She shook her head. I nodded emphatically, but she shook her head again, this time just as emphatically as I had nodded, and then she cried, "No," and looked like she was going to burst into tears.

I hadn't meant she was like her, but just that she looked like her. Had she misunderstood?

"You look like her." I repeated, and she continued to shake her head. Language is so complicated and signing so imperfect. I thought. This could be very frustrating. From what well of tolerance did Tyler Monahan draw the patience? I was sure what he did took years and years of training. Perhaps I wasn't up to this and he was right. I would grow tired and disgusted and leave sooner than I planned. I sat there, musing about it, considering my options. How long could I last out there on my own? What would I do to earn money? Would I go back to live with Brenda?

"What's going on in here?" I heard, and turned to the doorway to see Mrs. Westington standing there.

"I called for you to come down."

"Oh. I'm sour, I didn't hear you."

Echo quickly took the photo from me and buried it again in her dresser drawer. I could see from the look in her eyes that she didn't want her grandmother to know she had that picture.

"What are you two doing?"

"Oh, nothing much," I said, standing. "She was showing me her room and I was practicing signing with her." I held up the ASL book.

Nevertheless, she looked suspicious, probably because Echo looked so frightened. Why wouldn't Mrs. Westington permit her to have pictures of her own mother? That was silly. I thought, but also thought I should keep my opinion to myself when it came to Rhona.

"Yes, well, she's been in all day. That's why I was calling for you. You should get her to go out and get some air. I always worry that the child doesn't get enough sunshine."

"Okay. Wait, let me tell her," I said, and looked into the book.

I grasped my downward opened right hand and drew it up and out of my left hand's grasp. As I did so.

I brought the right fingers together and then made the 0 sign with my left facing the right.

She smiled and nodded.

"Very good," Mrs. Westington said.

I reached for Echo's hand and we started out of the room.

"There's a little lake in back," Mrs. Westington called to me as we continued. "She likes looking at the frogs and such. A fresh stream feeds it and sometimes there are trout. It's rare. but Trevor's pulled out a few and cooked 'em. She'll show you. There's a rowboat, too, if you want to go for a ride. She can swim, so don't worry about that. Trevor taught her.

Wouldn't take her in the boat until she learned. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Take a letter."

I nodded and we went downstairs and out. Echo had been very eager to get away. Now that we were outside. I thought about the fact that she couldn't hear any birds. It came to mind because a large crow was cawing loudly off to the right while it perched on the branch of an old oak tree. To my surprise. however.

Echo pulled an my arm and pointed to the crow while she imitated its cry. It made me laugh.

"How did you know the sound?" I asked. She just stared at me.

I started to thumb through the book. Now I truly felt like some visitor to a foreign country, hurrying to find the right words. I put together a how and know and she nodded, understanding, "Ty," she said, then put her right hand softly to her throat and repeated the crow's call.

"So, you've gone for walks with Ty and he's taught you about nature, too? That's nice," I said. She didn't read my lips and I didn't sign anything. I was really speaking my thoughts. "He's making you aware of much more than just math, science, social studies.

and English. No wonder you have a crush on him. I wonder if he's aware of it. To me, he looks like he'd be oblivious to that sort of thing."

Beside a deaf person. I could safely voice my thoughts. I could talk to myself aloud, rattle on and on, and not worry that she would tell him anything I had said.

She wasn't quiet. however. As we walked, she tugged on my hand frequently and pointed out things.

One was the inside of a dead tree where bees had created a hive. I never would have seen it if she hadn't shown it to me. She was like a tour guide, anxious that I not miss a thing, whether it be birds, squirrels, rabbits, or the frame of an old hammock on the rear patio. Everything excited her in her small world. Her hands went everywhere, her fingers moving quickly.

I have to learn this signing thoroughly and quickly. I thought. The faster I did so, the less lonely she would be, and in fact, the less I would be as well.

More important perhaps. Tyler Monahan wouldn't have as firm control over both of us.

We paused at the lake, where there was a small dock and a rowboat tied to it. I gathered from her words and her signing that she had come here often when she was little, sometimes with her mother, and many times with Trevor Washington, who took her fishing. She had learned to p.r.o.nounce his name very well, with only a little exaggeration with the vowels, so it came out "Tre... voooor."

Then she acted out a little scene with lots of grimacing that was meant to tell me that she didn't like catching anything because she felt sorry for the fish immediately after hooking it. Reading her gestures and expressions was like unraveling one riddle after another for me, each one giving me more and more insight into what her life had been like with primarily only her grandmother and Trevor for companions.

She sat on the dock with her feet dangling over and just above the water. I sat beside her and we were quiet, both watching the insects circling in a frenzy.

Occasionally we would see a fish pop to the surface to feast on something. The surface of the water was their dining table. I thought.

