by Jo Ramsey
Cece kept flipping over her cards like she didn’t know anything was wrong. She probably didn’t. When people were upset either she got upset too or she tuned everything out, and it seemed like right now, she’d done the second one. When she was diagnosed, my parents had explained autism to me by saying it was like Cece had shut herself inside a world in her own mind, and she only occasionally came out to interact with the rest of us. She spent a lot of time inside that world, especially when things went crappy like they just had.
I kind of wished I had my own world to escape to too.
Dad wiped his eyes with his hands. “I’m okay,” he assured me. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. Somehow we’ll make it work until your mother comes back.”
“If she comes back,” I said without thinking.
He glared at me. “She’ll be back. We just have to trust.”
Right then, I didn’t trust anything. All I knew was I would have to take care of Cece. I’d probably do better than he would because of all the times Mom had left me in charge, but I didn’t know a whole lot about what Cece needed. We were screwed.
Chapter Seven
SOMEHOW OR another, we got through that first night without Mom. I cooked supper, hoping Cece would eat what I made. The three of us sat at the table together, and Dad and I talked quietly about how we’d manage school and work and taking care of Cece. We didn’t come up with anything except Dad taking the next day off from work to make some calls and arrangements, but at least we did that much. We even managed to persuade Cece to take a bath.
The next morning, I woke up to silence. My bedroom was on the main floor of the house, and Mom or Cece almost always woke me rattling around in the kitchen or living room. I didn’t understand why I didn’t hear anything outside my door. For a couple minutes, I forgot Mom wasn’t there and wondered if maybe she’d overslept. I had; my clock radio showed that it was six thirty already, and my bus showed up at seven. So did Cece’s van.
Then I remembered what had happened the day before, and I jumped out of bed and started getting ready for school as fast as I could.
Cece was in the living room when I came out of the shower. She’d gotten herself out of bed, apparently, since Dad was nowhere in sight. Cece had even dressed herself. Her shirt was inside out and her purple pants clashed badly with the bright yellow shirt. I didn’t figure her school would care if she matched, but they probably would say something about the shirt.
“Hey, kiddo, we need to fix your shirt,” I said.
She glared at me and shook her head.
“It’s inside out,” I said. “You don’t want to go to school like that, do you?”
She stared out the window at a bird that had just landed on the deck rail and didn’t answer. I hadn’t figured she would. The school would just have to deal with her wearing her shirt wrong.
I went over to Cece’s schedule. By that time, she should already have had breakfast and brushed her teeth, and I didn’t think she’d done either. Despite how fast I’d showered and dressed, it was quarter to seven already, which meant she and I had to leave in fifteen minutes. And she hated to be rushed.
Dad should have been up. He should have been the one getting Cece ready, not me. But he apparently was still in bed, and I didn’t have time to try to wake him.
“Cece, come to the table,” I said. “We’re going to race to see who can eat breakfast fastest.”
I poured some of her favorite cereal into a bowl, with no milk because she couldn’t eat cereal with milk on it, and put the bowl on the table. For myself, I slapped a couple pieces of baloney between two pieces of bread. I usually had breakfast at school, but I figured if I ate now, maybe Cece would go along with the race thing.
She did, and she won. She ended up with a bunch of pieces of cereal on the table and floor, but she’d eaten, and that was the important thing. After that, I somehow managed to have both of us ready to walk out the door just before seven, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t even forgotten anything either of us needed.
I took her to her van first and explained the situation with Mom to the driver. Because of that, I almost missed my bus. Fortunately the driver saw me running behind him waving and waited for me.
By the time I arrived at school, I was so tired I wanted to go back to bed. I made a mental note to set my alarm for the next morning so I wouldn’t have to rush so much. I’d have to rely on myself to get ready in the mornings from then on, and probably to get Cece ready too. When I realized that, it hit me all over again that Mom had actually taken off on us, and she might not come back. That made me want to go back to bed even more.
