Give Me a Sign(72)
“So I shared the fundraiser, then my cousin shared it, then my cousin’s friend shared it, and last night —— made a huge donation!” He fingerspells too fast, and I'm so overwhelmed by the news that I don’t catch the name when Ethan interprets it.
Simone nods toward me. “She’s that famous Deaf actress, right?”
“Dang, the Deaf community is small,” Bobby says.
“And her sharing it also got us even more donations,” Ethan says. “And so much interest in the camp. Thankfully, Isaac had rebuilt our website with a contact box and sign-up form.”
“Yes, it’s a very good thing there will be more money,” Gary chimes in. “Because it looks like we’re going to need more cabins and staff for a ton of new campers.”
More staff? More campers? So that obviously means we’re back next year, right?
“By my calculations,” Gary says, with Ethan still interpreting, “we’re set for hopefully at least the next ten years.” He continues, sharing details of all the renovations he and Ethan have in mind for the campgrounds, such as clearing additional hiking trails and adding a basketball court or volleyball net.
“And we’re also definitely coming up with some sort of end-of-summer outing to celebrate,” Ethan adds. “We’ll do something even bigger and better than we’ve ever done before.”
* * *
I sit out today’s pool time, keeping an eye on the campers from the comfort of a deck chair, sneaking glances at my phone as often as I can manage. If you’d told me when I was a camper there would come a time that I’d voluntarily pass on swim time, I wouldn’t have believed it. But I’ve swum so much this summer that I can use a break.
I feel my backpack vibrate on my lap, so I pull my phone from the mesh side pocket. I squint to read the screen through the harsh sunlight, imagining I just got a text from Isaac. But it’s just an irrelevant notification. It’s been two weeks since he left, and I’m desperate to hear from him, but I’m starting to think I never will. My hopes have been dashed so many times that I almost don’t believe the message that pops up on my screen then.
Isaac: Hey
One word. That’s all I get. One single word—no exclamation mark or anything. What am I supposed to do with that? Is he upset, angry, tired, relieved, or what?
Lilah: How are you?
My heart flutters and my stomach twists into a nervous ball of anxiety while I wait.
Isaac: I’m okay. How are you?
Lilah: Okay
I’ll hit him back with a single-word text of my own. Except, he doesn’t respond. After a few minutes of waiting, I cave.
Lilah: I miss you
He types for a very long time. I’m clutching my phone, even though I should be more discreet, as texting during work hours is frowned upon. Each second I wait, I grow certain that he’s going to say he never wants to see me again. But then I receive a paragraph that I have to read three times to process.
Isaac: I’m sorry I hadn’t replied to your texts yet. It’s been . . . rough. I was mad at everything and everyone. It’s really frustrating when this shit happens, and no matter what I do, I feel like I react the entirely wrong way. Especially in miscommunications. I need space to calm down and think.
He needs space? He’s been gone for so many days already. I’m guessing that means he’s not coming back to camp after all, but does it mean he doesn’t want to talk to me, either? All I got from that answer is that he doesn’t miss me.
I watch the minutes pass by, knowing that I need to put my phone away and keep an eye on the campers. My thoughts are racing when Ethan walks over and taps my shoulder. I blink rapidly to hide my tears and drop my phone in my lap. “Sorry,” I say. “I’ll hop in the pool with the campers now.”
“Actually, come with me real quick,” he says, gesturing toward the golf cart outside the pool gate.
“I know I shouldn’t have been on my phone, but—”
“Lilah, relax,” Ethan says, picking up my backpack for me. “You’re not in trouble, I promise.”
He drives us to the cabins, and sitting there at a picnic bench around the firepit is Isaac. But he’s wearing a casual button-down and pants, not summer camp attire.
“Is he back?” I ask.
But Ethan only smiles. “We’ll meet you at the dining hall for lunch. Don’t be late.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Isaac signs. “Before seeing everyone else.” There’s a bandage over his left eyebrow. The scratches on his cheek are fading but still noticeable. It must be painful. He looks like he was in a fight. Because he was.
“Why are you here?” I stop a few feet away from him, planting myself firmly on the ground but not moving closer. I lower my eyebrows and fold my arms across my chest.
“I’m back.”
I narrow my eyes and lift one hand to sign, “For good?”
He nods, but he notices I’m looking at his outfit skeptically. “My mom and I had breakfast earlier.” Isaac gestures toward his phone. “Get my text?”
I nod, looking at my feet. He had good reason to leave, but he cut me out and sent this scary text. I’m not sure where we stand right now, so I fight the desire to rush to hug him. “Do you not want to see me?”