The Forgotten Child (9 page)

Brad didn’t move, nor did he reach for his coffee. He leaned forward resting his arms on the table. His lips trembled. A glossy sheen covered the tiny red lines that appeared like sandpaper in his eyes. Had he slept? She’d say not. Was he drunk? More likely, a poor attempt to anesthetize. His dark brown eyes reached out to her with something that appeared lost and helpless.

“
Does Trevor have autism?”

Emily lean over and covered the hand he’d balled into a fist. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t know how to tell you. But from what I read, he shows all the symptoms.”

“
Is it my fault, something I did?”

“
Oh God no, Brad. They don’t know what causes it. But the numbers are skyrocketing; from what I read, every one in a hundred-fifty children will be diagnosed, and it’s higher in boys. Out of every five children diagnosed with autism, four are boys. That’s an epidemic, not something you did.”

“
So now what?”

“
You need to get him diagnosed. And you need to start an early intervention therapy right away. I’ve been emailing a local parents group I found on the internet. They sent loads of information for you, so you know where to start.”

“
I don’t understand what you do.” Brad was alone and he was looking to her.

“
One of the parents, a mother from a mom’s support group I’ve connected with by email, hired a consultant who is trained specifically in neurological disorders, and has a BCBA and psychology degree for children and adults with autism. The consultant is local, just outside Olympia and she has a proven track record. I don’t know all the details of what exactly she does, just the basics. But it’s a start.”

He watched her close, sobering as he listened.

“
She works with the schools putting together a home and school program. She sets goals, creates programs for academics, socialization, peer interaction, language and behavior. She establishes strategies and changes what doesn’t work. These kids work hard but, from what I’ve read, these kids make real progress with the right therapy.”

“
A mom’s group, huh? Well how about that? Women who actually care about their kids.”

This time when he looked at her, something inside of him pulled away. You know the feeling you get when someone needs distance. He downed the rest of his coffee that had long since gone cold and scraped back his chair. “I need to go take care of the stock and feed the horses. See you at breakfast.” Then he was walking out the back door, snatching his barn coat off the hook on the way, as he strode into the darkness and cold morning while the rooster crowed.

Emily stayed where she was, wondering about his wife, the woman who left, the hurt she caused and the little boy she abandoned. Brad concealed it well, but this morning she saw the damage, like tread marks on his soul.

Chapter Fourteen

Emily loved to spend time in the kitchen, baking and creating meals. Brad needed his animals and the outdoors. The kitchen brought balance to her thoughts and emotions and gave her clarity and peace of mind. She was also a damn good cook. And that wasn’t ego. She loved putting together a good meal for her loved ones to enjoy, and for the first time since she could remember, she truly felt needed.

When Mary Haske dropped by this morning to clean, she brought with her two freezer bags of Blackberry’s. And mentioned how much Brad loved pie. So what did Emily do, she took the hint and ran with it, baking not one but two Blackberry pies along with a marinated roast for dinner. The aroma alone set Emily’s mouth to water.

It had been an exhausting week. Brad scheduled a doctor’s appointment after breakfast Monday and began the long, grueling path to obtaining an autism diagnosis. Emily contacted the mothers group and provided Brad with names of a local therapist and private psychologist in Olympia. Brad worked the impossible. In two days, he’d somehow arranged for a speech and language pathologist, and occupational therapist to work with Trevor at the ranch once a week.

Emily grinned like a silly schoolgirl, just thinking of Brad and how dedicated a father he could be. Heat pooled inside in her tummy until it ached. “Oh bad idea, girl.” And she knew why. He was her boss. She lived under his roof. But he didn’t treat her like an employee. He spoke to her like a friend.

They’d developed a nightly routine, similar to spouses, companions. She’d put the kids to bed; join Brad either outside on the porch or in the living room. They’d talk about their day, their dreams.

Brad planned to expand the ranch. Buy up the land around him, even though now he was one of the largest dairy producers in the area, and raising cattle for beef.