At lunchtime, Dad texted me to thank me for taking care of Cece that morning. He also promised to wake up earlier the next morning. He’d slept in because he wasn’t going to work and hadn’t considered having to send Cece off to school. I texted him back that I accepted his apology, but I wasn’t sure I did. He’d left me in charge of Cece just like Mom had always done. I wasn’t about to let that happen anymore.
When I got off the bus that afternoon, I didn’t see Cece’s van. Either my dad had remembered to pick her up, or the van hadn’t shown up yet. I headed up the road toward the house and turned when I heard footsteps running behind me. “Hey, wait up!”
I turned. Brad caught up with me, and we started walking together. “Hey,” I said.
“What happened yesterday?” he asked.
I looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Your sister.”
“Oh.” Right. Everyone had seen the van sitting there the day before. “My mother—” I stopped myself. I didn’t know if I wanted everyone in the neighborhood knowing Mom had taken off.
Then again, they would all figure it out eventually. Mom left her car parked in front of our house most of the time. The neighbors would notice it wasn’t there anymore. “My mother, um, left. So she wasn’t home to pick up Cece.”
“Left?” he repeated. “You mean, like she’s gone?”
“Yeah.” What else would I mean? “She needs time to think or some crap like that. I think she’s just tired of taking care of Cece and me.” It hadn’t occurred to me till then that I might have had as much to do with Mom’s decision as Cece had. Maybe if I’d helped her more, she would have stuck around.
I didn’t let myself think that for long. It made me feel like crap.
“Man.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Chris. That really sucks. Is it okay if I tell my mom? She might be able to help you guys out with stuff. Take care of your sister or something.”
I knew Dad probably wouldn’t want help from the neighbors, but we could definitely use a hand. Especially with Cece. “Yeah, go ahead. Thanks.”
“No problem. Sorry.” We reached the corner of the dirt road that went by his house. “I’ll give you a rain check on that movie, okay? You probably have a lot more important stuff on your mind right now.”
I would rather have gone to his house to watch a movie, any movie. It would have been a nice break from the craziness my life had just become, but I couldn’t bail on Cece and Dad. “Yeah, a rain check would be good. Thanks.”
“Sure.” He took off, probably because he didn’t know what else to say.
I walked home and went inside. The door wasn’t locked. I saw why right away. The living room was a disaster area, and Cece was standing on her chair at the table screaming.
Dad stood by the couch, staring at the destruction with a pale face and wide eyes. “All I did was ask her if she wanted to watch TV,” he said slowly. I didn’t know whether he even registered that I was there, or if he was talking to himself.
“She doesn’t watch TV right after school,” I said. “She has a snack first.” I walked over to the table and stood there with my hands on my hips. “Cecelia, sit down,” I said in the same tone of voice I’d heard Mom use with her during tantrums. “Not okay to stand on the chair.”
She screamed at me too. Fear showed in her eyes, and I realized what the problem
was. She’d dealt okay with Mom not being there the day before. Maybe she’d figured Mom was just running an extra-long errand or something. Maybe she’d coped because I was there, so that part of her routine was normal, at least. But today, Mom still wasn’t there, and Dad had been the one to meet her van. That wasn’t normal, and Cece didn’t deal well with change.
I went around the table to her chair. I was taking a huge chance. She might have hit me or something. I just wanted to make sure she heard me without having to raise my voice.
“Things are different,” I said quietly. “You don’t like that, but we can’t help it. Mom isn’t here. Dad and I are going to take care of you. You can’t stand up there. Sit down.”
She opened her mouth, and I braced myself for another scream. To my surprise, she didn’t scream or anything this time. She carefully climbed down from her chair and sat in it, just like I’d told her.
“Good job,” I said. “It’s time for snack. After snack, we have to clean up your mess.” I pointed toward the living room. “Not okay. We’ll clean it after snack.”
“Nack,” she said.
