In The Absence Of Light (46 page)

“Paying for our food.” And obviously leaving a tip these people didn’t deserve.

“You haven’t finished eating.”

“We can eat lunch at the home…”

…the rest of the world isn’t ready for them.

“No, you’ll eat here.”

Her face flushed. “We’ve already caused enough problems. We should go.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Sit.” She did. “What normally causes him to overload?” She fumbled with the two twenties on the table. Brian reached for one and she slipped another napkin in his hand instead.

“Noises sometimes, and smells. I think maybe it was the waitress’s perfume. I can’t take him to the mall because he can’t stand the smell of the perfume. But to be honest, I don’t know.”

“He can’t tell you?”

“Brian can’t talk. Sometimes he makes sounds for certain things but never words. Mom always hoped he would at least learn to talk. His therapist said it’s different for everyone. I just…” Sue slumped in her seat and watched her brother make a mess.

“Stay right here.”

I went over to the counter where the waitresses were huddled.  “Is there anyone not wearing perfume?”

The black woman glanced at her friends.

“You?”

She gave me a slow shake of her head.

“Do you mind waiting on them?”

“Is he going to do that again?”

I glanced back at the table. Brian’s sister made a sad attempt to mop up the mess on the table.  “He didn’t do it on purpose. He was just…” What did I tell her? Because I didn’t really understand myself. I took out five twenty-dollar bills from my wallet. “Wait on them. If there’s a problem, I’ll take responsibility.”

“You gonna replace the plates he breaks?” The cook walked over. He was taller than me and a good fifty pounds heavier, but he watched Brian with the same kind of fear the waitresses did.

I took out a few more bills and laid them on the counter with the rest. “Buy a whole new set.”

The black woman took the money I’d given her and put it in her apron. “I’ll get a mop to get the rest of that up.” Then she stopped. “That won’t make him mad, will it?”

I knew mad wasn’t the right word, but explaining it was useless.  “I’ll check.”  I went back over to the table. Brian made lines on the table with the pieces of napkins he’d torn up. “Will he be okay with them coming over and washing down the floor?”

“He should be.” She gave me an uneasy smile.

I relayed the message, but just in case, I told the waitress to make sure there was no cleaner on the mop, then waited close by until she’d finished.

Whispers and murmurs from the people in the restaurant turned into low chatter and the waitresses went back to work. I returned to my table. Jeff glanced back at Brian and his sister.

“Don’t stare.” I sat. “She’s embarrassed enough.”

“She probably should’ve taken him home.”

Jeff was wrong, I knew he was wrong, yet part of me agreed with him. The scared ignorant part that had once judged Morgan for what I saw, not for who he was. I’d hoped it had died, but in that moment, I was forced to realize it hadn’t.

And it scared me because I was forced to realize just how unprepared I was to face the reality of what I might find when I went home. My cell phone lay next to my coffee cup. A paper weight for the confession of my cowardice. I put it in my pocket.

Our waitress came to our table and refilled our glasses. Her perfume wasn’t cheap, or unpleasant, but it was definitely strong. “Do either of you need anything else, coffee? Dessert?” She smiled, but it didn’t hide her nervousness.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I said. She blinked at me a couple of times, then glanced over her shoulder. “He got overwhelmed.”

“Because of my perfume?” she said, like she was calling bullshit. Then she dropped her gaze. “Sorry, I’m just not used to people like him.”

“Maybe you should consider doing some volunteer work at one of the long-term care facilities around here?”

“Honey, I barely have enough time to sleep. I work two jobs, have three kids to feed.”

“And lucky for you, they’re perfect and you don’t have to worry about something as simple as a smell making them panic.”

She gave me a sour look. “I’ll get you your check.”

After she left, Jeff said, “So now what? You’re a patron saint to the mentally handicapped?”

“Don’t be an asshole. I was just beginning to enjoy your company.”

“Does Morgan do that?”

I wanted to tell him no. “Not exactly.”

“But you knew how to calm him down.”

“I guessed. Brian could have as easily punched me out.”

“Brian?”

“Ever met a
person
who didn’t have a name?”

“That wasn’t…” He sighed and pushed his plate back some. “Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

“What?”  I took a bite of my hamburger. It was barely warm, but still good.

“What? Seriously? You have to ask me what I’m talking about?”

“Apparently so.”

“Your relationship with Morgan.”

I glared at Jeff over the bun, took a bite, chewed. Extra slow. He waited with his arms crossed and attitude painted all over his face.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin, more to give myself time to think about what I wanted to say and how to say it than anything else. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with Morgan.”

“Grant, I’ve seen him, he acts a lot like that guy who just threw the temper tantrum.”

“There’s nothing cognitively wrong with Morgan.”

“Then why does he act the way he does?”

“It’s hard to explain, truth be told I don’t know if I even understand it myself. But I know without a doubt, under the tics, he’s as normal as you and I, and perfectly capable of making life choices.” I started to pick up my burger, then put it down again. “And so what if he wasn’t? What if he was mentally handicapped? There are a boatload of people out there who wouldn’t get out of the double digits of an IQ test and they do just fine in life.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because they don’t act…”

“What? Crazy?”  I flicked thoughts at Jeff, and he found something more interesting across the room to look at. “Newsflash, crazy people have rights too. Mental illness isn’t a crime, and they go on to live productive lives. Hell, I’d bet more than half of the students at MIT would qualify as Asperger’s.”

