Martha spots him. “You’re late.”
David grumbles an inaudible response.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Swell. Can’t you tell?”
“You look like crap. Something happen?” Martha sniffs the air around David and grimaces. “And what’s that smell?”
“Don’t ask. Find Chris, please.”
“You’re already late for the partners’ meeting,” Martha says as she picks up the receiver and dials.
“Don’t care.” David’s tone cuts off further discussion, and he walks into his office.
Chris is at his office in seconds. She’s wearing yesterday’s clothes. Before David can open his mouth, she tells him, “I’ve been trying to call you for the past two hours. Those bastards did get all the notes. I checked it all over again twice last night.”
David slumps into his chair in relief and finally offers Chris a smile. “Then we should have one hell of a response.”
“Already working on it.”
“I’m sorry I snapped at you last night. I should’ve known better.”
Chris waves David off, already beyond the incident. “You can grovel for forgiveness later. We’ve got work to do.”
“Who’s doing the papers with you?”
“One of the newbies. Dan something or other.”
“Any good?”
“Really smart, but…”
“What?”
Chris shrugs. “You’ll see.” Chris leans in toward David and suddenly crinkles her nose. “What the heck is that smell?”
“The cats peed on my shoes,” he answers.
“And you still wore them?”
“They peed on all my shoes.” David buzzes Martha on the intercom.
“Yes, O cranky one?” Martha answers through the speaker.
“Can you find Dan something or other and get him to come into my office? And I need a wet rag and some soap.”
Within moments, a breathless twenty-four-year-old clearly in need of more exercise and less cookies fills David’s doorway.
“You called for me?” he gasps.
David waves him in. “Daniel, right?”
The kid enters, gives a shy, obviously lovestruck hello to Chris, and then takes the seat next to her. “Yes.”
“I hear you’ve been working hard. Thank you,” David says. Daniel steals a glance at Chris, looking for guidance.
“You’re okay,” she tells him. “Just think of what a normal person would say and try to say that.”
Daniel thinks for a moment. “I love this work,” he gushes to David with a smile that makes his shiny face look even younger.
Chris shakes her head in dismay.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?” Daniel asks.
“I said ‘a normal person.’ ”
“But it’s the truth.”
Chris nods. “And that’s what’s so very sad.”
“C’mon, leave him alone.” David comes to Dan’s aid. “Enthusiasm is a good thing. It reminds me of—”
“Don’t say it, David,” Chris orders.
“It reminds me—” David begins again.
“Don’t say it!”
“—of Chris here,” David finishes with a grin.
“Argh!” Chris moans. “You really suck.”
Daniel turns to Chris with renewed confidence. “Like you? Really?”
“No, not really,” Chris spits.
David quickly catches Dan’s eye, winks at him, and then gives him a barely discernible nod. “It looks like you’re going to have another late night. Here’s what I’d like you to do…”
David ticks off ten other tasks that I do not understand either because I never did in life or because it is becoming too hard to hold on to the knowledge of such narrow things.
Cindy is awakened by the sound of the lab door being unlocked. For a moment, her eyes show excitement, as if she believes this may be the instant of Jaycee’s return.
But it is not Jaycee who appears. It is Jannick. Cindy grunts in warning.
Jannick moves to Jaycee’s desk and turns on the computer terminal. Then he sits in Jaycee’s chair and positions it so he faces the Cube.
“Just you and me, Cindy,” Jannick says. “No show, no tricks, no distractions.” Jannick takes out a notepad and a pen. “Now, what is your name?” he says as he signs.
Cindy watches, but does not respond. After a few seconds, Jannick repeats the question. His voice is surprisingly gentle, but he might as well be talking to a stone wall.
“Okay,” he says. “How about your favorite food? What is your favorite food?” Jannick asks slowly as his hands form the words.
Again, Cindy shows no indication of understanding or any intention to respond.
“Do you want peanut butter?” Jannick pulls a small jar out of a bag he’s brought and moves toward the Cube, holding the jar before him as an offering. As Jannick gets closer, Cindy’s lips curl around her teeth. Jannick opens the jar and gingerly places it in the Cube.
