Page 57 of Possibly Texas

“I know.”

“Okay. How long do you think it will take me to learn enough?”

Auggie considered me for a moment.

“I think if you set your mind to it, you’ll be talking to Jack and reading his signs by the end of summer,” he said. “But only if you focus.”

“Really?”

“Well, you won’t be fluent,” Auggie admitted, “but you can have some pretty good conversations without a cellphone or notepad. I’ve taught everyone around here at least a little bit. In case Jack ever becomes social.”

I grinned.

“Okay. Then let’s do it. I’m going to be a great student. Promise.”

Auggie smiled. “Good. Now, face me, block out everything else, and we’ll get serious.”

I spun on my butt in the grass to face Auggie, crossed my legs, and gave him my full attention. That’s how it began. Under the tree outside of Starbuck’s, I decided to be a good student.

That was how June had melted away under the tree outside of Starbuck’s each morning. Auggie and I would meet—either at the barn or at Jack’s place—and we’d walk through town. We’d say “hello” to everyone, check for any new letters from Shirlene, get a coffee and breakfast from Starbuck’s, then spend the early morning hours under the shade of the tree outside. Sometimes we’d venture into Samuel’s Soda Spray for a float or a soda, maybe even an ice cream cone, but we always ended up in the same spot.

Our tree.

The radio was typically on in the kitchen when I went downstairs for breakfast. So, when I ventured downstairs for breakfast on the first of July, and I was met with silence, I was confused. Had Jack slept in, or had he simply turned the radio off when he went outside to begin his work in the backyard? Since he wasn’t in the kitchen finishing breakfast, those were the only other options. I ran a hand through my mussed hair, scratching at my scalp as I yawned and tiptoed across the kitchen tile to the back of the house.

The sounds of Jack reached my ears before I actually laid eyes on him. Once I’d pushed open the backdoor, I found Jack in the yard, as was usual on bright, sunny mornings, working on another project. I padded down the backsteps in my bare feet, letting the door shut behind me. Dewy grass slithered between my toes, tickling me as I strolled across the back lawn sleepily.

When I approached the table Jack was working on, he looked up, and gave me a small smile. Since I had his attention, I touched the tips of the fingers of my right hand to my chin, lowered it to my other waiting hand, moved my right hand to the crook of my left elbow, and raised my left open hand. Just a simple sign.

Good morning.

Jack stared at me.

So…I repeated the sign.

Good morning.

Time ticked by as Jack stared at me across the length of the table, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. I was about to repeat the sign when Jack gave me a curt nod, then lowered his head and went back to work.

“Good morning,” I said.

Jack looked up just long enough to repeat the sharp nod, then he was looking back at his project once again. I wanted to try again with the ASL, but Jack’s snippy response to my first attempt led me to believe that I’d signed wrong. Obviously, I hadn’t signed “good morning” so poorly that he hadn’t understood it, but it had upset him enough. So, instead of asking him how the table was going with ASL—which I might have butchered even worse, considering how nervous his response to my first attempt had made me—I just asked him out loud.

“How’s the table coming?”

Jack looked up briefly, nodded his head side-to-side as to indicate his thoughts on the project, then went right back to looking at the table. He hadn’t even stopped working to respond.

“Do you need any help?”

Jack shook his head curtly, but didn’t bother raising his head again.

I didn’t want his obvious rebuff of my attempt to communicate with ASL hurt my feelings, but it did. Auggie and I had spent a few weeks working together—not enough to be fluent or all that impressive—but I had tried. Auggie had given up time to teach me, I’d given up free time to learn, and Jack didn’t seem to care. In fact, he almost seemed bothered by my attempt to say “good morning.”

A parade wasn’t what I’d been searching for when I signed “good morning” to my stepfather, nor did I want a trophy. Something like a smile wouldn’t have been bad, though. Jack smiling and signing back would have been amazing. I was just trying to connect with the guy since I hadn’t seen him in…I couldn’t remember how long, honestly. Jack was a nice guy—nice enough to let me stay with him without so much as a heads up from Mom—so I wanted to be friendly, if nothing else, with him.

I kind of wanted him to act like a stepfather.

As I stood there, watching him from the other end of the table, I realized what I desperately wanted that from Jack.