Two days later, Nora learned that Giovanni understood far more than people assumed.
She was reading aloud from a newspaper when a report mentioned a ferry accident. She paused, wondering whether to turn the page.
“Would you rather hear the weather?”
He blinked twice.
Nora didn’t know what it meant. She tried a simple experiment.
“If you want me to keep reading, blink once.”
One deliberate blink.
“If you want me to stop, blink twice.”
Two.
She repeated the questions in a different order. His answers remained consistent.
A quiet thrill passed through her.
“John, have you been trying to tell people things?”
One blink.
She leaned closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand sooner.”
She wrote YES and NO on separate pieces of paper, placing them where he could see. She asked him to look at an answer rather than blink when he grew tired. It wasn’t perfect communication. Sometimes his eyes watered or his attention drifted. Nora learned not to guess when she wasn’t certain.
But it was a beginning.
She asked Mrs. Gable whether the family knew he could make choices.
“You’re a maid, not a therapist,” the housekeeper snapped.
“Can I call his nurse and ask?”
“Absolutely not. You’re interfering in medical matters you don’t understand.”
Nora didn’t call a nurse without authorization. She did, however, begin writing down the dates when meals were left untouched, the room temperature when it was cold, and the times she saw anyone help him.
She kept the notebook because she was afraid she’d be told she imagined it.
That fear proved sensible.
One evening, Mrs. Gable found her adjusting John’s pillow.
“Out,” she ordered.
“He hasn’t had his supper.”
“His tray was delivered.”
“It was put too far away.”
Mrs. Gable looked at the blanket. “What’s that cheap thing doing in here?”
“I bought it.”
