Deadly Communications (3 page)

“It’s not that hard. It just takes a long time for the dough to rise and then rise again. And I have plenty of time these days. I don’t like to leave Ella alone so I’ve cut back on my schedule.”

Maven picked up a pastry filled with cherries and cheese. “I really shouldn’t. I need to lose some weight. I’m always on a diet.”

“I can’t imagine why. You don’t need to lose any weight.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “It’s because the media is so focused on an ideal body type that has nothing to do with reality. You look just right to me.”

Maven took a bite of the Danish. Very tasty. The tartness of the cherries mingled with the sweetness of the cream cheese filling was perfect. “Tastes wonderful.”

“Thanks.” Sandra smiled as she nibbled on one.

“It must be a difficult situation for you.”

“We are so thankful to God for sparing Ella’s life. Nothing else matters.”

Thankful to God? Maven stared at Sandra Decker. Did she really mean those words?

Sandra Decker obviously still had faith in God.

“But Ella might never be the same person she used to be.”

“Then she’ll be the best she can be, considering the circumstances. At this point, all we want is for her to be happy. And besides, we believe in miracles.”

Miracles.
There was that word Maven hated. “Well, as long as you understand that I am not the miracle worker. That was a movie. And not a very realistic one.”

“Oh, I understand that. God is the only miracle worker we need.”

When they’d finished their coffee and pastry, Maven turned to business. “I’ll just meet with her for a few minutes today and gather up those reports after we set up a schedule for the next week. I don’t want to intrude on your life any more than necessary. How’s that sound?”

Sandra placed a hand on her arm. “Of course, any way you want to do it is fine. And you are not an intrusion. You are a godsend.”

“I hope you’re husband explained my reluctance to take the job. You really need to understand, this is definitely out of my area of expertise.”

“He did tell me, but we believe in you. You did such a wonderful job with Micah, and we know you’ll do the same for Ella. We’re so grateful you’re helping us.”

“That’s very sweet. I can’t make any promises. It’s all about hard work—not mine, but Ella’s, and a lot of it. If we can make some progress, it won’t be easy. Or quick.”

“I understand, but I know you’ll be able to help.” Sandra’s voice was soft and a bit shaky. “It’s horrible for her not being able to communicate. She’s shut herself off from everyone and everything except for her immediate family.”

Maven had agreed to the job, and she needed to make a commitment to do the best she could. This family had more than their fair share of negativity and problems since their daughter got hit by a truck in the middle of the night.

“Well, hopefully that will start to change.”

5

Sandra escorted Maven up the stairs. ‘Stairs’ was an understatement; they were more like a work of art. One side hugged a pristine white wall as it gently wound its way up to the second floor. The steps were a lustrous mahogany with a beautiful patterned carpet as a runner. The railings were an intricate pattern of black wrought iron.

“Is this Persian?” Maven motioned to the runner.

“No way.” Sandra laughed. “Not with kids. I saw the pattern on a trip and loved it. So I had it made into a much more durable runner.”

“Makes sense.”

They stopped at a door.

“Shall I go in and make the introductions?” Sandra asked.

Maven half-smiled. It still felt more like a twisted grimace as far as she was concerned, no matter what anybody told her. More than six months since the Bell’s palsy and still no visible recovery. It wasn’t going to happen, and that meant she’d never return to her job.

She pushed the negative thoughts away. No sense dwelling on that right now. She needed to focus on Ella. “No, we’ll be fine. I don’t expect to be here for very long today. I’m just going to do a little talking and a little assessing, and I’ll be on my way. I think we came up with a good schedule for the rest of the week.”

“Start small and go from there.” Sandra repeated the words Maven had spoken a few minutes earlier as they’d written in the schedule on their respective calendars. Sandra looked as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she gave a nervous smile and shrugged. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Maven knocked on the door and waited.

No response.

She knocked once more.

Moments later, the door opened.

Ella Decker was half-leaning against the door, her sandy blonde hair in a simple chin-length bob. She looked a lot like her mother except she was painfully thin without a hint of muscle tone she’d surely had as a swimmer destined for the Olympics. That dream was gone now.

