Chapter 5 - WHAT CAROLINE WROTE IN THE MARGINS
Hannah gave Alexander the book the following evening.
Not permanently.
“Matthew decides where it belongs,” she said.
Alexander accepted the condition.
He opened it after midnight.
The book had originally been Caroline’s college poetry anthology.
After Matthew lost his hearing, its margins became something else.
Signs.
Reminders.
Tiny diagrams.
Funny notes.
A sketch of Caroline’s hand beside:
MOM — Matthew says I do this one too dramatically.
Another:
SORRY — Alex keeps mixing it up with EXCUSE-ME.
Alexander stopped.
His handwriting appeared below it.
I DO NOT.
Caroline had responded:
YOU ABSOLUTELY DO.
He laughed.
Then immediately cried.
It happened so fast he didn’t have time to prevent either.
For several pages, he found evidence of a father he had forgotten.
Alexander practicing.
Alexander making mistakes.
Alexander trying.
Then the entries became increasingly Caroline’s alone.
Week Six.
Alex missed again.
Week Nine.
He says work is impossible right now.
Week Eleven.
Matthew waits at the window when he thinks Alex may join us.
Then, months later:
I’m scared Alex thinks providing every specialist means he doesn’t have to become part of Matthew’s language himself.
Alexander closed the book.
He walked around the office.
Then came back.
Near the end, he found a letter addressed to Hannah.
Not legal instructions.
Not a will.
Nothing formal.
A request from one frightened mother to another woman she trusted.
If I don’t make it, keep the book.
Please don’t let Matthew believe the only people worth talking to are people who make him translate himself first.
Alex loves him more than anything.
But Alex is terrified of helplessness.
When he’s scared, he controls.
When he controls, he stops listening.
Alexander read the paragraph until the words blurred.
Caroline had not believed he was a bad father.
That almost made it worse.
She had understood exactly how a good father could still harm his child.
At breakfast, Alexander placed the book between himself and Matthew.
Matthew looked at it.
Then at him.
Alexander tried a sign.
SORRY.
He got the movement wrong.
Matthew did not laugh.
He corrected him.
Alexander tried again.
SORRY.
Matthew nodded.
Alexander signed:
I FORGOT.
Matthew stared at him.
Then shook his head.
Alexander stopped.
Matthew signed slowly.
Alexander only understood one part.
YOU.
Hannah, standing near the kitchen, translated quietly.
“He says you didn’t forget.”
Alexander looked at his son.
Matthew continued.
“You stopped.”
No accusation could have been more accurate.
Alexander swallowed.
Then signed the only sentence he was certain he could still produce.
TELL ME AGAIN.
Matthew’s eyes filled.
But he did not answer.
The hidden truth had surfaced.
May you like
Learning the language was not the difficult part.
Convincing Matthew his father would not abandon it again would be.
