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“A few days ago,” Cindy replied as she parked. “He’s still unpacking.”
We followed her to a first-floor apartment with a modern glass front and a box of flowers outside. On the front door, there was a video screen that she pressed as a doorbell. A few minutes later, a male caretaker with a badge named Pat opened the door.
“Hey Cindy, I wasn’t expecting you. Jacob and I are just getting changed. He had a big day in Poughkeepsie.”
The place was an open-plan apartment with room for his wheelchair to move down the wide corridors. He had a living room with a flat-screen television, game box, comics, and an open kitchen, which Jacob would still need help with, but he had much more privacy and space to make it his home. My heart was bursting with so much joy and thankfulness. Rocco had gone beyond what I’d ever expected with this for Jacob.
The buzz of Jacob’s chair from somewhere in the back became louder, and my pulse picked up. Jacob appeared and stopped close to where we stood. He was in his wheelchair, wearing a printed T-shirt and khakis. His deep blue eyes, just like mine, stared at me. My eyes roamed over the new changes in his appearance since our call in Italy. His hair grew out of the buzz cut and was a little longer on top. Seeing the color in his cheeks made my heart swell. He’s doing better.
Jacob lifted the index finger in his mostly frozen hand and smiled. “Lina.”
I swallowed and rushed over, kissing his face and hands and hugging him in his chair. “I miss you so much.”
“Don’t cry,” he signed when I let go. “All’s good.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” I signed, then took Rocco’s hand.
“This is Rocco Marini, my husband,” I announced.
“Rocks,” Jacob signed teasingly.
“What?” Rocco signed. “I’m not good at signing, but I will learn.”
I gaped at him, my heart full. “You’re learning sign language?”
Rocco nodded and signed, “Yes.”
“Practice,” Jacob signed back. “It’s easy.”
My heart swelled, and it took enormous effort to hold back the tears stinging the back of my eyes. It was incredible that Rocco had kept his promise to meet Jacob after we married—something I hadn’t expected him to remember, not with everything else going on in his life. But he also took time to learn to sign for Jacob, and that touched me deeply.
“Congratulations to you both. Make her happy,” Jacob signed.
I sniffled.
“No crying, crybaby,” Jacob signed, teasing.
I laughed.
“I’m trying every day,” Rocco told him.
“Good,” Jacob signed back. “Now, come see my studio.”
We followed behind his chair down the hall to a smaller room. There, he had his paints framed on a wall, a set-up with easels, a place to sit with music and a TV, and a schedule on the wall for every activity he had. It was the same in a few other rooms he took us through. He had massage therapy, physicaltherapy, speech therapy, nutrition, weight training, and free time. He was so busy.
“What were you doing in Poughkeepsie?” I asked when we followed him back into the studio.
“Art show,” he signed.
“Art show?” I signed excitedly.
Pat came forward. “Yep. The art director at the Poughkeepsie Museum is interested in making a therapy art show featuring Jacob. It will include a video of Jacob discussing what pictures he created that gave him peace and acceptance. Something to encourage others to use art to heal their souls.”
Jacob had been working for this opportunity for years, and I wondered if Rocco had a hand in it. I turned to look at him directly, but he was focused on Jacob.
“Congratulations,” Rocco said and slowly signed to him. “Can I film us?”
“Go for it,” Jacob signed. Rocco moved around with his phone as Jacob showed us more of his work. I was in absolute awe. He had advanced much further than he had done a year ago. The colors were vivid, the landscapes more defined, and the tones full of life, with hearts and fantastical imagery of clouds.