She loved listening to his confident whiskey-filled voice when he holed up in his office, off the living room, making calls to arrange transport for a hundred head of cattle. Then a feed order, next his realtor, a burly bald-headed man named Chuck, to put in an offer on a twenty-acre piece of property on the other side of Mary Haske.

Last night Brad told her the soil on that land was really good and the water pure, clean and plentiful. He’d also mentioned he was waiting for the day Mary put her property up for sale. When she did, he’d make sure it was his. A small parcel, but Mary’s husband had been sharp when he’d sold off most of his land. He’d held onto the best piece in this part of the peninsula; holding the water rights to the creek which flowed down to Brad’s property.

Emily grabbed the salad out of the fridge. She closed door and nearly dropped the bowl. Trevor stood in the middle of the kitchen barefoot wearing nothing but a saggy disposable diaper, rubbing his eyes. “Oh Trevor, I didn’t see you.” She could smell the heavy ammonia from his dirty diaper. Emily lifted Trevor up. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, as she started up the stairs. Halfway up, the screen door slammed.

“
Lunch ready?” Brad’s deep, soft voice tugged on her heart as if a line had knotted around it. She walked back down carrying his son.

“
Oh man, something smells good.” Cliff and Mac strode right behind Brad, both lifting their noses in the air, sniffing.

“
It is; I just need to change Trevor and wake up Katy.” Emily couldn’t erase the smile from her face if she wanted to.

“
Need help.” Brad yelled behind her as she trotted up the stairs.

“
Grab the salad dressing out of the fridge, everything else is ready to go.”

“
Okay.”

Emily pulled off Trevor’s diaper and dumped it in the garbage; she helped him into his big boy underwear, a pair of blue sweats and Buzz Light-year T-shirt, leaving him barefoot. Katy wandered into the bathroom, pulled off her own dry diaper and sat on the toilet. Girls were almost self-training. “Lunch’s ready. Who’s hungry?”

“
Me, Mama.” Katy pulled up her pink sweats and flushed the toilet; Emily pulled up a stool to the sink, and helped Katy wash her hands.

With the kids, Emily strode back in the kitchen. Cliff and Mac were already sitting at the table, digging into the fresh bread and butter. Brad cut up the roast, while Emily sat Trevor in his chair and Katy in her booster seat, dishing up the kids’ food and cutting it into bite size pieces. Emily put a spoon in Trevor’s hand, helping him to grip the handle. He still didn’t know how to use a spoon or fork. He preferred to eat with his hands. But Emily was relentless, working with him at each meal. In the short time she’d been here, they’d come from Trevor launching his spoon, screaming, to where he now took three or four bites from his spoon before dropping it. Emily would reward him after each successful small step with praise and a gummy bear.

Today, it was as if he’d overcome some obstacle. He took the spoon without fuss or whining. Emily glanced over at Brad. “Did you see that?”

“
Great job, Em.”

Except when Emily glanced down at Trevor, he now used his other hand to play the table like a piano. That was progress for you, one-step forward and another back. Brad curled his fingers around the back of the empty chair beside him, and pulled it out

“
Sit down, Em.”

Every time he spoke. His deep, husky drawl was like music, turning her insides all soft and fluttery. Emily sat, very aware of his closeness, becoming a silly schoolgirl every time she passed him a bowl or plate of food and their fingers touched. And each time she looked up, he watched her in a way that was personal.

Trevor tossed his spoon across the table, breaking the magic spell where it clanked and landed beside Cliff’s plate. At least it didn’t hit him. Last week his spoon hit Mac on the side of the head. Trevor, with his tiny fingers, mushed his potatoes and broccoli between his fingers, cramming a fistful in his mouth.

“
No.” Emily jumped up and leaned across the table, grabbing the spoon.

“
It’s all right Emily; he didn’t mean nothing by it.” Said Cliff in his raspy smokers voice followed by his nervous laugh.

“
Actually it’s not all right Cliff. Trevor can’t learn unless you stay vigilant.” Emily wiped the food from Trevor’s hand with a dishcloth and put the spoon back in his hand. “Try again.” Emily said as she scooped a piece of potato on his spoon, and then let go of his hand. This was a fine line with Trevor. There was only so much hand over hand you could do with him before he’d freak out from being touched.

