Say That Again (18 page)

“Unbelievable.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I was sure she’d have a meltdown.”

Brows raised, Heck tipped his head back. “You expected her to be a problem when you left her here?”

“No, no ... Well, maybe. You never know with kids.” Bending forward to put himself in Hannah’s view, Hunter reached a hand out to her. “Ready to go, sweet pea?”

“She has Asperger’s,” Heck said. It wasn’t a question.

Taking Hannah’s hand as she stood, Hunter straightened. “How could you tell?”

“It’s not difficult — if you know the signs.” Heck glanced toward the front door, an indication that Hunter had overstayed his welcome already. “I hope you got all of your mother’s sheep back, Dr. Mc—” His face twitched. “I mean, Hunter.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I’m going to be sore in places tomorrow I didn’t even know I had muscles in.” His free hand wandered to his back, kneading at the base of his spine. “And I’m sure I’m going to need an adjustment after getting knocked flat on my tailbone — twice.” As Hunter went by the paintings, Hannah twisted around to extend her view of them. “Come on, Hannah. Mommy and Maura will be home soon. We don’t want to miss them.”

Then to Heck, he said, “Thanks, again. If you ever need anything, I owe you one.”

Hunter had one foot out the front door when Heck called out.

“Just a moment.” Heck held up a finger to signal for Hunter to wait. A minute later, he returned and handed Hannah a postcard-sized painting.

“I thought Hannah might like this,” Heck told Hunter. “She spent most of her time today watching a documentary on penguins.”

Enthralled, Hannah held it in both hands and studied it. Eventually, she tilted it downward for me to see, pleased with her gift. It was of a bird perched on a rock by the water, with a stubby body, white in front and a deep bluish-black from head to tail over the rest of it, and flippers where its wings should be.

Stooping to peer at it more closely, Hunter pointed to a scribble in the lower corner. “You painted this?”

“My wife, Sophia, and I took a trip to Tasmania about twenty years ago. They usually aren’t found there, but we were lucky that day. She took a picture of him, then I painted it later. Much later. It’s a watercolor of a little blue penguin. The penguin world’s best kept secret.”

“I don’t know what to say, except ... thanks. If there’s anything I can do for you, just —”

“You already said that. Besides, there’s no need to thank me. It was just sitting in a box. I have a lot of unopened boxes full of things I’m not quite sure what to do with anymore.” His voice trailed away, leaving much unsaid.

Behind his pupils hung a cloud of sadness. I wanted to nuzzle his hand, to be there for him in that moment when memories crept up and took hold, but just as quick as the urge arose in me, a curtain drew down over his eyes. He blinked repeatedly, bunched his cheeks in a perfunctory smile, and bid Hunter and Hannah goodbye.

He didn’t acknowledge me, but then, he didn’t need to. He’d been kind to Hannah. And anyone who was good to Hannah had my full respect. We didn’t need rituals or formalities. Just small acts of friendship and moments spent in comfortable silence.

Just as Hunter pushed the screen door open, I dashed back to the couch and grabbed Faustine, returning in time to scurry out the door before it banged shut.

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—o00o—

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“S
orry I didn’t answer the phone.” Jenn put the box of cereal in the cupboard and closed the door. “They were still cleaning up that semi mess on the interstate. Traffic was stop and go for miles. When you called, it was just starting to move again and I didn’t want to take my eyes off the road to look for the phone. You have no idea the havoc that a truckload of tomatoes can cause. And then everybody and their brother was at the same store. Guess I should have gone down an exit or two.”

“Doubt it would have made a difference.” Hunter lined the cans of vegetables up on the pantry shelf.

I had no idea where all the food came from, but marveled at how organized and well-stocked they kept their supplies — and wondered why they required so much variety. It seemed like a lot of extra work to me.

Jenn must’ve noticed me watching her, because she pulled a box from a grocery bag and rattled it before her. “I didn’t forget you.”

Treats? A breakthrough. I rushed to her feet and sat obediently. She was softening to me, finally. She put the box up on the table, unopened. Tease.

