Words Get In the Way (10 page)

Twenty minutes later, an eerie darkness shrouded the yard. The dogs had been only too happy to be invited into the kitchen. They stretched out on the cool linoleum and wondered if there were any snacks in their future. Linden turned on the stove light, looked under the aluminum foil that covered Mrs. Connor’s cookies, and shook his head in dismay. “Only two left. I don’t know if there’s enough.” With their heads on their paws, the dogs watched Linden as he ate the first cookie, but when he started to lift the second one to his mouth, they picked up their heads and gave him mournful looks. Linden laughed, broke the cookie in half, and gave them each a piece. They thumped their tails thankfully. Linden poured milk into the glass from the dish drain, wandered into the small room next to the kitchen, and looked out at the rain. Even though it was coming down in sheets, he could already see a sliver of blue shimmering across the western horizon.

He finished his milk, turned from the window, and switched on the adjustable lamp that was attached to the old wooden drawing table. The table was solid oak and had been rescued from a Vermont roadside, and the threadbare swivel chair in front of it had come from a junkyard in Keene. Linden sat in the chair and ran his hand lightly over the watercolor that was taped to the table. He leaned away and then closer again, trying to decide if he liked it. Several weeks earlier, in frustration, he’d given up on the painting, but now he decided maybe it wasn’t so bad. He stood up and looked at it from another angle. Maybe he’d work on it later.

The rain had stopped, and Linden let the dogs back out and carried a new six-pack down to the river. He slipped five of the bottles into the cold water, unbuttoned his shirt, dried his hands with it, draped it over the back of one of the chairs, and opened the remaining bottle. Then he kicked off his L.L.Bean camp mocs and made his way gingerly out across the shallow current. He stood, sipping his beer and surveying his handiwork. The cairn was almost as tall as he was, but he still wanted it to be taller. He began to wonder if spending so much time alone was making him crazy, and then he remembered an article he’d read one time that said if you thought you were crazy, you probably weren’t. He put his bottle down; looked into the depths of the clear, swirling water; and realized that he’d almost exhausted his supply of large stones. He would have to start carrying them from upstream. He had just started to slosh in that direction when he heard a car pull into the yard.

He looked up and saw Callie’s old Nova parked next to his truck and his heart pounded as he watched Kat and Springer bounding over to greet her. She petted them and looked around.

“Hey,” he called with a wave.

She looked over and smiled. “Hey!”

“You remembered.”

“Well, I thought I remembered, but I made a wrong turn back there”—she motioned in the direction of the road—“and I ended up at a wooden gate. But I finally figured it out.” As she walked toward him, she couldn’t help but notice that he was no longer the slender boy she’d known in high school. His chest and shoulders were broader, and his muscles were more defined. Linden reached for his shirt, and she quickly looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

“Wow!
That
is a very impressive pile of rocks,” she said, looking over his shoulder.

Linden pulled the shirt on and thought,
If you only knew what inspired it!

“I shouldn’t have come,” she stammered.

“No,” Linden said, fumbling with a button. “I’m glad you did.”

She searched his eyes. “I
really
shouldn’t have come,” she blurted, “but I don’t have anywhere else to turn. I know you offered to help, Linden, but you probably didn’t expect me to take you up on it so soon.” She paused to take a breath. “Please say no if you can’t ... or you’re busy ... or you
just
don’t want to. I will completely understand.”

Linden gave up on the buttons and stepped closer. “Callie, what’s the matter? What happened?” Callie started to explain, and Linden caught on immediately. “No problem, Cal. I’m happy to watch Henry.”

She nodded and bit her lip. “It’s not that simple, Linden,” she continued. “Henry’s not like other kids. He’s not easy to look after. He takes off, and he has terrible tantrums and ...” She paused, trying to find the right words. “He doesn’t talk.”

“Oh,” Linden said. “Well, I’m sure we can manage. I do enough talking for two people anyway.”

Callie looked puzzled.
“You?”

Linden smiled and shrugged. “Did you want to leave him here now?”

“Is now okay?”

“Now is fine.”

They walked over to Callie’s car. “This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m doing this to you. I don’t even know how he will react to new surroundings, especially without me here. He’s an escape artist, and he disappears in the blink of an eye. You have to watch him every second. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We’ll be fine.” Linden insisted. He searched her eyes. “Your dad needs you too.”

