Sign Languages

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Henry was exhausted. He had driven from Cincinnati through Kentucky and Tennessee, and now they passed to the west of Memphis. He rubbed his eyes with a knuckle and slowed the pickup. The interstate traffic mixed with crosstown drivers.

In the seat next to him his six-year-old daughter, Maggie, played one of her tapes full of high-pitched voices and irritating tunes she sang along with under her breath.

Just a few minutes ago, for the sixth or seventh time since they’d left home at sunrise, he had explained to her how they’d stay in a motel tonight and tomorrow they would arrive at his parents’ in Dallas.

“And you’ll leave me and the houseplants at Grandmommie’s, go down to Austin, rent us a nice place until next spring when you and Mommie can find one to buy, and fly back and bring Mommie and brother down in the new car. Then the whole family will come up to get me and the ferns, right?” She had beamed at him because she remembered it all.

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