“Good morning, Ella. I’m Maven, or you might remember me as Mrs. Morris from school. I was the speech pathologist there. But from now on, you can call me Maven. You’re not a student, and I’m not the teacher.”

There didn’t appear to be even a glimmer of recognition, but Ella opened the door wider.

Maven walked in. “Oh, what a nice room.”

It was huge. One side of the space looked like a typical bedroom, but the other side had been arranged as a sitting room. A small love seat with a chair on each side. A coffee table with a few books and a ton of magazines. A flat screen plasma TV was attached to the wall directly opposite the sofa. To the side was a small refrigerator.

All the comforts of home without Ella having to leave the room if she didn’t want to. As if she were Rapunzel, high in the tower. No one to see her and no one to demand anything of her. It probably made life a lot easier for Ella that way. Perhaps too easy? Why make the effort to talk if one didn’t have to?

And this way the rest of the family didn’t have to deal with Ella and her handicap. Her parents could pretend their life was still picture perfect.

Knowing that was an unfair supposition, Maven pushed the thought away. She was ashamed of herself. She had no right to make such a judgment. She turned towards Ella with a smile.

Ella stood by the closed door. She stared at Maven with light blue eyes—the color of a pale spring day’s sky. Her face showed no sign of what she might be feeling.

“Anyway...your parents want to see if I can help you get a better handle on this communicating thing. What do you say?”

No response.

Maven’s stomach did a little butterfly dance, but she forged ahead. “Why don’t you sit down beside me?” Maven walked to the sofa and sat. Very deliberately, she moved to her therapy bag and took out some pictures she’d brought.

A moment later, Ella joined her.

Maven looked up with a smile. “OK, let’s get started. Your mom says you don’t talk much and that’s OK with me, because I love to talk. But can you nod your head for me?”

No response.

“Go ahead. Nod for me.” Maven nodded.

Ella nodded.

“Great. How about a shake of the head?” Maven shook her head.

Ella shook her head.

Good, now what should she do? She felt the panic oozing up to the surface. What had made her think she could do this?
Stop it. Do your job. “
Now which one means yes?”

A nod.

“And which one means no?”

A shake.

“Great. Can you say yes for me?”

Ella’s pale blue eyes stared into Maven’s. She shook her head.

Maven forced a chuckle. “OK, well that was clear enough for me. So, I’m thinking you aren’t ready to talk with me, yet?”

A nod. And then a shake and another nod. Then a small smile.

Maven laughed. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Ella. A sense of humor will get you through some pretty dark days. I know; I’ve been there.” She didn’t add that she was still there.

Maven lifted her finger to her lip, slid it across the cheek area, up to her eye, and then ended at the eyebrow. “Can you see how this side of my face looks different from the other side?”

Ella nodded.

“Well, I developed something called Bell’s palsy. Ever hear of it?”

Ella gave a slight shake of the head.

A small surge of excitement went through Maven. Ella did understand, at least some of it. “It’s usually caused from an inflammation of some sort to the facial nerve. In other words, my facial nerve swelled up, and then it stopped working.”

Once again, Ella nodded.

Maven gave a twisted smile. “See, this side smiles—this side does not.”

Maven forged ahead. She hated revisiting the whole thing, but if Ella could understand that Maven understood difficulties with communicating, they might be able to connect. And if Maven was going to help this dear, sweet girl to talk and communicate with others, they needed to establish a bond.

“Unfortunately, I’m still waiting for it to start working again. Of course, it’s not just about my smile. Eating can be difficult. I can’t really blink my eye so I use a lot of drops, and driving isn’t easy. My eyebrow and forehead aren’t moving either, but that isn’t causing any real problems.” She stopped, allowing Ella processing time, and then took a breath. “Of course, the big problem is my speech.”

Ella nodded.

“A speech pathologist whose lips don’t work the way they’re supposed to has a problem.” She smiled. “A big problem. So anyway, the school asked me to take a temporary medical leave. I could have argued the point, but really, I understood. On the other hand, I’ve been doing this long enough that I could have worked around the lip problem.”

