our food, doing her chores. I pay close attention to how she interacts with Baby and even check on her when sheâs sleeping. She curls on the basement couch, mouth open, breathing loudly. Iâm glad we set her up downstairs because if she were in one of the upstairs bedrooms, her snores would bring Them.
After about a week, I start to relax. Amber doesnât seem like she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, in fact she is making an incredible effort, especially with Baby. Sometimes she looks out the window, staring at nothing. She was abandoned by her brother. Iâd be a little depressed too.
I donât know when it is exactly that I start to like Amber, but one day, I just do. Itâs nice to have someone around who is about my age. She takes such pleasure in our life, in our home. She sits and watches the dishwasher run. She helps Baby make a pillow fort. She plucks a pigeon without complaint. I am especially glad that she gets the hint after that first night and stops talking. Well, mostly stops talking. We speak to her in a broken language: Amber sleep now , or Amber go up, eat now .
She understands more each day. Baby and I sign in front of her, trying to let her see as much as she can so she can learn to communicate with us. I show her which appliances are âsafeâ and which can only be used if all the doors and windows are shut, to lessen the noise. She falls in love with the shower and I have to limit her to only ten minutes a day, unless it is raining. Otherwise our water supply will run out and weâll have to trek to the lake for drinking water.
It doesnât take very long for Amberâs presence to feel normal. Baby loves her at once. She wants to be near Amber all the time. I am a little jealous at first, but I get over it. Baby is Amberâs shadow and signs to her constantly; explaining this or that, or sometimes just telling her stories sheâs made up. Amber likes to watch Baby sign, though sometimes I notice she zones out. Baby doesnât seem to mind, though, and continues signing, glancing at me every once in a while with a smile.
What this? she asks one day of the mark on Babyâs neck. Amber enjoys brushing out Babyâs hair, styling it into different looks. She studies the strange, barely perceivable diamond, traces it with her finger.
I shrug. Baby, show her your scar .
Baby grins and hikes up her skirt to show Amber the scar on the fleshy part of her thigh. Amber lifts up her face and shows us a fine white scar under her chin.
Was fallen . . . She struggles and goes to grab a pen and paper. Amber often writes me notes when she doesnât have the vocabulary to sign what she wants to say, or when Babyâs hands are going a mile a minute and Amber is lost.
Cheerleading , she scrawls. I was dropped and needed five stitches , she adds proudly.
I try to explain to Baby, but give up when I realize Iâd have to describe sports and crowds and girls in short skirts screaming at the top of their lungs to lead other people in screaming at the top of their lungs too. She wouldnât understand . . . to be honest, I never really understood. I turn to walk away, but Amber stops me.
Whatâs that thing she just called me? Amber writes, showing me the motion.
I take the pen and paper from her and write what Baby has said. Amber glances at the paper and starts to cry.
Baby has called her sister.
Iâm in my room reading when Baby appears at the door. I just heard the trap snap , Baby informs me happily.
I smile. Squirrel or pigeon?
She cocks her head to the side, hearing what is beyond my ability to sense. Canât tell, but I hope itâs not a squirrel . So do I. Squirrels are a lot of work for very little meat.
Whereâs Amber? I ask.
Baby listens intently. In the basement. I can hear her moving around .
I head downstairs and find Amber dancing around with her headphones on. I roll my eyes. When she turns to me,
After about a week, I start to relax. Amber doesnât seem like she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, in fact she is making an incredible effort, especially with Baby. Sometimes she looks out the window, staring at nothing. She was abandoned by her brother. Iâd be a little depressed too.
I donât know when it is exactly that I start to like Amber, but one day, I just do. Itâs nice to have someone around who is about my age. She takes such pleasure in our life, in our home. She sits and watches the dishwasher run. She helps Baby make a pillow fort. She plucks a pigeon without complaint. I am especially glad that she gets the hint after that first night and stops talking. Well, mostly stops talking. We speak to her in a broken language: Amber sleep now , or Amber go up, eat now .
She understands more each day. Baby and I sign in front of her, trying to let her see as much as she can so she can learn to communicate with us. I show her which appliances are âsafeâ and which can only be used if all the doors and windows are shut, to lessen the noise. She falls in love with the shower and I have to limit her to only ten minutes a day, unless it is raining. Otherwise our water supply will run out and weâll have to trek to the lake for drinking water.
It doesnât take very long for Amberâs presence to feel normal. Baby loves her at once. She wants to be near Amber all the time. I am a little jealous at first, but I get over it. Baby is Amberâs shadow and signs to her constantly; explaining this or that, or sometimes just telling her stories sheâs made up. Amber likes to watch Baby sign, though sometimes I notice she zones out. Baby doesnât seem to mind, though, and continues signing, glancing at me every once in a while with a smile.
What this? she asks one day of the mark on Babyâs neck. Amber enjoys brushing out Babyâs hair, styling it into different looks. She studies the strange, barely perceivable diamond, traces it with her finger.
I shrug. Baby, show her your scar .
Baby grins and hikes up her skirt to show Amber the scar on the fleshy part of her thigh. Amber lifts up her face and shows us a fine white scar under her chin.
Was fallen . . . She struggles and goes to grab a pen and paper. Amber often writes me notes when she doesnât have the vocabulary to sign what she wants to say, or when Babyâs hands are going a mile a minute and Amber is lost.
Cheerleading , she scrawls. I was dropped and needed five stitches , she adds proudly.
I try to explain to Baby, but give up when I realize Iâd have to describe sports and crowds and girls in short skirts screaming at the top of their lungs to lead other people in screaming at the top of their lungs too. She wouldnât understand . . . to be honest, I never really understood. I turn to walk away, but Amber stops me.
Whatâs that thing she just called me? Amber writes, showing me the motion.
I take the pen and paper from her and write what Baby has said. Amber glances at the paper and starts to cry.
Baby has called her sister.
Iâm in my room reading when Baby appears at the door. I just heard the trap snap , Baby informs me happily.
I smile. Squirrel or pigeon?
She cocks her head to the side, hearing what is beyond my ability to sense. Canât tell, but I hope itâs not a squirrel . So do I. Squirrels are a lot of work for very little meat.
Whereâs Amber? I ask.
Baby listens intently. In the basement. I can hear her moving around .
I head downstairs and find Amber dancing around with her headphones on. I roll my eyes. When she turns to me,
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