Chapter 3 - The Language of Stone
Sloan broke the silence first. She didn't offer a polite introduction or an excuse for encroaching on the CEO's table. She simply lowered her hands, resting them flat on the white tablecloth, and looked at Daniel with professional detachment.
"You're her uncle," Sloan signed, her pace deliberate so he wouldn't miss a letter. Then she added it in a quiet voice, "Daniel Rock, right? I've seen your face in the annual hospital reports."
"Yes," Daniel managed to say aloud, his voice rough. He looked at Lily, desperate for a lifeline. "Lily, honey... I'm sorry. Andrew kept me talking about the expansion plans for the downtown clinic, and then the mayor—"
Lily didn't look angry; she looked tired. She picked up the piece of meteorite from her lap, placed it gently on the center of the table between her and Sloan, and pushed it an inch toward the doctor.
"She told me it's a meteor," Sloan translated softly for Daniel, though she didn't speak for Lily without permission. She looked at Lily and signed, Can I touch it?
Lily nodded.
Sloan picked up the thumbnail-sized space rock, turned it over in her palm, and examined the rough, burnt-fusion crust. "Space iron," Sloan signed to Lily. "It traveled millions of miles, burned through our atmosphere, and landed somewhere ordinary. That's a brave rock."
Lily's face softened, a tiny ghost of a smile touching the corner of her mouth. She looked at Daniel and signed, She knows what it is.
Daniel felt a sharp, humiliating pang in his chest. For two years, he had bought Lily expensive geology kits, telescopes, and books about astronomy, believing that throwing money at her interests constituted parenting. Yet he had never once held her favorite rock, let alone learned the manual vocabulary to discuss its cosmic origin.
"Teach me," Daniel said abruptly, looking directly at Sloan.
Sloan raised an eyebrow. "Teach you what?"
"The sign," Daniel said, swallowing his pride in front of the entire ballroom. "Teach me how to say meteor. Teach me how to talk to my own niece."
For a long moment, Sloan just looked at him, measuring the cracks in his polished armor. Then, slowly, she positioned her hands, curling her fingers and demonstrating the downward streak of a falling star. "Like this," she signed. "And you watch her, not me."
Daniel turned his eyes to Lily. His hands were large, stiff from years of gripping steering wheels and signing corporate contracts, but he copied the motion. He made the sign for meteor, fumbling the wrist movement slightly.
May you like
Lily watched him, her eyes bright. She corrected his right thumb with her own small index finger, pushing it into the correct position.
Across the room, Vivien Ashworth Pell watched the tableau from the edge of the dance floor, her fingers digging into the strap of her evening bag. The billionaire CEO, the mute deaf child, and the nobody doctor were making a scene—and worse, they were ignoring the program entirely.
