"Oh no," she said quickly. "Not just yet. I don't think I'm quite ready. I wouldn't know what to say to him."

"There's not much you can say to him since he's deaf," I pointed out.

"But he can read lips, can't he?"

"It's not like they make out in the movies," I said. "Lip-reading comprehension among the deaf population is about 10 percent, according to some."

"Only 10 percent can read lips?"

"No. They understand about 10 percent of what you say when they're lip-reading."

"I thought it was much higher."

"Only 30 to 40 percent of English words can be distinguished by visual clues, so there's a whole lot of room for error and misunderstanding."

"Oh."

"Sign language isn't that hard," I said.

"I could never learn that."

"If you want to talk to him, you don't really have a choice."

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Neither did I, when he was little."

"It must have been hard for you...."

"It was," I said.

"Tell me about him. Please."

"He's amazing," I said. "He's sweet, he's funny, and though he doesn't look it, he's strong. He's a little fighter. He's also a lover. He loves people, loves being around them, loves making friends, loves talking to his friends. Well, signing with his friends, I should say. He's very happy and well-adjusted. Very affectionate. I don't think there's a mean bone in his body."

"He sounds like a wonderful child."

"He is is a wonderful child. He's got his faults and failings, of course. All meth babies do. He gets very mad sometimes, throws tantrums and stuff. Mostly it's frustration because he can't communicate, or he doesn't understand something, or he gets mad at himself and starts getting down on himself." a wonderful child. He's got his faults and failings, of course. All meth babies do. He gets very mad sometimes, throws tantrums and stuff. Mostly it's frustration because he can't communicate, or he doesn't understand something, or he gets mad at himself and starts getting down on himself."

"Whatever for?"

"Kids make fun of him a lot. They make him feel stupid. Then sometimes he thinks he must be stupid because they keep telling him that he's stupid."

"That's dreadful."

"He can't hear a thing. I know that's obvious, but if you think about it for a while, you'll realize it's not at all simple. He has to try to guess what's going on. It can be very frustrating. Potty training, for example-that was absolute h.e.l.l. I couldn't just tell him what I wanted, and why I wanted it, and why he had to do it the way I wanted it done. It took him a long time to understand what the point was. He'd pee his pants and go hide because he knew I'd be mad, but he didn't understand why I was mad, and I couldn't tell him why I was mad. I couldn't tell him what would happen if he went to school and s.h.i.t his pants, what the other kids would do, how they'd make fun of him, how it was all for his benefit. It's stuff like that. It can be very frustrating. Sometimes all that frustration builds up into a big tantrum."

"I guess it would be frustrating."

"Somebody told me a long time ago it was pointless to tell him that I loved him, that I had to show him. Took me a while to figure that out."

"I don't understand."

"Well, 'love' is just a word. It doesn't have a lot of context unless you show him what that context is. If you hold him, hug him, kiss him, hold his hand-that's love. It's very physical. It's something he can a.s.sociate with the word 'love.' Love means getting a smile and a kiss and a hug and all that stuff. Love means someone giving you a bath or buying you an ice cream cone. Deaf kids are very physical, always touching you, holding on to you, always checking in with you, and that's why Noah checks in with me every time he sees me. He won't be happy unless he can actually touch me, not just look at me or say hi, but actually come up and make physical contact like he has to rea.s.sure himself that I'm still there. Your body is like a map-and they can read that map. They may not be able to understand what the word 'disappointment' actually means, but they know it when they see it in your face. Since they can't hear you, they have to rely on seeing you to understand what you're talking about."

"Mr. Warren is not the world's most affectionate man," she pointed out.

"From what I've seen, neither is his wife."

She admitted rather ruefully that was true.

"Getting involved with the deaf is not for the faint of heart," I said. "They look at you. They see see you." you."

"I imagine he does."

"On the other hand, they live in their own world, and it's not that you're not invited, it's just that you don't live in that world of silence with them. So there's always a distance, a bridge you can't cross over, places you can't get to."

"Sort of like being gay," she observed, glancing at me and offering a smile as she said this to indicate that she meant no disrespect.

"Kind of," I agreed. "I guess we both live in our own worlds that outsiders can't get to. I never thought of it that way."

"You're just as strange to me as he is," she said, looking at me now, her gaze frank and suddenly unafraid. "You can't know how much I've tried to understand you, Wiley. At the end of the day, I don't understand. I was always taught...."

She trailed off, then smiled.

"I guess there's no need to tell you about that," she added.

No, there wasn't.

"I grew up in Jackson," she said, folding her hands over her laps. "During the 1960s. During the Civil Rights Movement. I saw all of it. The riots, the protests. All that fuss at Ole Miss when James Meredith enrolled. The murders. But you know what I remember?"

I raised my eyebrows.

