The Bakery Sisters by Susan Mallery Page B

trunk. Claire pushed it shut.
    â€œThat was fun,” she said, then signed, “Thank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” Amy said. “Bookstore now.”
    They stopped for ice cream first, at the Cold Stone Creamery, then sat in the sun at a metal table to eat their snack.
    â€œHow was school?” Claire asked.
    â€œGood,” Amy signed, then switched to voice. “We practice speaking,” she said slowly. “Practice every day.”
    â€œCan you hear anything?” Claire asked.
    â€œTone. Not words.”
    â€œWhat if I yell really loud?”
    Amy giggled, then signed, “I’m deaf.”
    Claire couldn’t imagine not hearing. Memories of music she’d played filled her head, making her ache to be at the keyboard again. Her fingers curled into her palms. How could she both love and hate playing at the same time? No matter how she filled her day, the nagging sense of needing to practice haunted her. Yet the thought of sitting down at a piano made her chest tighten with the first whispers of a panic attack.
    â€œWere you always deaf?” Claire asked.
    Amy nodded, then moved her hands, signing what Claire assumed was born.
    â€œI’m lucky,” the girl continued, both signing and speaking. “I can hear a little. Some don’t.”
    â€œDo you feel sound?” Claire asked, hitting her chest with the palm of her hand. “In your body?”
    â€œMusic. I feel music.”
    She wondered if Amy would be able to feel her play. If putting her hands on the piano would produce enough vibration. Would she be able to tell the difference between notes? Would she recognize the difference in pieces? Would a concerto feel differently than a Broadway show tune?
    She was about to suggest they experiment when she remembered that she didn’t play anymore. She’d just been panicking a minute before. Why was it so easy to forget she wasn’t that person anymore?
    They finished their ice cream and went to the bookstore. Amy helped her pick out a couple of basic cookbooks.
    â€œNow I can cook dinner,” Claire said.
    Amy nodded and flipped through the book. She pointed to a meat loaf recipe.
    Claire read the list of ingredients. It didn’t look hard.
    â€œFor tonight?” she asked.
    Amy nodded.
    The recipe suggested mashed potatoes and carrots. Under vegetables she actually found a recipe for mashed potatoes and a chart that told her how long to steam carrots. It was a miracle.
    â€œGrocery store?” she asked Amy.
    The girl smiled at her. “I know where.”
    They made their way to a grocery store, with Amy giving great directions. Claire chuckled as she wondered who was babysitting whom.
    They gathered potatoes, carrots, an onion, found the hamburger, although Claire was momentarily stumped by the different kinds. She bought the one that cost the most and hoped it was right.
    â€œYour daughter is so pretty,” an older woman said as she walked past them. “She has your eyes.”
    The comment surprised Claire, but she smiled. “Thank you. She looks a lot like her dad.”
    â€œI’m sure he’s a handsome man.”
    Claire thought about the last time she’d seen Wyatt. He’d been on the landing, in Nicole’s house. As usual, he’d been frustrated by her. She wasn’t sure why she pushed all his buttons; she certainly wasn’t trying.
    â€œHe’s pretty cute,” she admitted.
    The woman smiled and moved on.
    Amy touched Claire’s arm. “What did she say?”
    â€œShe thought you were my daughter. She said we had the same eyes.”
    Amy studied her for a second, then raised her hand, fingers together, thumb across her palm. “Blue,” she said, wiggling her hand back and forth.
    Claire repeated the sign. They did both have blue eyes, and they were blond, she thought. Amy was lucky—her beautiful color was natural while Claire’s required a