“Teaching signs is pretty standard with kids like him,” Mauve said to Jason. “But, for a concert, we’re talking expressive signing. Almost a performance.” She turned back to Sarah. “Do you think he’d want to try?”
“If you encouraged him, yes,” Sarah said. “It would be good for him to feel as if he’s a part of something for once, instead of invisible. That’s the hardest part for him. Because he doesn’t speak, he becomes part of the scenery to the other kids and to most adults. This would be something he could do that would be just his, but also make him part of the class. Would we be able to teach him a song in the next two weeks?”
“I can work with him on it,” Mauve said. “We can schedule some extra sessions. Think of it as my Christmas present to my favorite client.”
“It’s a performance, though,” Jason said. “He has to match the rhythm of the music. And he has to express the song through his facial expressions in addition to the signs.”
“How do you know that?” Mauve asked.
He felt a flush making its way up his neck and smiled, sheepish. “I learned ASL for a role five years ago. It was a limited series, and nobody watched it, but I played a deaf character. I had a language coach for four months. We worked a lot on the performative angle. How to make the signs readable from the back of a room, for example. Time them to music. Sell the story to the audience.”
“What are you saying exactly?” Mauve asked, eyes narrowed.
“I’m saying I could help,” Jason said.
Sarah was staring at him, as if trying to discern his angle. “You would do that for a stranger?”
“He’s not a stranger,” Jason said. “He’s my girlfriend’s favorite client.”
Girlfriend. That had slipped out.
Mauve didn’t appear to notice. Instead, she asked Jason, “Do you think you can learn a song and teach it to him in two weeks?”
“What’s the song?” Jason asked.
“Frosty the Snowman,” Sarah said.
“Oh, good one. There’s a story to it.” Jason rubbed his hands together, grinning. “This will be fun. I’m rusty, but I’m sure it will come back. Before filming, I spent four months immersed in the language. And I’m still friends with my ASL coach in L.A. I’ll have her videotape herself so we can mimic. When can we start?”
Both women laughed.
“What?” Jason asked.
“Who knew we’d have a professional actor in town to teach Ollie how to sing in sign language,” Mauve asked.
“Not me,” Sarah said.
“And you think Ollie will want to do this?” Mauve asked Sarah. “I don’t want him to feel pressured.”
“He’s desperate to be part of something, so, yes,” Sarah said. “Before he understood that he was different from the other kids—back when he was home with just me and Ben—he used tobe very expressive. He used to try to make me laugh by making faces and making jokes with his body. It’s hard to explain, but I think there might be a little actor in him.”
“I can pull it out if it’s there,” Jason said. “And who better than a guy who used to suffer from a terrible stutter. A guy who played a tree.”
“I’ll talk to Ben, but I think he’ll agree to it,” Sarah said, eyes shining. “I can’t thank you enough. Both of you. I’m grateful I ran into you.”
“I’ll call you in the morning,” Mauve said. “We’ll make a plan.”
They said goodbye to Sarah and headed toward the parking lot without speaking. It wasn’t until they got to the car that Mauve burst into tears.
Jason’s heart melted. He took her hand between both of his. “It’s okay. We’re going to make it better for him.”
She nodded, tears still flowing. “When I think about what he must have felt like when she told him just to stand there. It’s just so sad.”
He reached over the console to grab a small packet of tissues and handed them to her. “It is sad but not hopeless. We can do this. Between the two of us, who better to help?”
She dabbed at her damp eyes. “You’re right. It’s just sometimes, in my line of work, I see stuff that breaks my heart a little piece at a time. I wonder sometimes if I’m enough.”
“Trust me, Mauve Callahan. You’re enough. More than enough. For Ollie. For me. For whatever comes your way.”
