Chapter 9 - THE FIRST THING ISABELLA SAID OUT LOUD
Isabella's speech returned slowly.
Not because of a miracle.
Months of language therapy.
Repetition.
Frustration.
Small gains.
One afternoon Dominic visited after therapy.
Isabella was exhausted.
Marin happened to be there.
Not as caregiver.
As a guest.
She still visited every other Sunday.
Eli usually brought cards.
Today he was in the garden with Carlo losing badly at basketball.
Dominic poured tea.
Marin looked at him.
“You're avoiding me.”
He nearly dropped the cup.
“I am not.”
“You've been in this room three times today and said twelve words to me.”
“You counted?”
“No.”
“Then unreliable evidence.”
She smiled.
“I see where Isabella gets it.”
His mother watched them.
Then made a sound.
“A…”
Both turned.
Isabella frowned.
Tried again.
“A…”
Dominic stepped closer.
“No rush.”
She glared.
Apparently that instruction was offensive.
Then:
“Ask.”
One word.
Clear.
Small.
Everything stopped.
Dominic stared.
“Ma?”
Isabella pointed at Marin.
Then Dominic.
“Ask.”
Marin's eyes widened.
Isabella looked extremely pleased with herself.
Dominic almost laughed.
His mother had worked six months to regain speech and used one of her first clear words to interfere in his life.
Perfect.
He looked at Marin.
“Ignore her.”
Isabella hit the table.
Marin laughed.
Then Dominic remembered something.
Ask.
Don't decide.
He took a breath.
“Would you have coffee with me?”
Marin stared.
“As what?”
“Not your employer.”
“Good.”
“Not Isabella's son asking her former caregiver for a favor.”
“Better.”
“As a man asking a woman whether she'd like coffee.”
Marin considered.
Isabella watched shamelessly.
Finally:
“One coffee.”
Dominic smiled.
“One.”
May you like
Isabella tapped twice.
Yes.
