Page 21 of Reckless

I study it for another second, trying not to jump to conclusions. But three applications, three denials, and the same name showing up every time?

That’s not luck.

I open a new file and label it with today’s date.

That’s enough for now.

Whatever this is, it’ll either grow into something or it won’t. Chasing answers before the evidence catches up is how people end up seeing things that aren’t there.

I close the tab.

The American Sign Language module is still open from last night.

I’d left it halfway through the conversational lessons. Less about learning individual signs now. More about learning how to hold a conversation without making someone feel like they’re being spoken at instead of spoken to.

Sage’s sister, Piper, arrives in just over a month. I need to get better at this before she gets here.

I wake the monitor and continue where I left off.

Today’s lesson focuses on pacing and timing. The little mistakes that turn a natural conversation into something stiff and awkward. I mirror the signs in front of the screen, adjusting the hand angle when the software flags it, repeating the sequence until the corrections stop.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The timer in the corner rolls past another twenty minutes before I notice.

A few weeks I have been learning.

Long enough that the movements don’t feel as foreign anymore.

Long enough that I don’t have to think about every individual sign before my hands catch up.

Not good.

Not yet.

But better than I was yesterday.

I learned this because Piper is deaf, Piper is coming here, and communicating through someone else is not an option I’m prepared to accept.

That’s the full reasoning.

At least that is what I am telling myself.

I run the section twice, because the second pass tells me what’s become instinct and what I am still thinking my way through. Then, I close the module.

The workstation hums quietly in the corner of the room. Two screens are running, the third one dark, waiting.

I pull up the hospital parking lot footage. A week ago now, and I’ve been back to it three times.

I watch her reaction when the text comes through. Instead of paying attention to the message itself, her eyes slip to her jacket pocket, then back to me.

It’s barely a beat—a clean recovery.

Enough to fool almost anyone.