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The surface of the bathwater glimmers in the pink candlelight of the room. Lynn studies it as she skims her fingertips through it, watching the currents in her wake as they stir the salt-clouded water. The temperature is perfect; it’s so pleasantly warm that it feels almost like nothing at all, like Lynn’s hand is still hovering in the air of the shared bathroom. She shifts her gaze to study the water line on the tub’s edge then. It’s a nice bathtub, a free-standing one meant for full-body soaks. It’s nearly deep enough now, Lynn thinks. She watches the flow of water from the high, arching brass tub faucet. The water bubbles where the spout meets the tub, but the sound is little more than a dull whisper to Lynn, the last remnants of a dream of rushing rivers. She half-considers going to get her hearing aids… But then, she isn’t sure if she misses the sound right now or not. Sometimes she hates how quiet her world has gotten; other times, she thinks it matches how she feels inside. A quiet world for the quiet soul that she’s become, in the aftermath of that horrible collar making the last and loudest sound Lynn would ever hear.
The water has gotten deep enough now; Lynn reaches out to turn off the faucet. Slowly, she drifts back into a standing position and turns on her heel. When she opens the bathroom door, she sees Allison lying there in her floral-pattern bathrobe on their bed, her eyes half-lidded. She offers Lynn a small smile, but doesn’t otherwise move. Lynn doesn’t blame her; on these bad pain days, Allison tries to move as little as possible.
“The water’s ready, honey,” Lynn says. Her voice sounds low and garbled to her own ears, like she’s speaking underwater. But Allison must understand her, because she nods.
Will you help me? Allison asks— or Lynn is reasonably certain she asks. Lynn has been working on her lip-reading skills, and Allison helps by always speaking to her straight-on, their eyes locked together. Lynn nods and slowly approaches the side of the bed, offering her hand out to Allison. Lynn watches all the while as Allison slowly sits up, her face contorting into a wince, before she takes Lynn’s hand in her own. Allison’s pale hand is nearly exactly the same size as Lynn’s, even with its two missing fingers. Lynn anchors herself, lets her body become a counterweight for Allison to use to slowly pull herself upright. Lynn wishes Allison would let her help more with this part, but she doesn’t press; Allison’s pride is precious to her. Especially these days.
Carefully, slowly, the two of them retrace Lynn’s steps, Allison leaning into Lynn’s side as she walks them back into the comforting darkness of the bathroom. The air has gotten warm and humid, as plumes of steam wisp off the surface of the water. Once they reach the tub, Allison straightens up. Lynn gently guides the neck of her bathrobe down off her shoulders and undoes the tie at Allison’s waist, leaving her free to shrug out of the robe herself with minimal effort. Lynn’s eyes sweep slowly over Allison, taking in her soft skin, the beautiful expanse of her stomach and breasts. In the low light, the raised pink patches of the skin grafts on Allison’s thigh and the red scars wrapped around her ribcage make her body look like a rose garden. When Lynn straightens up, Allison won’t quite meet her gaze.
“It’s okay,” Lynn whispers, so soft that she can’t hear herself, that she has to trust the feeling of the air in her throat to know that she’s spoken. She wraps her arms around Allison, carefully, to give her a light hug; too much pressure will only hurt her. Lynn feels Allison nod against her, as the curly dark auburn mass of Allison’s hair bobs back and forth.
Lynn takes Allison’s hand again, and she places her other hand on the small of Allison’s back, to help steady and brace her. Allison manages to get her first leg in the water, and then she releases Lynn’s hand, to carefully guide herself into position sitting on the lip of the tub. From there, Allison carefully slides into the bath on her own. The surface of the water sloshes back and forth with Allison’s entrance; Lynn sees, but does not hear, a few spurts of water splash down to puddle onto the bathroom tile. She slowly sinks into a crouch at the side of the tub, studying Allison’s face. She closes her eyes and breathes a deep sigh, which brings a small smile to Lynn’s face; even after everything, one of the best feelings Lynn knows is the feeling of relieving the pain of someone in need.
Allison’s eyes reopen, and she turns to smile over at Lynn. She raises one hand and presses her fingertips to her chin, before waving it downwards, back beneath the water. Thank you. Lynn still doesn’t know much ASL, but Allison has been learning for them both, trying to encourage Lynn to practice fingerspelling with her on the nights when they both have the energy for it. Lynn thinks Allison likes that it gives her something to do, something to break the endless monotony of sleeping and bathing and going to follow-ups and therapy appointments and waiting to learn if she can ever work again, if there’s anything like her old life waiting on the other side of this recovery.
Lynn smiles back at Allison and answers her in kind, raising one hand as if to give the air a one-armed hug before bringing it down, palm upturned, to her stomach. Then, when Allison’s smile widens, Lynn gives her another sign, one of the ones she knows best. It’s simple; Lynn starts with rock-and-roll devil horns, then points out her thumb, too. Allison replies by leaning out over the edge of the tub, enough to press her lips against Lynn’s. Water drips from Allison’s hair and neck onto Lynn’s shirt, but Lynn doesn’t care, because Allison’s mouth is soft and warm, and her lips taste like vanilla. After they break away, Allison stares directly into Lynn’s face and slowly speaks. She doesn’t have to, not for this; Lynn knows exactly what she’s saying.
I love you, too.
Lynn feels the weight in her face lighten up as she smiles at Allison.
“Do you want me to stay?” she asks. When Allison nods back, Lynn stands up and steps out to their bedroom, to pick up the water-resistant wooden chair they got for this express purpose. After a second thought, Lynn also goes to her nightstand and picks up her hearing aids. It takes a moment to fumble them onto her ears, but once they’re in place and activated, Lynn immediately hides her ears beneath her hair once more. As she returns to Allison’s side, the sounds of the world return to her in a trickle— the quiet splish of Allison shifting in the bathtub, the low drone of their apartment’s air-conditioning unit…
The sound of Allison humming, softly, under her breath. Lynn smiles to herself as she sets up her chair by the bathtub. Allison pauses in her humming and turns her face up to Lynn.
“Sure you don’t mind?” she asks. Her voice is warm and low, a little uncertain, matching the questioning look in her eyes. Allison’s voice, Lynn thinks, is one of the most compelling reasons to wear her hearing aids. Lynn briefly gestures towards her ear, to indicate to Allison that she can hear her. It’s impossible to miss the way that Allison’s eyes light up in response.
“I’m sure,” Lynn answers. She reaches down to give Allison’s shoulder a light squeeze. ”I liked that song you were humming.”
Allison nods. She sinks lower into the water, just as Lynn sinks down to get comfortable in the seat cushion on her chair.
The rosy scent of the candles, the warm steamy air of the bathroom, and the note of salt in the air from the medicinal bath form a beautiful harmony. It becomes a four-piece chamber orchestra when Allison’s halting, melodic humming rejoins the music. Lynn sighs and tilts her head back against the chair, closing her eyes to take in the sound without distraction.
It’s a quiet world, Lynn thinks. But not a silent one.