Ella nodded. She was a good listener. If she really understood what Maven was saying.

Maven thought she did. “It really only affected a few sounds—like the F and the V and the...oh, well, that doesn’t matter. Anyway, I really just wanted you to know I’m having a few communication struggles, too.” Maven reached over and patted Ella’s hand. Ella jerked back slightly, but then she smiled. “And I think we’re going to be good for each other, Ella.”

Ella smiled and then nodded.

6

Maven pulled into her garage, grabbed her bag of groceries, and stepped out of her car.

A man walked inside. He gave a big smile and wave. “Howdy, neighbor. Garbage day’s tomorrow.”

“I know, Paul. Really, you don’t have to do that. I can do it myself.”

“I know you can, but your hands are full.” Pushing her garbage can out, he grabbed his own waiting one and kept moving towards the end of the drive. “But what can I say. I’m old and have antediluvian habits that are hard to break.”

“Oh, antediluvian. That’s a new one on me. What’s it mean?”

“Old-fashioned. Outdated. Antiquated. Before the Biblical flood of Noah’s time.”

“Then I guess I’m antediluvian, as well.” She laughed as her neighbor continued down the drive with both their trash cans.

“I would never say that about you. But I certainly am and I like it that way. Which is why I’m taking your garbage out.” He stopped at the end of the drive. After arranging the trash cans to his liking, he waved at Mimi, another neighbor.

Mimi was the neighborhood watch on their street. She sat on her porch all day if the weather was good. Most of the time, she crocheted.

Paul walked back to Maven. “How’d the first meeting go?”

“It went fine, I suppose. I talked.” She shifted the bag of groceries to her hip. “She listened and nodded. But the good news is that the nods came at the appropriate time. So, it seems as if she’s understanding, even if the poor thing can’t express her thoughts right now.”

“That has to be tough.”

Maven nodded, and then held up the bag. “I bought two steaks. They were on sale. Want to share?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Reaching in the bag, Maven found the steaks. “Catch.” She tossed the cellophane-wrapped package at him, and he caught it with one hand. “OK, you grill while I go bake us a potato and make a salad. Or are you still low-carb and only want the salad?”

“Nah, I want it all. Including the butter and the sour cream!”

She laughed. “Don’t we all? Too bad we don’t always get what we want.”

“What am I supposed to contribute? Your steak—your potato—your salad?”

“You’re doing the grilling, remember? And since both of us are antediluvian, that works for me.”

“Fine and I’ll bring the drinks.”

“Come on over when they’re done. Medium rare—extra garlic salt!”



Maven scooped up the chopped tomatoes from the counter and tossed them on the salad. Lots of tomatoes. Lots of cucumbers and cheese and some lettuce. The perfect salad. Crunchy and fresh.

The scent of steak reached her nose just before she heard a soft knock at her door. “Come on in, Paul.”

“Need a little help here.”

She rushed over to the door.

Paul balanced the platter of steaks in one hand and two cans of diet soda in the other. “I told you I was bringing the drinks.” He grinned as she opened the screen.

“And what a fine vintage year that is. My favorite.”

He walked past her and into the kitchen. Placing the platter on the kitchen island, he set the sodas next to it. One of cans toppled over and rolled off on the floor.

“That’s yours.” Maven laughed.

“Not a problem.” He grabbed it up and popped the top. Brown foam sizzled up but didn’t overflow.

“You’re lucky!”

“I’m not lucky. I’m blessed.”

“Whatever.” She pointed at the bottles of ranch and Italian dressing sitting on the kitchen island. “Want something else?”

“You know I don’t,” Paul said as he picked up the ranch and poured.

After their plates were ready, they each took a stool at the kitchen island.

“Mind if I pray?”

“Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

“Because I know how mad you are at God right now.”

Like her, Paul’s spouse had died. Unlike her, he didn’t blame God. This wasn’t the first time they’d had such a discussion.

“I’m not mad. I just don’t think it does any good to pray. God’s going to do what God’s going to do. Simple as that.” She took a deep breath. “Say the prayer before the steaks get cold.”