"I remember Woolworth's in Jackson because my father worked there. I remember seeing a picture in a magazine of one of those lunch counter protests. And I knew that lunch counter, because I had sat there often waiting for my daddy to finish work and take me home. At that time, it was whites only, of course. But in this picture, they were trying to integrate the counter and there were a bunch of whites standing behind them, dumping food on their heads, laughing, making fun of them, with the police standing outside and doing nothing-and I remember staring at that picture all evening long. It was shocking. It opened my eyes to the world that I lived in. It showed me what that world was. Of course, everyone was talking about all of it, the protests, the killings, all of that, and I listened to it and never understood it until I saw that picture. Those black folks weren't hurting anyone, just sitting there and letting the people dump food on their heads. It made me sick inside. It was so stupid. And there were white folks sitting at that counter with them, trying to help them, and getting food dumped on them too because they were what we used to call race traitors."

She fell quiet for a moment, rubbing her hands together.

"I grew up Baptist," she said. "I had a crisis of faith after all of that settled down. I had to ask myself how my church could have gotten it so wrong. All of it. Blacks. Slavery. Race. Thinking we were superior, that G.o.d wanted us to have slaves, that blacks deserved to be slaves. How could we have been so wrong, Wiley?"

She seemed like she really wanted an answer.

I had no answer.

"I tell you all of that as a way of explaining that when I look at you, I think about that picture, Wiley, and I have the same feelings in my heart, the same confusion and doubt. I know what my religion tells me. I know what society says about people like you. But you're nothing like what I've been told. My daughter ran off on her responsibilities. You stayed. We offered you a way to walk out. You refused. Ten years later, there you are, and there's my grandson, and you're at the prison waiting for my daughter to be released. My daughter! You're the one who's supposed to be the criminal, or mentally unbalanced, or unfit, but you've done your duty, you've raised this difficult child, and I didn't do a thing to help because I was afraid of what my husband would say, or what my church would say, or what people would think. I just thought to myself how ridiculous it all is. How stupid. I've been just as bad as my daughter, walking away from my responsibilities to my own flesh and blood because my church said I was supposed to. I'm not sure I have much faith in my church to tell me the proper way to deal with h.o.m.os.e.xual people."

"Gay is the new black," I pointed out.

"I don't really know anything about you, Wiley. I remember you as that long-haired boy who used to come and play with Kayla when y'all were both little. I knew your mother and father. Then there was that summer when you came back from Ole Miss and you and Kayla started hanging around again. She was always very sweet on you, and always said you were such a sweet boy, the perfect gentleman. I thought you would be able to pull her away from that crowd she was running with, but of course that didn't happen. Her father forced her to have the baby, thinking it would settle her down, but she's just as willful as he is. He was stunned when she walked out on you and the baby. He felt responsible. He couldn't believe his own daughter would do such a thing."

She paused, smiled at me.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't really know you, Wiley, but I'd like to. Instead of listening to my husband tell me who you are, I thought I'd come and find out for myself. Do you suppose it's too late for something like that?"

"It's never too late," I said, amazed at her painful honesty. "And I meant what I said. I would love for you to be part of Noah's life."

We watched Noah for a while in silence.

"He's so fragile-looking," she said quietly.

"He's stronger than he looks."

"He's so small."

"His growth might pick up," I said.

We watched Noah once more. He was reading a graphic novel, his eyes scanning the pages, puzzling out words but relying on the pictures to convey the gist of the story.

"Why don't I call him over?" I suggested.

"I don't know what to say to him."

"I'll translate for you. Just say h.e.l.lo. It's not that hard."

She put a hand to her throat again as if to consider this.

Without waiting, I got up and fetched Noah.

I'm talking to Mrs. W-a-r-r-e-n. She's your grandmother. Would you like to say h.e.l.lo?

He dropped the graphic novel he was looking at and jumped up, his face beaming with a huge smile that perfectly displayed his bad teeth.

I took his hand and led him to her.

"h.e.l.lo!" Noah squawked.

"h.e.l.lo, Noah," Mrs. Warren said, standing up and peering down at him awkwardly. Then she crouched down to get a better view. She put her hands on his shoulders rather tentatively. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time," she said as a tear slipped from her eye.

Why is she crying? he signed to me, alarmed. he signed to me, alarmed.

She's happy to meet you.

"I love you," Noah proclaimed.

"Ai of ewe...."

She smiled.

"I love you, too," she said.

She looked up to me for help.

I signed to Noah: Let's teach her how to sign, okay? Let's teach her how to sign, okay?

He grinned and nodded.

31) What are you wearing?

NOAH POPPED POPPED Monsters, Inc. Monsters, Inc. into the DVD player as soon as we got home, and I fished out my phone and called Jackson Ledbetter. into the DVD player as soon as we got home, and I fished out my phone and called Jackson Ledbetter.

"How do you feel about nude camping?" I asked straight off.

"As in camping while nude?"

"Something like that."

"I'll try anything once."

"Good boy."

"When would you like to go?"

"We usually go Friday afternoon, head out to Mama's house, take the horses."

"Horses?"

"Those things with long legs and big teeth. You can ride them and stuff."

"I know what horses are!"

"You off this weekend?"

"I get off Friday at noon. I can get my stuff and meet you at your house. I don't have to be back to work till early Monday morning."

"We'll get you back in time."

"Good deal. Who's we?"

"Me and the cheese-eater. We love camping. We'll do some fishing, too, and we're pretty serious about that because there won't be any dinner if we don't catch anything."

"Sounds like fun."

"So what are you wearing?"