Callie leaned into the car and unstrapped Henry’s car seat and woke him. As she lifted him out, he started to kick and scream, but when he saw Linden he immediately stopped.

“See,” Linden said with a smile. “I have the magic touch.”

“Yes, I know... .” She bit her lip again. “Well, we’ll see if you still feel that way when I get back.” She looked at Henry. “You’re going to stay with Linden for a little while. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be good!” She turned to Linden. “Thank you so much.”

20

A
s Callie pulled away, her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong and all the things she’d forgotten to mention about Henry. She looked at her watch and realized it was almost suppertime.
He’s probably hungry ... that alone could send him into a tailspin. And he probably needs to use the bathroom ... what if he wets his pants? And then there’s that river ... why didn’t I mention that he’s never been in water deeper than a bathtub?
Callie began to wonder if she should go back.
What if something happens? Oh, God, please don’t let anything happen! Please take care of them... .

Callie tried not to worry as she hurried down the hall toward the nurses’ station. She glanced at her watch and realized the evening shift must have taken over, because she didn’t recognize a soul. A nurse looked up from her clipboard, and Callie asked her if it would be okay to visit Ben Wyeth. The nurse scanned the list of patients as Callie tried to read the list upside down. Just then, a doctor pushed through the swinging double doors at the end of the hall, and the nurse stood up. He was looking down at a chart, but Callie immediately recognized him as the older gentleman in the white coat who had approached her in the parking lot. She turned away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her, but the nurse said, “Dr. Franklin, this young lady would like to visit Mr. Wyeth.” She turned back to Callie. “Are you his daughter?” Callie nodded, and the doctor held out his hand and smiled.

“I’m Dr. Franklin.”

“I’m Callie Wyeth,” she replied, taking his hand.

The doctor looked puzzled. “Were you in the parking lot this afternoon with your little boy?”

Callie felt her cheeks flush. “Yes, I can explain ...”

“There’s no need,” he said kindly. “Let’s go sit down. Your dad is resting, and I could use a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

“Oh ... okay... .” Callie stammered.

The doctor led Callie to a quiet corner off the hall that was furnished with chairs and a sofa. “How do you take your coffee?” he asked. Moments later, he returned with two steaming cups of black coffee.

“Thank you,” Callie said, cradling the cup in her hands.

Dr. Franklin nodded, his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. He was tall and lanky, and his kind face was framed with snowy-white sideburns that crept up into a shock of reddish-blond hair. He explained that he was the heart specialist and he’d been in the ER when they’d brought Ben in. “I had a chance to spend some time with your dad yesterday, and I’ve already heard several old navy stories.” He smiled wistfully. “He reminds me of my dad, who was also a gifted storyteller
and
retired navy.”

Callie smiled. She knew how much her father loved to tell stories and jokes. She’d heard some of them more times than she could count.

Dr. Franklin leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Your dad is far from out of the woods, Callie,” he said gently. “He is stable, and we are treating him with medication, but when he’s stronger he’ll need surgery.” Callie nodded, and the doctor explained how stents would help open up her father’s blocked arteries.

Finally, he leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. He looked intently in Callie’s eyes, paused for a moment, and then said gently, “I have a son with autism.”

Callie stared. “You do?”

He nodded. “Several years ago, my wife and I moved up here from New Haven because we thought life in the country would be easier for him, and it has been.” He paused. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Henry,” Callie replied with a half smile.

The doctor smiled too. “That’s a good name.” He paused. “So, how’re you doing? You seemed to be having a tough moment in the parking lot.”

Callie nodded. “It’s not easy. When he’s upset, I don’t know if he’s feeling overwhelmed or if he’s just being difficult,
and
I really wish I knew if he will always be this way.”

Dr. Franklin nodded thoughtfully. “Every child is different, but you’ll learn how to tell what’s triggering his behavior—if he’s overtired or overstimulated—and you’ll learn how to help him by controlling his environment. It’s impossible to know if he’ll always be the way he is now, but there are definitely things you can do to make it easier for both of you. Children with autism like order and they like to know what’s coming next, so you should try to stick to a routine that he can count on, play games that involve taking turns, be firm and consistent with discipline, but most importantly, be patient. Eventually, he will learn what is expected of him.” He stood up, and Callie stood too. “Our son was diagnosed eighteen years ago and, at the time, even less was known about autism. My wife and I learned by trial and error.” He paused and smiled. “Sometimes, Callie, you’ll feel like you’re the only one in the world who’s struggling with this but, believe me, you’re not.”

