My Sister's Voice by Mary Carter Read Free Book Online Page B

warehouse in downtown Philadelphia, relatively free from the hustle and bustle of the nine-to-fivers. She and a hearing artist, Mike, shared the top floor. Three thousand square feet of creative reign. It had thick wood-beam floors, concrete walls, and exposed pipes. Lacey painted the pipes maroon, and the walls a shade of gray that looked almost black at night but turned silver in the sun. Mike, who was a sculptor, had two large pieces displayed in the entrance, ten feet of twisting design. They were mirror images of each other except for the materials: One was made of steel, the other driftwood.
    The pair kept vastly different schedules, but even when they were there together, they had enough space not to get in each other’s way. Mike had the warehouse first, and although tons of artists were dying to share the space with him, Lacey was chosen because she was deaf. And not because Mike pitied her—Lacey would have never put up with that—but because his constant noise didn’t bother her. He soldered, he hammered, he chiseled, he drilled, he sawed. She worked peacefully throughout all of it. Sometimes she felt the vibrations, but she welcomed them. It was like painting on one of those vibrating motel beds you fed with quarters. And it was totally worth it for the space. Lacey’s fifteen-hundred-square-foot section was all the way at the back of the warehouse near two windows facing I-95 and the Ben Franklin Bridge. In the middle of the room they had a communal sink and refrigerator, along with a couple of leather sofas and chairs.
    The loft was messier than usual since the two of them had been too busy preparing for the gallery show to clean. Lacey stood in the middle of the floor, knowing she should start on Alan’s painting, but her thwarted sneak attack on the sister impostor and the engagement ring fiasco were consuming her. Mike was out; they would have the place to themselves.
    She put on a pot of coffee. Robert would be there any minute. His current play with PDA, Philadelphia Deaf Actors, was rehearsing just down the street from the warehouse.
    The overhead lights in the studio flashed, pulsing out news that someone was at the door. Lacey greeted Robert, who bounded into the room still in his costume: a purple-and-green body suit, striped tights, curly shoes, and a floppy hat adorned with bells. It was an outfit any grown man would look ridiculous in, but his height of six-foot-five elevated it to ludicrous. His play, Deaf Jest! , opened next week. Robert had the nervous energy of an actor waiting in the wings, and immediately began bouncing about the place, touching everything in sight. He flipped through sketch pads. He winged an eraser off her worktable. He picked up paintbrushes and charcoal sticks, and rubbed them between his thick fingers. When he ambled over to a large green tarp covering a group of paintings propped against the back wall, and bent down as if to remove the cover, Lacey snuck up behind him and whipped off his hat.
    “Nosy,” she said when he turned around. She steered him away from the green tarp and pointed. Across the way, several of Lacey’s pet-and-owner portraits were openly displayed: on easels, against the wall, on top of her table. Robert got as close to each one as he could and studied them.
    There was a chubby man and his bulldog, both with equally drooping jowls. An old lady and her poodle, sporting identical tight, white curls. An Irish setter and a beautiful redhead. Robert waved his hand to get Lacey’s attention and when she finally looked his way, he signed, “What kind of dog for me?” He thrust out his chest and lifted his chin. Lacey studied him for several seconds.
    “No dog,” she said. “Gorilla.” Robert bent over with his large hands scooping the ground and did his best gorilla impression.
    “Funny,” Lacey said.
    “Where’s Mike?” Robert asked.
    “He’s out somewhere,” Lacey said. Mike was a hunk and Lacey always suspected Robert had a little