The sun had fallen just below the tree line in the west so that the shadows deepened and sprawled slowly and lazily over the pond, which was really quite large. To the left it went around a bend of trees.

I thought it was the golden moment of the day, when everything paused for a while to enjoy the mere fact of its existence, the fact that it had lived through another wonderful twenty-four hours or so. I certainly felt that way.

I indicated the rowboat and she nodded excitedly. We got into it carefully and I asked her if she wanted to row. She was anxious to do so. She did very well, too. As we glided along. I closed my eyes and thought about how peaceful it was here, and how easy to be contented, even if only for a short while.

Inside, my body felt like it was winding down, relaxing and loosening. I think I actually drifted asleep for a few minutes, because when I opened my eyes. I realized we were already around the bend. I hadn't meant for us to go that far and so I sat up quickly and indicated that she should turn around. She shook her head and pointed to the far sh.o.r.e.

Obviously, she wanted to show me something.

She rowed with determination. I gazed over her shoulder and searched for anything significant. All I saw was a large rock. She brought the boat close to it and reached out with her hand to guide us right up against it. Then she smiled at me and nodded at the rock.

"Ty and me," she said. She p.r.o.nounced it almost perfectly and patted the rock.

"Ty and you? What are you talking about?" I stood up carefully and made my way to her side to look at the rock.

There, carved with a pocketknife or something, was a heart, and inside it was clearly sc.r.a.ped "Ty and Me." I stared at it and then looked at her.

"Who did this?" I asked her. I mimed carving into the rock. "Who?"

"Ty," she said.

Maybe he was trying to demonstrate something.

I thought. But what? Carving a heart? A young girl's emotions are not toys. He was just arrogant enough to have done something like this.

I felt her eyes on me. She began to sign and gesture. At first I didn't understand what she wanted to know. She became more emphatic and I soon realized she was asking me if I had or ever had a boyfriend. She made me laugh with her gestures to show holding hands, kissing, and then putting her hands together and tilting her head as she flicked her eyelids.

"Yes. yes. I understand,'" I said, glanced at the carved heart, and then sat across from her. A boyfriend? What should I tell her?

I thought about Peter Smoke. the Indian boy I had met while I was going to school in Memphis. He had been my instructor in chess club and had taught me a lot about his Indian beliefs, especially the medicine wheel. We had started to have a romantic relationship. He was really the closest I had come to having a real boyfriend, but when he misinterpreted my intentions, it hadn't ended well. He's probably forgotten all about me by now, I thought. It was certainly not a relationship I could claim.

I shook my head, "No, no boyfriend. I'm afraid."

She looked surprised but also suspicious. Was I telling her the truth? Why not? she wanted to know, as if every girl my age had to have been or always was in a romance.

"Because I'm too fat," I said. She shook her head, not understanding. so I bloated my cheeks and held my arms out beside my hips.

She looked thoughtful and then smiled and pointed to herself. "Ty," she said.

I started to shake my head and made some silly attempt to explain he was too old for her. "He can't be your boyfriend." I insisted, shaking my head harder.

She laughed and pointed to the rock again. "Ty and me," she said.

I continued to shake my head.

And then she pursed her lips and mimed embracing him, closed her eyes, and made the sound of a kiss.

"He kissed you?" I asked, pointing at her. She nodded.

"No, he didn't. Not like that," I told her, but she nodded more emphatically, her eyes wide. She pointed at the rock and went through the mime of kissing again. I picked up the ASE book and thumbed the pages to find the word here.

Your two hands were to be held out, palms up, and you moved the right to the right and the left to the left, back and forth.

She nodded. "Yes, yes," she said, and repeated the signing. She pointed down, made a rowing gesture, and then signed the kiss again.

It was clear to me what she was saying: "He kissed me right here at the rock after he drew this heart and put our names in it."

Did that all happen as she described? Was it possible? He was the one who had told Mrs.

Westington, Echo was too vulnerable and I could be a bad influence. He had seemed to be sincerely protective of her and yet how could he justify carving this in the rock and then kissing her like that? Was he taking advantage of her?

I tilted my head skeptically, but she kept nodding. Then she embraced herself and turned from side to side. Perhaps he had only comforted her. I thought, and she had misinterpreted it. Perhaps she was very sad and he had tried to rea.s.sure her.

"Ty?" I asked, and imitated her motion. She nodded, then rose and stepped closer to me. kneeling down in the boat. "What?" I said.

She took my right hand and brought it to her stomach. "What are you saying? I don't understand."

Smiling, she slowly ran my hand up and over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I pulled it back quickly, the firmness of her nipple sending an electric shock up my arm.

Visions of my sister's girlfriend touching me, wanting me to touch her, came surging out of my memory and over my eyes.