“So?”

“Asperger’s is a mild form of autism.”

An argument played through his eyes.  “Still not the same.”

“Why? ‘Cause you say so?”

“Because those people act normal.”

I laughed. “Holy shit, Jeff, you’re kidding me, right? I know a guy Vince who works in a multi-million dollar company’s IT department, forty-something, and refuses to throw anything out. He organizes old outdated motherboards by shape, then the color of the little capacitors. Has an entire room full of them. Housekeeping went through it one day when he was out, and he had a meltdown. The boss made them go dig it all out of the garbage.”

“Was he a client or just a personal friend?” Jeff said it with a smile, but it might as well have been a verbal insult.

“He rented a space in one of my buildings. He didn’t like people so he didn’t want to live in an apartment. He had no TV, no furniture, earned a six-figure income, did nothing but build computers and tinker with robots. I just thought he had a few screws loose like the rest of the world. I had no idea who he was, or worked for, until I got ready to sell the place. He asked if he could buy it. I thought he was joking. He asked me how much, and I tossed out a number. Ten minutes later, I had a plastic bin full of hundred dollar bills in my hands.”

“He gave you cash?”

“Didn’t believe in banks, because he knew how easy they could be hacked.”

“You sold him the building?”

“Only after I made him promise to get a whole lot of new locks, a floor safe, and not let anyone know he had large amounts of money lying around.”

Jeff moved his silverware from one side of his plate to the other. “Is there a point to this story?”

“Yeah. Morgan might be autistic, but he excels in ways that super genius Vince didn’t. Even with only Asperger’s, the concept of how dangerous having money out in the open could be was beyond him.

"Morgan may be autistic, but he is a normal man with a mental condition, not a mental condition who is a man.”

********

We finished our meal and paid our bill. Where the setting sun could find a space between the buildings, it cast fragments of red and gold on parked cars. In the shadows, it was already twilight, and even though it was spring, the air held a chill. Air that stank of diesel fuel and rot.

In Durstrand, the only smell there to choke you out was the chicken manure trucks hauling waste from the laying houses to spread on pasture and corn fields. I never in a million years thought I’d miss that smell.

There was something—or someone—I missed more.  I took out my phone.

“Hey.” A clatter of bells followed Jeff out of the restaurant. He grinned as he walked up. I put my phone away. “You need a ride?” He took out his keys.

“Probably not a smart idea for us to be seen together.”

“We can make it look official, and I can drive you over to the office and we can play twenty questions.”

A shiver ran down my spine. It was more than the chill.

“Look, I’ll call the Assistant Director, let him know I’m meeting with you in an attempt to find out who’s interested in your list.”

“Why, so you can arrest me?”

Jeff rolled his eyes at me. “No, in hopes you’ll reconsider cooperating, you know for the good of the people and all that.”

I snorted. “And he’s going to fall for that line of bullshit.”

“Yes. Because it’ll be true. We’ll talk, you’ll claim ignorance, I’ll get mad, and we both storm out.”

“And what purpose does that serve?”

“I’ll take the long way around, and we can discuss what to do about Hines.”

He pulled out his keys. “Why on earth would you waste your money on a car?” Especially here, where the traffic was hell, walking was faster, and parking could top the price of a mortgage.  “Because I hate taking the subway.”

“Your apartment is a block from the office.”

“Was.” Jeff jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I leased a place at the new complex they built.”

“That’s almost twenty miles out.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

He stared at the keys in his hand. “I’m resigning after this year.”

“No, you’re not.”  The look he gave me said he was serious. “Why would you resign?”

“Because, there was this guy I fell in love with and I knew as long as I worked for the FBI he’d never give me another chance.”  Jeff stepped off the curb and walked over to a mint green Prius.

I made a face. “I take that back. You didn’t buy a car.”

“Come on, it’s gas efficient.”

“You actually fit in that thing?”

“Lot roomier than it looks.”

“Why the hell did you get green?”

“I got a very good deal.”

“So they paid you to take it off the lot?”

He laughed and so did I. Then I caught myself. “What made you think I would come back to Chicago?”

He shrugged. “I leased the place before you left, it just wasn’t move-in ready yet.”

“So you thought after all this was over, the FBI had what they wanted from me, you and I’d just live happily ever after.” It sounded like the plot for a bad comedy skit.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“When I left here, I had no intentions of ever coming back.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t re-sign my lease.”

“That means ever coming back to you too.”

I never imagined you could see a man’s heart break, and maybe Jeff’s didn’t, maybe it was just the shadows of the coming night.

He clicked the key fob and the car beeped. If you could call it that. Not sure if the sound was even low enough on the decibel scale to qualify for an actual beep. More like a mouse fart.

“Let me give you a ride back to where ever you’re staying.”

“What? Not gonna invite me over?” For a second his smile fractured, then he pulled out his sunglasses and put them on.

I got in the car.

“Now about Hines.” He turned the key. I wasn’t sure if it had even started until the dash lights came on and we pulled into traffic.

“What about him?”

“Let me put a wire on you. Get him on tape and have him arrested.”

“If he’s working for Lorado, that would be like poking a hornet’s nest.”

Someone honked behind us, but the light was already red at the intersection. “What if he’s not working for Lorado? I mean. Was, but isn’t now.”