The Marvels of Prairie Creek

Chapter Fourteen

Jane arrived at the men's apartment promptly at seven. Val and Prett were eating breakfast, and she joined them. Danny strolled in, his eyes bright and merry, evidence his hangover had dissipated. Jane melted at his blazing smile, flushing with appreciation at his just-showered appearance. He wore a gray t-shirt underneath a red plaid flannel shirt; the former tucked into beat-up jeans. But when he grabbed the jug of orange juice and took a swig, her admiration evaporated. "Ugh." He raised his eyebrows as he pointed to her and then the almost empty jug. "Not anymore," she said. He signed a reply. She looked to Prett.

"He says it's fine; it didn't backwash."

Danny swatted the back of Prett's head before offering the juice to Jane again. "No thank you. I'll just have water now."

"Good choice," Prett said. "Who'd want something his lips have touched? Gross." Danny shook his head, drained the jug and tossed it into the trash. "You'll have to forgive his piggishness. We've all learned to make allowances for him, poor boy." Danny slapped the back of Prett's head again. The latter almost spit out his coffee. "Heh! You know it takes a harder hit than that to shut a person up, Vel." Danny ignored him, striding to the fridge.

"Did Danny get hit on the head or something? I keep hearing references to it."

"Yeah. But he refuses to speak about it." Val snorted with laughter over his plate of scrambled eggs, and even Danny was grinning when he returned with an unopened jug of orange juice.

"Oh," Jane said. Some kind of inside joke. Danny opened the juice and with a flourish poured some into the glass in front of her. "Oh," Jane said again. "Thanks." Danny replaced the cap and set the jug on the counter with a thump, pointed to it, himself, and signed, shooting an arched look towards Prett. His meaning was clear: Prett's off-the-wall interpretations were suspect. "What does that mean?" she asked Prett.

"He says his lips haven't touched this one." He lifted his coffee cup. "Yet." Danny shook his head with a grin.

"I don't mean the orange juice. I mean about him not talking about getting hit in the head. I don't get the joke."

"Well, obviously he doesn't speak. About getting hit in the head. Or anything else. That's the joke." Danny smacked Prett again. "Do that again Vel, and I'll pound you!" Danny laughed, signing a reply. Prett shook his head in response. But Danny insisted, and the two had a conversation with only facial expressions until Prett relented. "Fine. Danny's hit to the head was a TBI. Traumatic brain injury."

Oh.

Prett stuffed the last of his toast into his mouth, his eyes showing sadness before returning to his usual bland expression.

He called him Danny. He hasn't done that before. Since Prett wasn't offering more information, Jane asked Danny, "What happened? Car accident?" Danny shook his head and signed three letters, trying to get Prett's attention. "Wait--Val was teaching me letters last night. That was an 'I.' " Danny grinned and repeated his fingerspelling. "I...O...What? Oh, not 'O'. 'E!' I...e...d. Ied? Oh! I.E.D. You were in the military?" Danny nodded. "Iraq?" He nodded again. "When did it happen?" He held up nine fingers. "Nine months ago?" He shook his head. "Nine years ago?" He nodded, and Jane added with new understanding, "That's why you limp."

Danny tapped Prett on the shoulder and signed. "Shredded legs," Prett said in a tone that indicated he was interpreting word for word. "Exchanged shrapnel for metal pins. Had to learn to walk again." Danny apparently said something about Prett, who responded, "That's not important." Danny rolled his eyes, but continued signing. "Third and fourth degree burns." Danny took off his flannel shirt, exposing the discolored, tightened sections of skin on his toned arms. He turned sideways to pull up his t-shirt, but Prett held out his hand. "She doesn't need to see all your scars, Vel."