"NO!" I cried, shaking my head emphatically.

"That's not nice."

She tilted her head and looked up at me. Then she shrugged and returned to her bench seat.

Instinctively. I looked back in the direction of the house to see if Mrs. Westington or perhaps Trevor had witnessed what had just occurred.

"Back," I indicated. "Go back. Echo." I gestured vigorously, almost in a panic.

She started to row, looking as if she might burst into tears.

"You don't just do that with a boy," I tried to explain. "It leads to other things."

How stupid I sound, I thought, me giving advice to a young, deaf girl.

She stared, her face soaked in confusion, I returned to my ASL book and as quickly as I could, put together some thoughts. She paused and watched me. The word for body was easy. I placed my hand against my chest and then removed it and placed it a bit lower. I pointed to her. And then I told her that her body was sacred, precious, and should be protected.

With a troubled face, she watched me put together words and sentences to tell her she was too young to do these things yet. I told her girls her age, my age, could have babies and then what would we do?

I could see I wasn't doing that good a job of explaining why I was so upset with her. so I promised I would sit down and write more of an explanation later.

As she turned the rowboat. I gazed back at the rock and then thought about what she had told me.

What did it all mean? Was this really something Tyler Monahan had done and if it were so, shouldn't Mrs.

Westington know about it? She was so proud and appreciative of all he had done with Echo. Here I am, after only three days, telling her something that would destroy it all.

Echo continued to look at me sadly as she rowed. She's so innocent. I thought. Maybe I was coming on too strong. I smiled back at her so she wouldn't feel bad. I told her everything would be all right and I was not angry at her. Her face brightened again. As soon as we reached the dock and stepped out of the rowboat. I indicated we should continue our walk on around the property, but what she had shown me and had told me through her gestures and few words continued to haunt me. Would I dare ask Tyler Monahan about it?

When we came to the motor home, parked off to the side behind the house. I stopped and stared at the bright letters painted on the side: The Amazing Palaver. It spread such a layer of heaviness over my heart. I was actually anxious for it to be taken away.

We were waiting for the attorney to tell us how we should deal with it, as well as all of Uncle Palaver's other possessions. All these legal actions had to be woven through the convoluted halls of justice. I imagined I was lost in some file cabinet in some judge's office.

Echo was full of curiosity. She tugged at my arm. Her hands were moving a mile a minute. I laughed at her exuberance. What she really wanted was to go inside the motor home. She had been told about my living in it with Uncle Palaver and traveling about to perform. I was sure she wondered how someone could live in it as he or she would live in a home. I was hesitant, but she was begging. I was reluctant to go in there and stir my own emotions and memories, but I didn't have the heart to refuse her, especially after how I had reacted to what she had done at the pond.

I opened the motor home door and we stepped up and into it. She went immediately to the driver's seat to toy with the steering wheel. She was like any other teenager. I thought, intrigued with the idea of driving, especially something as big as this. She turned the wheel, imagining herself on the highway.

Finally, she rose and went into the living room.

I hadn't done anything with the vehicle since we had arrived. Just looking at the things Uncle Palaver had left out before he had died saddened me. Now that I was inside with her. I felt embarra.s.sed about the mess. I started to clean up and soon, she was helping.

We washed the gla.s.ses and plates and silverware and put it all in the cabinets. Then I showed her where I had slept and she wanted to climb up and try lying on the bunk. It struck her funny and we both laughed.

She pretended to be asleep and be comfortable.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could just drive off together and live on some magical road that took us only to happy. joyful places? I thought. I'd become Uncle Palaver and she would see the world. How easy it was to dream. Fantasy was catching, infectious, especially in here where I had harbored so many fantasies of my own.

I continued to straighten up the inside of the vehicle, picking up papers, closing up the garbage.

For a few moments, it was as if Uncle Palaver was still alive and he and I were back on the road, parked in some lot, preparing for another show. I actually missed that life, as short as it had been. I went into a reverie, recalling some of the places and events, the crowds that had given him such applause. I didn't realize I was crying t.i.ther, until the tears dripped off my chin. It snapped me out of it, but when I looked about. Echo wasn't with me. Where was she?

I turned and saw her at the rear of the motor home. She was standing there with her hands over her ears as though someone was screaming. It confused me for a moment until I realized she was standing in Uncle Palaver's doorway and she was looking in at the Destiny doll.

"Echo! Came away from there!" I shouted, but of course she couldn't hear me. I hurried to her and tugged her arm.

Her face was frill of confusion, fear, and astonishment. The doll was so lifelike that I was sure for a few moments at least, she thought she was looking at a real woman naked. She shook her head.

Why was she lying in the bed like that? Why hadn't she been covered or dressed? How would I begin to explain?