Plain Retribution. Dana R. Lynn
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to the living room, he found Rebecca standing inside the door, her back against the living room wall. Made sense. If you couldn’t hear, you didn’t want to leave yourself vulnerable to attacks from behind. Again.
“Nothing here. Are you sure you’re all right? I can stay until your roommate gets back.”
She was shaking her head before his hands stopped moving. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for checking. I feel silly, but I appreciate it.”
He stepped closer to her and put his hand on hers to stop the apology, then pulled his hand back at the zing that shot up his arm. Her shocked expression told him all he needed to know. She had felt it, too, and by the look of the frown stamped on her pretty features, wasn’t any happier about it than he was. Good. That meant she wouldn’t expect anything. He ignored the twinge of disappointment.
He couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved with anyone. Emotions had almost cost him his job once. In the end, he had kept his job, but had lost his rank as sergeant. That fact was brought home every time he put on his uniform without the insignia. All he wanted was to earn it back.
“I don’t mind checking. I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost ten now. Your roommate should be here in an hour. Let’s trade numbers, and you can text me if you need anything. I’ll text you to let you know if we have any leads.”
They exchanged phones. He put in his number, then snapped a selfie so that she’d have a visual in her contacts. Oh, wait. Amish. He flicked a glance in her direction. She was shaking her head at him, a half smirk forming on her lips. Her face had more color in it now, he was glad to note. Her earlier pallor had bothered him.
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I can delete the picture if you want me to. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay.” She snapped a selfie of herself on his phone. “I’m not Amish anymore.”
Amused, he chuckled. She was absolutely adorable. He took back his phone and synced it with his watch.
“I have never met anyone who left the Amish community before,” he signed. Then he wondered if that statement bordered on rude. Although, bluntness was all part and parcel of deaf culture, so maybe she’d take it in stride.
She shrugged, her face rueful. “Not many do. It was a tough decision, but in the end it was for the best.” She shifted her eyes past him, thinking. “I was the only deaf person in my family. My parents are great, but they never really learned to sign fluently. ASL is a hard language to learn, and there weren’t that many opportunities for them to learn it in the community. They speak Pennsylvania Dutch and English at home. I was caught between three languages. Out of my family, only my brother Levi and my sister Lizzy can really sign to me. In my classes every day, I’d have a few people I could speak with easily, but then I’d come home and have to struggle to understand and be understood. It grew worse after I left school. There were no interpreters. I think my parents accepted my leaving because they knew that I didn’t even understand what was happening at church. In the English world, though, I could be part of the deaf community. I had friends, and I was able to be a full participant.”
He nodded. “My grandparents and uncle are deaf. They are very involved with the deaf community.”
“So that’s why you sign so well! I had wondered.”
“Yeah. I grew up with it.” He tilted his head. “Do you regret leaving?”
“No. I love my family, and I am grateful to still have a relationship with them. In fact, my oldest brother, Levi, is getting married in a week. On Thursday. I will be there. But someday, I want to get married, and I want my husband to be able to communicate with me. And if I have deaf children, I want them to have full access to the deaf community.” She moved away a couple of feet. Restless. “Want to know what was really sad? Until a few years ago, I never even knew that Amish children say ‘mam and dat,’ instead of ‘mom and dad.’” She finger-spelled the Amish versions of the words. “I’ve never been good at lipreading, and wasn’t able to really see the difference when I watched my siblings say the words. In my head, I always see the sign for ‘mother and father,’ but when I wrote, I wrote ‘mom and dad.’ Like the other kids at school. Levi read something I had written a few years back and pointed it out to me. He also took the time to teach me the written words and meanings of some of the other Amish words that were used daily, but that I never knew. I have taken pains to try to think of them as mam and dat, knowing that’s how they would prefer to be called, but it wasn’t automatic for me.”
The urge to touch her hand, to offer comfort, sneaked up on him. He resisted. But it was difficult. The aloneness emanating from her posture as she signed just about killed him.
She’s not alone now, he reminded himself. She has friends in the deaf community. She has her faith. And her family does love her.
And she has me.
No. She doesn’t. I’m temporary. And I have stayed too long.
Lifting his wrist, he eyed the time on his digital watch. And whistled. It was later than he had thought.
“I need to go. Text me if you need anything,” he signed with one hand, pocketing the phone. “And lock the door behind you.”
She rolled her eyes, but complied without comment.
The second she had closed and locked the door, he was on his way to the station. It would take him twenty minutes to get there. If he worked fast, he should be able to have all his reports filed and all his duties completed by the time his shift ended at midnight. Unless, of course, another call came in. Wednesday nights were usually pretty quiet in LaMar Pond. He should be good.
An hour and a half later, he finished his reports.
With his work completed, his mind turned back to Rebecca. Had her roommate arrived home yet? Maybe he should send her a text to check on her. He quickly shot off a text.
Then he occupied himself while pretending he wasn’t watching for a responding text. None came. No doubt her roommate had returned. She was no longer alone. Wilting back against his seat, he let out a sigh. It was after eleven thirty. Chances were good that she was asleep, or that she and her roommate were talking about the night’s events and not paying attention to the phone.
Everything was fine.
But it wouldn’t hurt to check on her in the morning, just to be sure.
* * *
Rebecca came awake with a start, heart pounding. Her hands flew to her throat—she could still feel hands closing around it. But as awareness seeped back in, she realized it was just a dream. No one was attacking her. She sat up, knocking a pillow off the couch in the process. A wave of dizziness attacked her. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply until the dizziness passed. When she could open her eyes again, she frowned. She was still in her skirt from work. She had fallen asleep after texting with her brother.
He didn’t have a phone, so she had used the videophone to call one of her parents’ neighbors who had agreed to let Rebecca’s family know what had happened and that she was fine. Which had resulted in a long conversation with her brother. It took some doing, but she finally convinced him that she was okay and didn’t need anyone to come to LaMar Pond.
A quick glance at the clock showed it was just past six in the morning.
She hadn’t intended to spend the night on the couch. Why had Holly let her sleep? Her roommate usually woke her up if she fell asleep there. The couch was for sitting, not for sleeping. Holly had very definite views about that. So why change?
Rebecca stood and groaned as her back protested. Good grief, she was twenty-five, not seventy-five. She smiled at her silliness, then turned toward the bedrooms.
And every trace of her smile was wiped from her face.
Holly’s door was wide open. As if Holly wasn’t home.
Fear in her throat, Rebecca moved on leaden feet