“The storm was all over the national news,” Hunter said. “They’ve been talking about it non-stop. You’d think there wasn’t anything else going on in the world.”

“Must be a slow news day.”

“I guess.” With a grunt, Hunter plopped down on a kitchen chair and planted his elbows on the table. “Lots of property damage, but no fatalities reported.”

“Well, that’s good. I suppose it could have been worse. Next time they mention a line of storms like that coming, though, remind me to take them seriously. By the way, you look pretty beat. What’ve you been up to?”

“What haven’t I done? Picked up the yard, hunted down the trashcans. Thank goodness it’s Sunday and I didn’t have to go in to the clinic, or else I don’t know how I would have gotten anything accomplished. After all that, Mom called to tell me they had trees down across the driveway and over the fence.”

“Oh, no.” Placing a can of pop on the table, she sat across from him.

I stared at the biscuit box, then looked to her, then back to the box. She was preoccupied with sipping her drink. It wasn’t until I nudged her with my nose, snorted, and looked at the box again that she took out a biscuit and gave it to me. These humans were easy to train. She was, however, easily distracted from meeting my needs. She would need constant reminders.

“Brad and I were using the chainsaws when Mom came rushing over and told us the sheep were out.” Hunter then went on to tell her about how it took the three of them almost two hours to get the sheep away from the creek bed and into the barn, how Brad had rolled the ATV once, and how the flock had run straight over Hunter twice before he could get out of the way. “It would have been much easier with a dog to help.”

“I’m sure it would have ...” Slowly, she lowered her drink. “Hey, exactly what was Hannah doing while you were playing cowboy?”

He looked away. “Oh ... Heck watched her. It was no big deal. She was really good for him and I told him if he ever needed a favor to just let us know.” The corners of his mouth flipped up into a nervous grin. “That was really nice of him, don’t you think?”

Even I could see the storm building behind her eyes.

She stood, palms flat against the table. “What were you thinking?!”

Sucking his chin back, he blew out a burst of air. “I was thinking I didn’t want Mom to lose several thousands of dollars and years’ worth of work if her sheep ran off.”

“And you put Hannah at risk for that?” Clutching the edge of the table, she leaned forward. “A bunch of sheep?”

He matched her stance. “How was I putting Hannah at risk, huh? Explain that to me.”

Glancing toward the stairs, she lowered her voice. “Are you serious? We don’t know anything about that man.”

“That’s not true. We don’t know much. But I’ll tell you what I found out about him today. He reads the classics: Dumas, Hugo, Dickens. He has bookshelves crammed full of the stuff. He keeps a tidy house, as in cleans with bleach and dusts the top of his refrigerator. And he paints, Jenn. Watercolors, mostly, but it’s brilliant stuff. Hannah was fascinated with his work and when he talked about it, it was like a door to the universe opened for her. I’ve never seen her eyes so lit up.”

Jenn’s eyes narrowed as she considered it. Her shoulders relaxed. She sat. “Paintings? Really? You know, in one of the online groups I was in for parents of children with autism and Asperger’s there was a thread about art and music therapy. I thought about using that with her, but I don’t know the first thing about how to draw, or paint, or play the piano.”

“Maybe he’d be willing to teach her?”

She bit at her lower lip. “Maybe we should get to know him better first?”

Hunter came around the table and drew Jenn up and into his arms. “I’ll make a point of it. Although something tells me it’ll be like squeezing blood from a stone.”

Eyes half closed, she put her cheek against his chest. “So, you got all the sheep back?”

“Every last one.” He lifted her chin with a single finger and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

“Then I suppose it all worked out okay.” Giggling, she kissed him back. “I always knew you were Superman.”

“I am. Would you like me to show you my superpowers?”

With a wink, she tugged the hem of his shirt from his pants. “Oh, I think I already know what they are.”

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H
annah sat in the backseat alone, clutching her backpack to her chest. Her mommy had told her it was a twenty-minute ride to school. To Hannah that seemed like a terribly long time. She couldn’t imagine making this trip all year long, twice a day. But her mommy had decided to drive them, because the bus ride was more than twice as long and she didn’t want Hannah to ride on the bus. Which made Maura very mad.

