Mom broke her wrist one time in a tennis match during a company barbeque back in New Jersey, and she always complained about the tight pain in her wrist the cold caused. If Beau had surgeries on top of the breaks, that probably didn’t help at all.

Beau nodded, signing, YES, then said, “. . . have rod . . . my shin. Nina . . . tells me . . . take medicine for . . . but . . . never remember.”

There’s the reason Nina was so annoyed that day we studied at the café, I thought distractedly.

“Okay,” I said. “But I don’t see how this makes it your fault your mom died.”

Beau waved away my words like they were nothing and went on signing, HAD S-O-C-C-E-R PRACTICE. LATE. WANT MOTHER DRIVE ME . . .

I held up a hand to stop Beau before he could finish signing. I didn’t need him to finish. I knew exactly where this was going.

“No. No way. No way is that your fault, Beau.”

“But—”

“If you think your father blames you for the car accident and this is the way you have to make it up to him, stop right there.”

Beau’s face slipped, and he paused with his lips parted, taken aback. “But . . . don’t . . .”

“Remember the first day of school when you were so surprised I can talk?” I said, choosing to use my voice.

Beau didn’t seem so happy recalling that particular memory as he gave a short nod.

“Well, I can speak fine because I wasn’t born deaf. I became deaf when I was thirteen because I got sick.”

This wasn’t a sad story to tell anymore. These were just the facts, and even now I didn’t think I’d go back and make any changes. Everything had a way of working out in the end.

WHAT HAPPENED? Beau signed curiously.

“Meningitis,” I told him. “Came down with it when I was visiting my grandma in Louisiana. Could’ve happened to anyone, and I’m actually really lucky I came out of it just having lost my hearing. It could’ve been a lot worse. But you know what? My mom blamed herself. She thought it was all her fault because she was the one who let me go on that trip and I ended up getting sick.”

It was interesting seeing the emotions flashing across Beau’s face as he took in my story. I think he knew the direction this was headed, and it was fairly obvious he didn’t want to hear the rest of what I had to say.

“But it wasn’t really my mom’s fault, was it?” I said.

Beau shook his head, signing, NO.

RIGHT, I signed back at him. “That car accident wasn’t your fault, Beau. And you’ve got nothing to make up to your dad. So why are you going to make yourself miserable becoming a doctor?”