“Thank you, Dr. Franklin.” Callie said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Thank you for taking the time.”

The doctor smiled and took her hand, and then put his arm around her shoulder. “Now, go see your dad.”

Just then, another doctor came down the hall. “Henry!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Are you ready to go to dinner?” Dr. Franklin looked at Callie and smiled again. “Call me if you have any questions ... day or night. And, when your dad is stronger, we’ll talk more about surgery.”

21

K
at and Springer were delighted by the arrival of their new guest. When Linden put Henry down, they discovered he was the perfect height, and they did their very best to make him feel welcome. Henry crinkled his brow as they wiggled around him, sniffing every inch of his small frame, licking his cheeks, and snorting in his ears. Finally, Henry reached out timidly and placed his hands on their heads. The dogs responded by wiggling even more, and Linden couldn’t help but laugh.

Henry trundled toward the porch with his two new escorts and sat on the top step. The dogs followed and lay down on either side of him, still sniffing. Henry seemed content to run his hands over their soft fur, and Linden thought, after all of Callie’s cautionary words, looking after Henry seemed pretty easy. He leaned back in one of the wicker chairs and continued to watch them.

Finally, he asked, “Henry, are you hungry?”

At the question, Henry stood, and Linden took that to mean yes. They went inside and Linden showed him where the bathroom was, just in case. To his surprise, Henry knew what to do, and while he did it, Linden fed the dogs. When Henry didn’t come right out, though, Linden went to check on him. He found him standing in front of the counter, lining up his shaving cream, toothbrush holder, soap dispenser, toothpaste, and anything that was within reach. “Hey,” he said, and Henry looked up. “I thought you were hungry.” Henry put down the stack of Dixie cups he was holding and followed Linden into the kitchen. Linden had cut up an apple and put it in a bowl with a dollop of peanut butter, and after Henry scooted onto a chair, Linden showed him how to dip the apple into the peanut butter. “This is one of my favorite snacks,” he said with his mouth full. “Fluff is good too.” Henry caught on right away, immediately dipping a slice of apple into the peanut butter and nibbling on it. Linden poured a small glass of milk, and Henry drank that down too. “Guess you are hungry,” he said. While Henry ate the apple, the dogs lay at his feet, watching him. “You’ll have to excuse Kat and Springer,” Linden explained. “They’re incorrigible beggars
and
they love apples.” Henry dipped a slice of apple into the peanut butter and held it out to Kat. She took it gently, and then Springer pushed his nose into Henry’s lap too. Linden watched as Henry dipped a second slice for Springer. It was obvious to Linden that Henry understood every word he said.

When he was finished eating, Linden put the cup and bowl in the sink and asked, “Want to help feed the other animals?” Henry crinkled his brow as he slid off the chair but stood ready to follow. Linden pushed open the door, and the dogs pulled themselves up from the slippery floor and trotted out. Henry followed and, as they crossed the yard, he slipped his small hand into Linden’s. Linden looked down in surprise and smiled.

As they neared the barn, Henry’s eyes grew wide when he saw Reba’s big head leaning over the fence, reaching for several tall sprigs of alfalfa that were waving in the breeze. Her long tongue finally curled around the sweet grass, and she pulled it back and munched contentedly. When a second big head leaned over the fence, though, Henry stopped in his tracks and gripped Linden’s hand more tightly. Linden reassured him, “It’s okay, Henry. They’re friendly.” As he said this, a big gray cat sauntered out of the barn and the orange tiger cat hopped up on the stone wall and sat down to wash her paws. “Everybody,” Linden announced, “this is Henry.” He looked down at Henry and said, “Henry, this is everybody.” He pointed to each animal and said its name. “That’s Reba, and that’s Rosie; the little mule over there is e.e. ore; and that’s Maude, and this is Harold,” he said as the gray cat brushed against his legs. “And, up in the rafters of the barn is Atticus. Let’s go see if he’s in there.” Henry followed Linden into the barn, and Linden pointed up to the uppermost beam. The old brown owl blinked down at them, and Henry nodded ever so slightly. Linden noticed him nod and wondered if he communicated in ways other than talking.