The presence of the interpreter was a necessary burden that was one of the many difficulties that came with deafness. There was no privacy when dealing with the hearing, nonsigning world. There was almost always an interpreter involved. Very few doctors signed. Even fewer therapists. So even when Michael was physically recovered, he’d probably still have to deal with an interpreter when he got therapy.

And this boy will get therapy. I’ll make sure of it.

Of course, the presence of a cop was all on the heads of his mother and stepfather—the two people who should have taken care of him. Who had instead thrown a bowl at his head and assaulted him, causing rectal bleeding.

She glanced over at the interpreter. Maria was a nice person, evidenced through many previous encounters. She had interpreted for Greg more than once over the years and Dani was happy that she was the one assigned to Michael today.

Maria was watching Michael carefully, waiting for the smallest twitch of the boy’s hands that signaled communication.

“Your stitches are still intact,” Dani said. “Keep your hands out of your hair, okay? I’ll bandage you up and then I’ll check your shoulder.”

Maria interpreted exactly what Dani had said, then voiced, “Then I’ll go with the cops?” when Michael replied.

“We’ll go with the cops,” Dani corrected. She covered the wound with a bandage, placing the tape carefully. “I had to shave a little of your hair, but when you comb it, nobody will know.”

“So not bald like Coach Diesel?” Michael signed with a nervous roll of his eyes.

Dani forced herself to smile, even though she wanted to cry. Michael was trying so hard not to fall apart. “Certainly not.” She handed the suture tray to Jenny, removing the gloves she’d worn and putting on the new ones Jenny handed her. “I can take it from here,” she told her nurse. “Dr. Kristoff should be here soon to take the rest of my shift. Can you make sure he’s up to speed?”

“Of course. We’ve got a patient scheduled for a well-baby in five minutes. I’ll get them settled.” Jenny moved to the back corner to throw the gloves and bloody gauze in the biohazard bag, but then she stopped, her gaze fixed on the bloody paper covering the exam table. She looked at Dani, her eyes sad. “I’ll take care of everything else,” she added, touching her pants, indicating that she’d find a clean set of scrubs for Michael.