“Yeah.”
I checked the fridge and cupboards, ignoring Dad, who just stood by the table looking like he was in shock. He’d seen Cece’s tantrums before, so I didn’t know what his problem was. Then again, usually when Cece had a tantrum, Mom was there to take care of everything.
“Cece, you’re having cheesy crackers,” I said. I hadn’t found anything else that she might eat. Dad would have to go to the grocery store, and I didn’t know whether he’d buy the right stuff. I wasn’t sure I even knew what the right stuff was, so I wouldn’t be able to tell him.
I put a handful of crackers on one of the plastic plates Cece liked and set it in front of her. She glared at it for a minute, and I thought she might shove it off the table or something. I probably hadn’t given her the right plate or something. Or maybe it was the wrong snack. I had no way to know.
Finally she picked up one of the crackers and nibbled at it, then put it in her mouth. Maybe she’d figured out that the crackers tasted the same no matter what plate they were on.
I wasn’t in the mood for a snack. “Dad, we need to talk,” I said. I sat down on the couch. “What are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?” he asked. He gazed around at all the stuff all over the floor and sank onto the couch. “I don’t know what I did wrong. She just started screaming and throwing things. Is she like that a lot?”
“Only when something happens that she doesn’t like or that messes with her routine.” I folded my arms. “Which is what you did. You didn’t mean to, but you did. First of all, you aren’t Mom or me, and we’re the ones she’s used to seeing right after school. Second, she has a schedule.” I nodded toward it. “She has to follow that schedule because she’s calmer when she knows what to expect, and that makes things easier for her and the rest of us. So she comes home from school and has snack. Then she exercises. Then she watches TV.”
“I don’t know any of that.” He frowned. “How do you know so much?”
“Because I’m here every afternoon.” And because of Mom leaving me alone with Cece all those times, but I still didn’t want to tell Dad about that. “You’re lucky she didn’t take off on you. You forgot to lock the door.”
“She was already throwing her tantrum when we got here,” he replied. “I had to carry her in from the car. I didn’t have a chance to lock the door.”
I walked over and flicked the lock while I was thinking about it. “You picked her up in the car?”
“Wasn’t I supposed to?”
He sounded totally lost, which was understandable given how little time he’d spent with Cece. I’d have to help him figure things out until Mom came back, if she did. “Mom always walks Cece to and from the van. Unless it’s pouring rain, and even then sometimes Mom walks. Cece likes the walk, and it helps her transition from school to home.” At least that was how Mom had explained it.
“You’re going to have to tell me all these things,” Dad said. “And we’re going to have to figure out something for afternoons, because I can’t take off work forever.”
“Brad said his mother might be able to help. She doesn’t go to work.”
Dad should have been upset with me for talking to someone else about our problems, but he looked relieved. “That might work, if she can handle a kid like Cecelia. It isn’t easy dealing with a kid like that.”
Something in Dad’s tone just plain rubbed me the wrong way. He sounded like he was putting Cece down for something she couldn’t even help. “She isn’t a kid ‘like that.’ She’s Cece.”
“You know what I mean. Kids with autism.” He sighed. “Your mother’s always taken care of you kids. I’ve tried, but half the time she told me I was doing everything wrong. So now I feel like I don’t know how to do anything. I told the school and the van company that you’ll be taking Cecelia off the van from now on. If that’s okay.”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” It pissed me off that he’d assigned me the job, but I tried not to show it. He hadn’t had much choice either.
“If Brad’s mother agrees to help out, maybe she can do it,” Dad said. “For the next couple days, though, would you mind? It’s only three days till the weekend. My boss wasn’t too happy about me taking today and tomorrow off, so I’m going to have to be in the office Thursday and Friday.”
“So you can get Cece off the van tomorrow.” I didn’t have any plans or anything, and the van would be right by the bus stop. I just didn’t like the idea of having to be responsible for Cece when Dad would be around too. He needed to learn how to take care of his daughter. And his son, for that matter.