Cindy takes the jar and pushes it back out of the Cube and onto the floor, where it rolls to Jannick’s feet.
“Just give me one word,” Jannick says, his frustration mounting. “Any word. Anything close to a word. Just use your hands. Show me I’m wrong, damn it!”
Cindy is either unwilling or unable to respond. She turns in the Cube so that her back is now facing Jannick.
Jannick stares at the Cube in silence for several minutes, finally throws his hands up, and then walks out of the lab.
Still in a suit and tie from his long day of demanding clients and scheming adversaries, David has fallen asleep on our couch.
He used to be a remarkably deep sleeper. It was something of a running joke between us. The dogs could be barking at the cats sleeping on his head while the phone was ringing, and still he would slumber on. It was as if he knew I’d be there to deal with these interferences so that no one would come to harm. It was my joy to know that he trusted his life with me enough to believe that it would support him even when he wasn’t paying attention to it. Now that he is alone, however, every squeak or bump robs him of whatever peace he finds in the darkness behind his eyelids.
It’s been so rare to see him asleep that I can’t stop myself and I lean over him to try to take in his relaxed features, his eyelashes, the top of his lip, his smell. I miss the feel of his face against mine.
The doorbell rings and somewhere in another part of the house, the dogs begin to bark. David’s eyes try to open, but he is too tired. “Helena? Thank God,” he murmurs. “I dreamed that you had…”
Somehow, in a way I do not understand, in this minute of this hour of this day of this month of this year, I’m again in David’s
physical perception of this world. I begin to panic because there’s so much I want to share with him before the opportunity is lost. I move to kiss him, to tell him about Charlie and Cindy, and to assure him that everything will work out—which is precisely what I pray for him to tell me.
But I’m too late. His eyes have opened and now he’s looking through me. I’m already gone for him.
David mumbles my name uncertainly and then, jolted to full consciousness by the doorbell and the barking dogs, he rises and shakes away the cobwebs of his memory of me.
He glances at his watch. Eight forty-five
PM
.
At the front door, David finds Chip, Bernie, and Skippy trying to scratch through the wood to get to the person on the other side. He attempts to quiet the dogs but by now they’re too worked up.
David opens the door and Sally, dressed in a winter coat, gives him a small, awkward wave. “I hope I’m not too late, Mr. Colden.”
“No, not at all.” David gestures her inside. She offers her hand, and David takes it.
Once Sally enters the house, Bernie makes a move to jump on her, but she puts her hand out, palm down. “No sir,” she says in a clear firm voice. Bernie obediently sits on his haunches, as do the other two dogs almost in unison. Sally gives each dog a small bone-shaped cookie that she pulls from the pocket of her coat. “Easy now,” she cautions Bernie, and he takes the treat most gingerly from her hand. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Colden. I like to praise jumpers that keep all four on the floor.”
I can see that David is impressed. “As far as I know, nothing bad ever came from giving a dog a cookie.”
“Hmm. I like that.”
David brings Sally to the living room and they sit across from
each other. The two big dogs settle down quickly. Skippy, however, takes up position directly in front of Sally’s chair and stares at her with mild suspicion. Sally moves to scratch Skippy’s ears, but he’s having none of that and retreats to a spot a few feet away.
I’m vaguely pleased this woman has not so quickly won over my dog.
“I’m guessing this is Skippy,” Sally says.
“He is. I take it you’re okay with the dogs, cats…?”
“… pigs, horses, sheep, cows. Animals have never been the problem. Not the four-legged kind, at least.”
“For what it’s worth, Helena always thought Thorton was a jerk.”
“Thanks. I wish it had worked out differently.”
“But then you wouldn’t be here. Joshua tells me you have a son.”
“Yes. Joshua’s filled you in on my situation?”
“Yeah. He said you wanted me to have the whole picture.”
“I find the truth works best for me; I’m not smart enough to keep all the lies straight in my head anymore.” Sally laughs at herself. “My son can be engaging, charming, even normal, but sometimes he’s not. I love him with every fiber, but I’m his mother. He can be frustrating to be with, particularly if you’re not expecting it.”
“It must’ve been hard, working full-time and being there for him.”
