The Outsider Series: The Complete Omnibus Collection

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Bright red numbers flashed, 4:39 a.m., on the bedside clock. The rooster crowed. She heard a rustling coming from downstairs. Emily slipped out of bed and pulled on her brown housecoat; the one she kept draped at the foot of her bed. Guided by the hall nightlight; Emily tiptoed to the stairs.

A silhouette of light trickled from the kitchen.

Emily held the cedar handrail as she crept barefoot down the stairs. Brad held the glass carafe from the coffee maker as he fumbled for the coffee in the cupboard. He reeked of booze and wore the same brown plaid shirt from yesterday. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, his chin. His short hair stuck up clumps and tufts. She touched his hand and gently took the carafe. He stared straight ahead, then turned like a man defeated, and walked, like the living dead, to the table and sat in his chair. He stuck his heavy work boots out; they were coated with mud. Emily spied the trail he’d tracked from the back door, through the kitchen.

Emily scooped coffee into the basket, poured water in the coffee maker and turned it on. What could she say to ease his turmoil? When enough coffee filled the pot, Emily poured out two cups, adding milk and sugar to his. He never looked up when she placed his mug in front of him. Emily pulled out a chair beside him. She sat and scooted closer to the table. She gazed into her coffee, searching for some miracle answer, but one wouldn’t appear.

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 than likely, it was 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; one in a one hundred-fifty children will be diagnosed with autism, and it’s even 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 pushed his chair back. “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, striding into the darkness and cold morning while the rooster crowed.

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