“Why can’t
I
ride the bus?” Maura complained for the tenth time. “Lindsey gets on two stops after me. I’m missing out on all that time I could hang out with my best friend.”

“You’ll have classes together,” Jenn said. “Besides, I need you to walk Hannah inside the building and make sure she goes to the right room. When we were there for open house, I wasn’t really sure she was paying attention. Whenever she gets confused, she tends to just shut down.”

“Lindsey and I have one class together. One. Plus lunch. But that doesn’t count, because the cafeteria’s loud and there are like a
million
people in there and the lunchroom monitor is always barking at you to get in line, sit down, shut up, turn your trays in ... It’s like a fricking prison.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“So can I ride the bus tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Maybe next week.”

“Next week?! You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding. Nobody has their mom drop them off except the kids who aren’t allowed to ride on the bus because they get in trouble too much.” Maura snuck a look at Hannah. “And kindergarteners.”

“Maura Irene McHugh, you know that’s not true.” Jenn gave her oldest daughter a warning glare. “You can be the big sister for one week.
One
week. Hannah needs you to show her around. And I need you to keep an eye on her. Part of growing up is accepting responsibility. Remember that when you want to go to the school dance next month or hang out at the football game with your friends.”

“So you’re saying I have to do this?”

“You don’t
have
to do anything.”

“Unless I want to go to football games and stuff.”

Hands gripping the steering wheel, Jenn arched one eyebrow ever so slightly.

“Fine,” Maura huffed.

The car slowed as Jenn turned into the drop-off lane for the school building. Hannah noticed her mommy was even more nervous than when they went to the psychologists. All morning long she’d fussed about every tiny detail, making sure Hannah wore the clothes she’d laid out, eaten every bit of her breakfast, combed her hair, brushed her teeth. There wasn’t even time to sit with Echo under the Crooked Tree. If it was this frantic every morning, she didn’t want to go to school. Not today. Not ever. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach.

More than being surrounded by other people and the hurried rituals of mornings, the thought of not being with Echo upset her. With Echo, she could be herself. She could watch the ants under the tree swing build their mounds of sand, or study the way that rocks thrown into a puddle made ripples, or lie on her back in the grass and watch the clouds roll by, no two of them the same. Echo knew when to lean against her so she could put her arm around him, when to just be in the same room, and when to go off on his own. He knew when to race ahead of her in encouragement and when to walk dutifully behind, quiet and observant. He also knew when to keep a watchful eye on strangers and when to accept them. She was never good at understanding people outside her family. She was never sure what they expected of her or thought about things if they didn’t say what they meant. And so she just said nothing, sometimes pretending they were not even there, always hoping they would ignore her. Or better yet, go away. Having Echo at her side gave her one less thing to worry about. She didn’t know what she would do without him. Especially today.

She unzipped her backpack partway and slid a hand inside to stroke Faustine’s topknot. She still took Faustine most places, but Faustine didn’t talk to her like Echo did. Echo was the one who’d told her that Heck was okay, and he’d been right. No one had ever given her a gift as special as the picture of the little blue penguin. Every night before she went to sleep and every morning when she woke up, she gazed at the picture for a long, long time, thinking of how beautiful it was, how up close the colors looked like random blotches, but from farther away they formed a perfect image, alive with color. She knew Heck had painted it himself. Someday she’d ask him how he did it. Because she wanted to paint like that, too.

“Hannah,” — Maura snarled at her — “you can’t take Faustine to school.”

“Why not?” Hannah asked. Her parents hadn’t told her anything about not taking her stuffed animals. Was it against the rules? Had they forgotten to tell her?

“Because someone could steal her, that’s why.”

The thought of that horrified Hannah. But she didn’t want to leave her at home. Faustine was a comfort to her. Faustine had been there when she’d fallen in the river. And in the hospital when she’d woken up. Faustine had slept with her every night of her life that she could remember. They’d already made her leave Echo behind. Her daddy had taken him to work with him early that morning. She wasn’t about to abandon Faustine, too.

“I’ll keep her in my bag,” Hannah said defiantly.