Sally shrugs. “You do what you need to do. It’s only hard if you think you’ve got a choice in the matter. Once you realize that you don’t, well, it all becomes pretty clear, doesn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Now it’s David’s turn to laugh at himself. “Is it that obvious?”
“After your loss, you’re entitled to your doubts, Mr. Colden—”
“—David, please. When I hear Mr. Colden, I always feel the urge to turn around and look for my father.”
“David it is. I’d prefer Sally.”
“Good. Me, too.”
Sally pats her lap for Skippy to come closer, but he declines. “So, David, do you have thoughts about how you’d like this to work—if, I mean, you decide to hire me?”
“Honestly, I’m not even sure what to ask you. I guess it comes down to the fact that my wife’s animals are used to a lot of attention from her and I can’t do that for them. I need to get back to work and regroup. Is this something you can and want to do?”
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation.
“I’m a little concerned that you might find some of the day-to-day stuff a step backward for you.”
“What? Beneath me?”
“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
Sally laughs again. “I started out cleaning kennel cages. I’m a vet tech, not a neurosurgeon. I’ll take care of all the animals—dogs, horses, pigs, cats, whatever you’ve got. You don’t need to worry about them. I can also do housekeeping and cooking for you. I have my own car and will do shopping and make sure you have clean clothes and food in the fridge. I can even stay over if you’re stuck in the city, as long as my son can stay, too. I also would like to be able to have him come here after school, if you don’t mind. He’s very well behaved. I assume that’s okay.”
“Sure. But I don’t know anything about Asperger’s, other than the little bit Joshua told me.”
“In Clifford’s case, the disease causes impaired non-verbal communication. That’s pretty typical. He can’t read non-verbal cues
and doesn’t express them well. He’s been tested and has above-average intelligence and verbal development, but struggles to relate in social settings; he can’t make the verbal and non-verbal fit together. He wants to get through to people so much that he gets tied up in his own head.”
“God, that sounds awful.”
“We’re working on it. He’s in a really excellent program now. They try to train these kids to recognize and understand non-verbal communication. For you and me, we don’t even think about what a nod of the head means; Clifford has to learn that through repetition and exercises—like someone learning to play the piano or sign language.”
“Anything I need to be careful about with him?”
“Not really. He doesn’t like loud noises. He draws a lot when he’s anxious. Hypergraphia is the name for it. Children with Asperger’s sometimes are blessed with an exceptional skill. In Clifford’s instance, he’s very talented with a pencil and paper.”
“Really? What types of things does he draw?”
“Not a lot of rhyme or reason to it; whatever pictures he sees in his head. I think maybe it’s his way of trying to compensate for the gaps in his communication.”
“He’ll be okay around the animals?”
“Oh, my, yes.” Sally laughs. “If God’s made the animal that can bother my son, I haven’t found it. He’s going to love your animals, feels comfortable around them. I wonder sometimes if he just sees the world the same way they do.”
“I’d like to meet him,” David says.
“You will. With all the animals you’ve got, I doubt wild horses could keep Cliff away.”
“I told Joshua that I’d match what Thorton paid you.”
“That’s certainly one of the reasons why I’m here.”
“Money’s not the issue for me. I just need someone I can trust with everyone here. I need someone I can count on.”
“I understand completely. I won’t leave you hanging. You respect me and I’ll respect you. Don’t take advantage of me and I won’t take advantage of you.”
“That seems fair.” David nods and breathes a sigh of relief. “I really didn’t know what I’d do if I didn’t figure something out.”
“Yeah, well, me neither.”
“By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know how to stop cats from peeing outside the litter box, would you?”
“As a matter of fact…”
David and Sally spend the next hour discussing the nuts and bolts of running my home—who gets fed what and when, who can eat next to each other, who can be “difficult,” where the fuse box is located, and how to placate half a dozen angry cats.
I stop listening after a few minutes; it is far too painful for me to overhear the details of the living.
Following the meeting with my husband, Sally returns to her small but clean and ordered apartment. A young woman meets her at the door and signals for her to be quiet.
“Clifford put himself to bed. He said he was tired of waiting,” the woman says quietly.