The Outsider Series: The Complete Omnibus Collection

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

“Eyes looking, Trevor.” Emily gestured her hand to the child-size chair in front of the kid table set up in the new therapy room upstairs, in the larger, fifth, bedroom at the far end of the hall.

When Trevor didn’t respond, but continued to flit around the room barefoot, muttering under his breath some recent line to a Barney cartoon, Emily gently touched his arm and guided him to the chair. “Sit down.” And he did sit, but then began to rock side to side tipping the chair, which fortunately rapped on thick carpeting, cushioning the noise.

Trevor was out of sorts, and had been since his appointment this morning with Jane, the speech and language pathologist, a short curly-haired red head. From the moment she walked in the living room and sat down on the dark leather sofa, Trevor had performed his monkey routine, climbing on the furniture, the chairs, to the floor on all fours and hooting like an elephant, or was it a dog today? She wasn’t sure.

Two others, a man and woman, had accompanied Jane, all part of the diagnostic team to officially diagnose Trevor. One was an intern; a dark haired man with a trimmed beard, which she supposed was to make him appear older and more distinguished, but failed miserably. Instead, he looked like a wet-behind-the-ears twenty-year-old. The other woman was an occupational therapist, scrawny with prematurely gray short-cropped hair. She too, was observing. Right after introductions were made and Brad and Emily sat in opposite corners of the living room; it all fell apart. The occupational therapist had accepted the coffee Emily offered and sat quietly, appearing shy and a little nervous, on the couch. Trevor jumped from behind the couch onto her shoulders, and then rolled beside her and tried to crawl onto her lap. Her coffee flew out of her hands, landing on the coffee table, which was covered with pamphlets and papers on autism, now coffee-soaked. The good thing was, at least the mug didn’t break. Emily dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a dishtowel beside the sink, and hurried back to wipe up the puddle now dripping from the table onto the floor. Brad, his hardened face flushed pink, stepped in and yanked Trevor off.

Trevor whined and kicked his heels at Brad. Brad smashed his lips together so tight they formed a fine white line. Emily’s stomach turned into one hard knot as she picked up on Brad’s obvious stress.

Jane perched on the edge of the leather sofa. Her back ramrod straight, she dropped her bag on the floor beside her feet, and rested both hands on her jean-clad knees. “Put Trevor down, he wasn’t harming anyone, and maybe Dad should step out so we can assess him without interference.”

Brad froze, and Emily’s mouth fell open, as she crouched on her knees holding the soggy towel, now dripping on her faded blue jeans. Now, to Brad’s credit, he said nothing. But the fire sparking in his magnetic, stormy eyes said it all to Emily. He was going to blow. Emily struggled to her feet. She needed to say something, anything in his defense.

He looked at her with the same steel hardness he leveled on Jane. “Don’t” And of course her heart ached from his hurtful rebuff. She understood now the boundaries she’d crossed, he wouldn’t be defended by a woman. He put Trevor down beside Emily, held up both of his hands in a show of surrender, and abruptly left through the kitchen, out the back door, slamming it so hard the lights in the kitchen flashed. The feeling of anger trailing behind him filled the air with a noticeable stench, putting Emily’s teeth on edge.

Trevor pulled away and bounced back over to the uncomfortable OT, who’d become a magnet for Trevor. His structure had been changed; he didn’t know what was expected of him. Hell, neither did Emily, as she gawked like an awkward schoolgirl at these three gangly professionals. Trevor was a magnet; picking up on everyone’s anxiety. Hers included. And Katy, now yanking on Emily’s brown T-shirt, began to whine until Emily picked her up.

The two hours Jane and her lackeys stayed seemed like eight. When they finally left, Emily was so wired; it left her muscles and bones physically weary. Lunch was a pathetic ensemble of build your own sandwiches, which Brad never showed up for anyway.

After Trevor woke from his late morning nap, Emily worked on some basic receptive skills with Trevor, but now he stopped rocking and slid off the chair onto the floor, as if he were a limp rag doll. Emily scooped Trevor up and sat him in the chair holding tight to his upper arms not allowing him to slip off. “Awesome job Trevor, you sat! Here, you earned this to play with.” She handed him the tape measure he was so fond of, he yanked it out and let go, while it whizzed closed, over and over.

The occupational therapist, who’d tagged along with Jane as part of the team this morning, insinuated that following through with Lovaas ABA therapy, the therapy provided by the new consultant, would in fact harm Trevor. He needed to be left alone and he’d develop in his own time, naturally, he’d make his own friends as he saw fit. It was a good thing Brad had left.

Emily had been furious and kicked a stuffed animal across the floor after they’d walked out the door. Why couldn’t these industry professionals start working together? When would they get with program and all realize this is about the best outcome for Trevor, all autistic kids—check your egos at the door.

Her head pounded as she watched Trevor, now scooting across the floor on his knees. Today seemed like the saying: “one-step forward and three back.” And where was Brad?