Link immediately sobered, though he’d been grinning about something with Dawson.What’s she having you do?
Write down negative thoughts, he said.It’s working too. I can recognize them all the time now, and she’s helping me switch them around.
Negative thoughts?Link looked over to Dawson.About what we were talking about?
Mitch didn’t want to get into it right now. Link, though he lived far away, had been nothing but, well, Link. Kind and supportive, any way he could. He’d sent Mitch dinner on his birthday, as well as a ten-pound package of all of his favorite chocolate treats, with a card signed by every person in the Glover family—even the babies.
He felt loved and missed on every side, and he simply needed his mind to stop telling his heart that he wasn’t.
He waved his hands like,No big deal, and Link nodded. He wouldn’t drop it, but he’d leave it for now.No, Mitch had not started attending the deaf church at Whispering Paws, though he’d heard the pastor was a deaf man himself and said amazing things with his hands. A friend of his had said he could practically hear Pastor Darvy’s passion and bellowing voice, though he was a non-vocal deaf person, like Mitch.
For now, Mitch relied on Link’s testimony that God loved him, and when he was ready, he felt certain he’d be able to return to his faith. He hadn’t spoken about any of it with his momma, as she was a pastor in Three Rivers. Not only that, but a pastor everyone loved. Absolutely adored.
Mitch couldn’t even count how many people had told him how much they loved his momma’s sermons—how much they loved her.
And Mitch did too, but he had a hard time separating her sermons from her as his mother, and he simply needed…time.
He knew church attendance was important. At least he supposed it was, but he knew people who didn’t believe at all but went to church every week. Cactus, who Mitch called Dad, didn’t attend church very often to this day, though the man had more faith in and love for God than anyone else Mitch knew.
So he needed time, and with Link’s encouragement, Mitch had prayed to know what to do. God had answered him in the most maddening way in the world—what would you like to do, Mitch?
He didn’t want to decide.How about that?he’d asked God.Just tell me what to do.
He’d not gotten another answer after that, and the Lord had left it in his hands. Every day, Mitch got up in silence and went about his day in silence, the question blazing through his mind.
What would you like to do, Mitch?
Hey, he said next.I’m going for my cochlear implant consultation next week.
Link stayed sober as he nodded.When is it?
Mitch smiled and shook his head.I’m not telling you. Then you won’t be able to show up unannounced.
Link glared at him, his blue eyes filled with challenge.Mitch, was all he said.
And you can’t tell my parents, Mitch said, though Link had already sworn he wouldn’t. Some of the best doctors in the world lived here in Virginia, and with the deaf school and college nearby, they had plenty of business for cochlear implants.
But such a device wasn’t for everyone. Mitch had never been verbal, and he’d already learned that even with implants, he likely wouldn’t be able to speak English with men like Link and Dawson for at least a decade after his surgery.
Ten years.
Of constant study and language input from TV shows, movies, podcasts, anything he could practice hearing with and see captions at the same time. Thatway, he could learn how the vowels sounded in words he already knew but only with the shape of his fingers.
I want a full update the moment you walk out of there, Link said.
It probably won’t be something I can do, Mitch admitted, though he’d been far more downtrodden after the initial interest meeting. He was almost twenty-eight years old, and all he wanted in the whole world was to have a regular conversation with someone on the phone. Not a video call.
He wanted to hear his phone ring and know it was Link before he saw the screen. He wanted to hear his best friend’s voice. He wanted to use his own. Everything inside him felt like he had so much to shout about, and yet, Mitch never used a perfectly good part of his body—a piece that worked.
His vocal cords.
He had not grown up in a sign-language-rich environment. He’d learned to get along in the world by reading lips, through invented signs, and through learning exact English. When he’d finally gone to live with his mother and Cactus in Three Rivers, he’d been nine years old—and his mom had worked tirelessly to teach him true American Sign Language then.
She’d been working on it during their time apart, and Cactus had started learning as well. They’d taught all of their kids and anyone who wanted to learn at Shiloh Ridge. Link had studied it on his own as well, andhe’d acted as Mitch’s interpreter through all of high school.
Thankfully, as it was embarrassing for Mitch to have to call his mommy so he could understand what a teacher wanted from him. Or another student. Or anyone, as hardly anyone at his high school knew and could use ASL.
When he’d come to Whispering Paws the first time, he’d realized how far behind he was, in literally every way. He’d been taking classes for the past several months, and he taught at the college level, for students interested in agriculture, ranching, and farming, as he had a lot of experience and knowledge with signs in those areas.