Trevor scooped up another piece of meat himself and shoved it in his mouth. “Good job Trevor. Eat.”

When Emily glanced over at Brad, he was already finishing up his plate, guzzling down the last of his coffee and pushing away from the table—distracted again. The man was such a mystery; the way he changed from hot to cold, a difficult and complex man.

“
Great lunch Emily. Cliff, Mac, I’m going to need your help as soon as you’re done to move the horses. Don’t dawdle.”

She’d be a fool to miss the annoyance that dripped from his sharp words. What the hell happened? Her heart sank a little as Brad went out the back door without a simple glance in her direction. Mac scraped up his plate and Cliff downed his coffee; both pushed away from the table nodding their thanks as they hurried after their boss. Brad teasing and thoughtful one moment, turned quicker than she could snap her fingers, to an irritable one; turning her world upside down, leaving her mystified as to what she’d done. Emily pushed her plate away. Well whatever it was, Emily was sure time scooping up manure would most likely take the edge off whatever bothered him, or so she hoped.

Chapter Fifteen

“
You need a spare room that’s quiet for therapy. A room to put all the teaching supplies and toys you use only for therapy,” Pam, a tall thin lady and mother to a fourteen-year-old autistic boy, said. She’d driven down from Olympia.

“
We have lots of room here.” Brad had been polite, and maybe a little taken back by this woman who headed the local parents’ group. She’d already arranged for her consultant to visit Trevor, to assess and set up programming. She was a doer who could set your head spinning for what she’d accomplish in five minutes.

“
Brad, what about the bedroom at the end of the hall upstairs. The one filled with boxes and furniture.” A dark shadow fell over his face, his eyes flinched and took on a hardness Emily hadn’t seen before.

Emily poked around in there the other day and came across some extremely fashionable woman’s clothes, stacked high in the closet. A cedar chest tucked in the corner filled with baby clothes. “I’m sorry, if you’d rather that room not be used, I’m sure something else…”

He cut Emily off. “No. Use the room. I’ll have Mac clear it out.” He’d shut down and packed away the flash of fury she’d swear had reared its ugly little head. Maybe she imagined it.

Pam was looking at them in a way that said she, too, picked up on a problem. But to her credit, she dropped her eyes and started scribbling notes in her spiral bound notebook. “When the consultant comes to visit, you’ll want to have it sorted out. Also, line up some therapists. Tamara will start training after she assesses Trevor.”

“
But I haven’t got a diagnosis for autism yet. Isn’t all this a little premature.” Brad crossed his arms his face was all business.

“
By the time you jump through all the hoops needed to get your kid diagnosed, you’ll have wasted precious therapy time. The key is early intervention. The earlier Trevor starts, the best chance he has for a positive outcome. If it’s about money…”

“
No, we’ll start. Money’s not an issue if it’s what’s best for my boy. I’ll pay; I don’t care what it costs.” And so they did. For the next two hours, Emily took notes, distracted the children, and started implementing all Pam’s suggestions for help with Trevor.

Chapter Sixteen

The soft lilt of Faith Hill singing
Let Me Let Go,
roused Emily from her sleep. Rolling over, she quickly flicked off the radio before kicking back the soft duvet. Emily was a morning person. But for some reason this morning, she could have yanked the quilt over her head and drifted back to sleep. She didn’t, even though thoughts of crawling out into the morning chill curled her toes and wiped away the last of her fairytale dream—her knight swooping in on his white horse and carrying her away.

Emily pulled on her robe over her horsey flannel pajamas and crept into the bathroom for a quick shower. After her shower, Emily crept past Brad’s closed door, tying her damp hair back in a ponytail, wearing her sneakers, blue jeans and a light red sweatshirt and tiptoed downstairs. She cranked the heat and listened to the furnace kick in. The floor creaked above her. Brad’s up. She made coffee as she listened to the water run upstairs. Brad liked to grab a coffee on his way out the door to feed the animals.