Archer's Voice(16)

YES, I UNDERSTAND YOU.

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU NEED?

My eyes darted up to his and my mouth opened slightly to respond, but I snapped it shut before answering his question. Kind of rude question, by the way. But really, did I want anything else? I chewed on my lip for a minute, switching my weight between legs again as he watched me, waiting for my answer. The look on his face was wary and watchful, as if he had no idea if I was going to answer him or bite him, and he was prepared for either.

"Uh, I just, I felt badly for the other day. I didn't know you didn't… speak, and I just wanted to let you know that it wasn't intentional, what I said… I just… I'm new in town and…" Well, this was going really well. Jesus. "Do you want to get a pizza or something?" I blurted out, my eyes widening. I hadn't exactly decided to go there, I just had. I looked at him hopefully.

He stared back like I was an advanced math problem he couldn't interpret.

He frowned at me and then brought his pen to the pad, never breaking eye contact. Finally, he looked down as he wrote and then raised the pad to me:

NO.

I couldn't help the laugh that erupted. He didn't smile, just kept looking at me warily. My laughter died. I whispered, "No?"

A brief look of confusion passed over his face as he watched me and he picked up his pad and wrote something else. When he held it up, he had added a word under his first one. It now said:

NO,

THANKS.

I let my breath out, feeling my cheeks heat. "Okay. I understand. Well, again, sorry for the misunderstanding in the parking lot. And… sorry for barging in on you today… that my dog…" I scooped Phoebe up in my arms. "Well, it was nice to meet you. Oh! By the way, I didn't really meet you. I know your name, but I'm Bree. Bree Prescott. And I'll just let myself out." I hitched my thumb over my shoulder and walked backwards and then turned hurriedly and walked briskly back up the driveway toward the gate. I heard his footsteps behind me, walking in the opposite direction, back to his woodpile, I assumed.

I let myself out the gate, but didn't close it all the way. Instead, I stood on the other side, with my hand still on the warm wood. Well, that was weird. And embarrassing. What had I been thinking asking him to have pizza with me? I looked up at the sky, putting my hand to my forehead and grimacing.

As I stood there thinking about it, something occurred to me. I had meant to ask Archer if he knew sign, but in my awkwardness, I had forgotten. And then he brought out that stupid pad of paper. But it was now that I realized, Archer Hale had never once watched my lips as I talked. He had watched my eyes.

I turned around and walked back through his gate, marching back down to the woodpile behind his house, Phoebe still in my arms.

He was standing there, holding the axe in his hands, a piece of wood standing upright on the stump, but he wasn't swinging. He was just staring at it, a small frown on his face, looking deep in thought. And when he spotted me, a look of surprise flashed over his face before his eyes settled into that same narrow wariness.

When Phoebe saw him, she started yapping and panting again.

"You're not deaf," I said. "You can hear just fine."

He remained still for a minute, but then he stuck his axe in the stump, walked past me and looked back in the same way he had done the first time, gesturing to me to follow him. I did.

He walked through the door of his house and again emerged with the same pad and pen in his hands.

After a minute, he held the pad up:

I DIDN'T TELL YOU I WAS DEAF.

I paused. "No, you didn't," I said softly. "But you can't speak?"

He looked at me and then brought the pad up and wrote for half a minute and then turned it toward me:

I CAN SPEAK. I JUST LIKE TO SHOW OFF MY NICE PENMANSHIP.

I stared at the words, digesting them, furrowing my brow and then looked up at his face. "Is that you being funny?" I asked, still frowning.

He raised his brows.

"Right," I said, tilting my head. "Well, you might want to work on that."

We stood there staring at each other for a few seconds, when he sighed heavily, brought the pad of paper up again and wrote:

IS THERE SOMETHING ELSE YOU WANT?

I looked up at him. "I know sign language," I said. "I could teach you. I mean, you wouldn't get to show off your penmanship, haha, but it's a quicker way to communicate." I smiled, hopeful, trying to make him smile too. Did he smile? Was he even capable?

He stared at me for several beats before he placed the pad and pen down gently on the ground next to him, straightened up, brought his hands up and signed, I already know sign language.

I startled slightly, and a lump came to my throat. No one had signed to me for over six months and it brought my dad, the feel of my dad's presence, front and center.