Chapter 2 - The Unspoken Debt
The manager's office was small, smelling faintly of stale coffee, paper rolls, and old cardboard boxes.
Norah pulled Paul’s padded swivel chair out from behind the desk, helping Rosa sit down gently. She quickly wiped off a clean spot on the small side table and set Rosa’s hot water and lemon down beside her.
Rosa sat upright, her hands resting over the silver head of her cane. Her eyes searched Norah’s face with intense scrutiny.
What is happening out there? Rosa signed, her fingers moving with sharp, precise anger. Is it the Vane family again?
Norah paused near the door. She didn't want to cause the older woman unnecessary distress, but she also knew that lying to a woman like Rosa Gallow was a dangerous game.
There were two men, Norah signed honestly, keeping her expressions calm. They came to discuss business at the docks. Your son asked them to wait outside.
Rosa let out a short, quiet breath through her nose—a laugh devoid of humor. My son thinks he can hide the world from me because I cannot hear it. He forgets that I raised his father in these same streets.
Norah pulled up a small wooden stool and sat across from her. Victor is trying to protect you.
Rosa looked at Norah, her eyes softening slightly. He protects everything until it suffocates. Ever since my husband died, Victor built a wall around our house. No guests. No noise. Just guards and doctors who treat me like a delicate porcelain doll.
She reached out and laid her warm, thin hand over Norah’s.
Tonight is the first time in six months I have left the house for dinner, Rosa continued, her fingers moving with emotional weight. I wanted to eat in a real restaurant. I wanted to hear—to see—people living their lives. And then I found you.
Norah felt a warmth spread through her chest, momentarily overshadowing the sheer terror of what was currently happening on the other side of the office wall.
I am glad you came to the Copper Spoon, Mrs. Gallow, Norah signed back. I know how isolating it can feel when people talk around you instead of to you. My brother felt that way for a long time.
Rosa’s face grew tender. Tell me about your brother.
For the next fifteen minutes, while muted thuds and heavy footsteps vibrated faintly through the old plaster walls of the building, Norah sat in the small, dim office and signed story after story about Jamie. She told Rosa about how they had invented their own home signs before learning proper ASL, how Jamie had fought to get into his art program, and how she was trying to save enough money to buy him a specialized digital drafting tablet for his senior project.
Rosa listened intently, nodding, her face animated as she responded with stories of her own youth in Brooklyn before moving to New Jersey forty years ago.
The heavy brass doorknob turned.
Norah instantly stood up, stepping between Rosa and the entry.
The door swung open.
Victor Gallow stood in the threshold. His coat was still immaculately buttoned, his dark hair undisturbed, but there was a faint red mark across his right knuckles, and the scent of cold rain and faint copper hung around him.
Behind him, the hallway was empty. The restaurant outside was eerily quiet once more.
"Mother," Victor said smoothly, looking past Norah to his mother. "The restaurant is clear. Your sea bass is ready."
Rosa looked at her son’s hand. She saw the mark on his knuckles instantly. She shook her head with disapproval, signed something so fast and complex that even Norah couldn't fully translate it, and then stood up using her cane.
Norah offered her arm, supporting Rosa as they walked out of the office and back into the main dining room.
The Copper Spoon looked almost normal, except for three things: Jimmy Vane and his associate were gone, the front door’s glass frame had a fresh wipe mark where someone had cleaned off rain smudges, and Paul was sitting behind the bar pouring himself a full glass of cooking sherry with white knuckles.
Norah helped Rosa sit back into booth nine. The kitchen had delivered two covered silver platters to the table while they were in the back.
As Norah uncovered the fish, placing the fresh sea bass in front of Rosa, the older woman took her hand one last time.
You will come visit me, Rosa signed, looking at Norah with an intensity that accepted no refusal. At the estate. I need someone to talk to who doesn't smell like gunpowder and cheap cologne.
Norah blinked, startled. Mrs. Gallow, I work here six days a week—
I will pay your wage, Rosa signed firmly. Double. Victor will arrange it.
Norah looked up at Victor, expecting him to shut down his mother's impulsive request immediately. She expected him to say it was a security risk, or that staff weren't allowed near his private residence.
Instead, Victor was watching his mother’s animated face.
Then he looked at Norah.
"My mother doesn't ask for things, Miss Bennett," Victor said, his voice quiet as he reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a heavy black leather cardholder. "When she does, I don't say no."
He pulled out a thick, crisp white card with a embossed silver phone number on it and laid it beside Norah’s order pad.
"Come to the estate on Monday at ten in the morning," Victor commanded softly. "You will be paid five hundred dollars for two hours of conversation with my mother."
Norah’s breath hitched in her throat. Five hundred dollars was more than she made in a full week of double shifts at the restaurant. It was enough to fix her Corolla's dying transmission and leave a cushion for Jamie’s tuition bill.
"Sir," Norah stammered, "I... I can't accept that kind of money just for talking."
"You aren't just talking," Victor replied, his dark gray eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her pulse race. "You gave my mother her voice back for an hour. In my world, Miss Bennett, that is worth far more than five hundred dollars."
He leaned back, taking up his fork.
"Now please," Victor added, gesturing toward the kitchen hallway. "Bring my mother some fresh lemon slices. And take the rest of the night off. Your manager has already been compensated for your shift."
Norah stood frozen for a beat before nodding slowly. She grabbed the card from the table, feeling the heavy weight of the thick stock paper between her fingers.
May you like
As she backed away toward the kitchen, she looked back at booth nine one last time.
Rosa was happily eating her sea bass, signing something to Victor, who was leaning in close, attempting—for the first time in his life—to copy the simple movement of her fingers as she showed him the sign for delicious.
