his surgery.

Ten years.

Of constant study and language input from TV shows, movies, podcasts, anything he could practice hearing with and see captions at the same time. That way, he could learn how the vowels sounded in words he already knew but only with the shape of his fingers.

I want a full update the moment you walk out of there , Link said.

It probably won't be something I can do , Mitch admitted, though he'd been far more downtrodden after the initial interest meeting. He was almost twenty-eight years old, and all he wanted in the whole world was to have a regular conversation with someone on the phone. Not a video call.

He wanted to hear his phone ring and know it was Link before he saw the screen. He wanted to hear his best friend's voice. He wanted to use his own. Everything inside him felt like he had so much to shout about, and yet, Mitch never used a perfectly good part of his body—a piece that worked.

His vocal cords.

He had not grown up in a sign-language-rich environment. He'd learned to get along in the world by reading lips, through invented signs, and through learning exact English. When he'd finally gone to live with his mother and Cactus in Three Rivers, he'd been nine years old—and his mom had worked tirelessly to teach him true American Sign Language then.

She'd been working on it during their time apart, and Cactus had started learning as well. They'd taught all of their kids and anyone who wanted to learn at Shiloh Ridge. Link had studied it on his own as well, and he'd acted as Mitch's interpreter through all of high school.

Thankfully, as it was embarrassing for Mitch to have to call his mommy so he could understand what a teacher wanted from him. Or another student. Or anyone, as hardly anyone at his high school knew and could use ASL.

When he'd come to Whispering Paws the first time, he'd realized how far behind he was, in literally every way. He'd been taking classes for the past several months, and he taught at the college level, for students interested in agriculture, ranching, and farming, as he had a lot of experience and knowledge with signs in those areas.

Still, sign language was regional and varied even from state to state, so plenty of living, of experiences, were also necessary for a good interpreter—and to be able to live outside of the culture he'd grown up in.

Anyone giving you flack for it ? Link asked, his mouth moving too. Probably so Dawson knew what they were talking about.

Mitch shook his head. Not so far. Things are pretty open here, though there are definitely people who think an implant is going against our culture. Others who don't really care. And others who are pro-implants for various reasons. It's just a consultation.

Yes, he'd added that last sentence for himself. To keep his own hopes and expectations in check. Link relayed the message to Dawson, and then he said, Want to see our tuxes for the wedding?

You have them already?

He and Misty were getting married in June, right before her assignment in Three Rivers ended. She'd then quit her job and move to Shiloh Ridge Ranch with Link. As far as Mitch knew, she wasn't sure what she'd do from there, but Three Rivers had grown to about twenty thousand people now, and there were jobs to be had.

I tried mine on over the weekend , Link said. He tapped on his phone and brought up a picture. He turned it toward the camera, his mouth moving but not his hands. Not sure if you can see that.

It took a few seconds and some tilting of the phone, and then Mitch could see the midnight black tuxedo. Link had gripped the lapels with both hands, struck a pose, and wore a very serious, very dapper expression.

He laughed again, because Smiles had probably told him to stand like that. Link pulled the phone back and grinned too. All the boys are wearing them , he said.

Who's all the boys? Mitch asked.

Everyone younger than you , Link said. Finn, Alex, Dawson, Danny. The groomsmen and the male cousins.

What about your daddy?

Regular suit , Link said. He grinned again. And you should see the stink your daddy is throwing over that.

Mitch could see it all, and he grinned. I should probably come visit before then .

Link sobered again and he only said one word: Yes.

Mitch nodded too, and then he said goodbye to Link and Dawson and let them end the call. He had some videos to grade for his class, and then his alarm would sound—a buzzy, vibrating thing that told him to walk Honor.

Then, he had to get over to the hearing dog academy and continue the training with the two dogs he currently worked with: Amaretto and Liberty.

Thankfully, Link hadn't asked about Gillian, a woman Mitch had been out with a couple of times. She was hearing, but she knew sign language, and Mitch had settled into trying to figure out what and who he wanted in a partner. A spouse. Someone he could take home to Three Rivers and Shiloh Ridge Ranch, to the enormous family he belonged to.

In his heart of hearts, he saw himself with a hearing person, but it hadn't worked out with Gillian. Mitch had another date set up with someone else—a deaf woman named Brindie from the college.

That wasn't until the weekend, and Mitch had a lot to look forward to in the next several days. He reached for the pencil and jotted that down too. His therapist would be thrilled to find a positive thing among the negative this month, and Mitch smiled to himself as he put down the pencil and opened his university work.

He wasn't as far along as Link and Dawson, nor Finn and Alex, but he didn't need to be. He'd been assured and reassured by his own feelings and plenty of people around him that he was right where he needed to be. He loved his job here, and he was learning so much.

Maybe Brindie would be a fit for him, and maybe she wouldn't.

Maybe the cochlear implants would work out for him, and maybe they wouldn't.

The point was, Mitch had options, and for the first time in over a year, he felt like he wasn't drowning with every breath. He felt like he'd find exactly what—and who—he was looking for, as long as he didn't quit searching.

So he wasn't going to quit, plain and simple.