Gwen gently moved Leo’s head onto a cushion and sat up. She was exhausted. But she saw something in his eyes. The arrogance was gone. All that was left was a desperate, grieving father who was finally ready to listen. “Okay,” she said. “We start with the most important word.” She held up her hand, her thumb touching her middle and pinky finger, her index and ring finger pointing up. “This is L,” she said. He copied her. His hand was stiff. “This is E,” she signed, bending her fingers in. “And this is O.” She showed him how to sign the three letters. L. E. O. He practiced it again and again. L-E-O. L-E-O. His brows furrowed in concentration. “Now,” she said, “this.” She brought her fist to her chest, her thumb extended, and swept it in a gentle arc. “This is my.” He copied her. My. “And this.” She formed a fist and moved it forward. “This is son. It comes from the sign for father, like tipping a cap.” He copied her. Son. He looked at her, then put the pieces together. He signed clumsily. My son. L-E-O. “Good,” Gwen said, a small smile touching her lips. “Now for the hard part.” She took his hand and helped him form the I. She showed him how to cross his arms over his chest for love. And she showed him the sign for you. He practiced it. I love you.
Just then, Leo stirred. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the morning light. He saw his father and tensed, the fear from the night before returning. And then he saw what his father was doing. Marcus, his face a mask of desperate, clumsy sincerity, looked at his son. His hands were shaking. He signed slowly, awfully, with the worst accent Gwen had ever seen. I love you, my son. L-E-O. Leo stared. He looked at Gwen, who nodded, tears in her eyes. He looked back at his father. And then, for the first time in two years, Leo spoke. It was not a sign. It was a sound. A rough, rusty, unused sound from a boy who had not bothered to use his voice in a very, very long time. “D… Dad.”
Marcus Thorne crumpled. He did not just cry. He sobbed. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his son, burying his face in his hair. “I’m here, Leo,” he wept. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Leo, held in his father’s arms, looked over his dad’s shoulder at Gwen. He smiled, and with one small hand, he signed, Good. You are learning.