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If Mr. Sullivan wanted me dead, he could have found a less flashy way than sending a limo, a driver, and an interpreter.
I slide into the limo, and Jenny joins me. As soon as she shuts the door, José takes off.
The air conditioner is blasting, and the windows are tinted. I can see the city blurring past, but no one can see me here, sitting in the lap of luxury.
A luxury I don’t deserve.
Jenny offers me a plate of strawberries.
Facing her with a serious expression, I demand, “What is all this?” Rather than sign the word for ‘all’, I motion to the breakfast bar and the general layout of the limo. “What does Mr. Rolls Royce…” I cringe, “Mr. Sullivan want by doing this?”
She sets the strawberries down so her hands are free. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Honestly, I don’t know what I mean either.
My brain feels like it’s misfiring.
“I don’t want this.”
“If you’re not pleased with José’s service or mine, there are other interpreters waiting for—”
“Other interpreters? As in plural?”
“Mr. Sullivan hired five interpreters from our company.”
“Who evenisthis guy?” I mash my lips together. “What does he want? Why is he going overboard?”
“Can I ask what you’re unhappy with?”
I rub my temples, not even sure what to sign to her.
This is…
I don’t…
Everywhere I go, I’m always the one who has to accommodate people.
I lipread.
I use hearing aids.
I do everything I can to make sure the hearing folks around me don’t feel like I’m any less capable than they are.
But now…
My driver can sign.
I have an interpreter inside alimo with a breakfast bar.
And it’s just… overwhelming.
Why?
Why me?
Especially when Mr. Rolls Royce should have sent a police car instead of a five-star catering service.
I type out a text to him but change my mind before sending it and turn the phone face-down. Tapping over the back, I take a few more calming breaths. Maybe this is a set up. Richard Sullivan wants to throw me off my game. Lure me into a false sense of comfort before demanding I reveal Henry’s name and address.