“I don’t know if she’ll let me after how today went.” He glanced over at Cece, who was still sitting at the table shoving crackers into her mouth. “You’re used to her routine, so it would probably be better if you did it.”
Except for the fact that I wasn’t Cece’s parent. Dad should have been taking care of her. Actually, Mom should have been. Mom never should have left the way she had. It wasn’t fair to the rest of us.
Being pissed off at Mom wouldn’t change anything, but anger helped push away all the guilt and sadness and crap I’d begun to feel about her leaving. I’d started to blame myself and Cece, and that wasn’t right. Mom’s leaving wasn’t anyone’s fault but hers. She’d decided she couldn’t handle having a kid with autism anymore, and she’d taken off on us.
Someone knocked on the door. Since I was still standing there, I undid the lock and opened the door. A couple of women I’d seen around stood there.
“You’re Chris, right?” one of them asked. “I’m Brad’s mother, Jillian, and this is Joan Cates. Can we come in?”
“Sure.” I moved out of their way.
Dad stood up and shook Jillian’s and Mrs. Cates’s hands while I locked the door again. I looked over at the table and saw that Cece had slid out of her chair and huddled under the table.
None of the adults seemed to notice, so I didn’t say anything. If Cece was more comfortable hiding, she could hide. Just like she did any time anyone unfamiliar showed up. Just like she’d done with Noah, who I wished was there right then. I could have used someone my age to talk to while all this was going on.
“Brad told me that your wife left?” Jillian’s tone made it a question. “I’m sorry to hear that. He said you have a young daughter.”
“Cecelia.” Dad motioned at the couch. “Please have a seat, and please excuse the mess. We had a little incident earlier.” He glanced at the table, and his eyes widened. “Chris, where’s your sister?”
“Under the table,” I said like hiding under the table was perfectly normal, which, for Cece, it was. “She doesn’t like strangers, so she hides. She might come out in a while.”
Mrs. Cates’s face turned slightly white. The news didn’t seem to bother Jillian in the least. “Brad said your daughter’s autistic. That must be difficult, especial
ly with her mother gone.”
“My wife’s been caring for Cecelia all her life.” Dad looked at the table again, and I could practically hear him wondering if he should order Cece to come out. I hoped he wouldn’t because that would only set her off again. I didn’t think I should say that to him in front of company, so I hoped he’d figure it out. “To be honest, I’m a little lost,” Dad added. “If it wasn’t for Chris, I wouldn’t have any clue what to do.”
Neither woman looked happy about that. “Chris, you’re in the same grade as Brad, right?” Jillian asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re in a couple classes together.”
“Do you usually help your mother take care of your sister?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes. When Mom’s, um, doing laundry or something.” I could have told them then about how many times Mom had left me in charge of Cece, aside from the day before, but I knew how upset Dad would be. Also not a good idea in front of company.
“I used to teach special education,” Jillian said to Dad. “I have a fair amount of experience with children on the autism spectrum. I’d be happy to help out with your daughter in the afternoons until you come home from work.”
“That would be wonderful, if you’re sure you’d be able to handle her.” Dad went over to the table and bent down. “Cecelia, come here, please. I want you to meet someone.”
Phrasing it that way might have been the only thing Dad had done right that afternoon. That was how Mom always talked when a new therapist or something came to work with Cece. So Cece slowly crawled out from under the table and stood up.
“Good girl,” Dad said. He reached for Cece’s hand, then stopped himself. “Come over here, please, and meet some new friends.”
That worked too. Cece followed him to the couch, and he introduced her to Jillian and Mrs. Cates. Cece didn’t speak to either of them. After the first second or two, she started flicking her fingers in front of her eyes like she was trying not to see the strangers in our living room.
“She has a schedule,” I said. The schedule was completely messed up at the moment because of our visitors, but I figured I’d be able to get Cece back on track after they left and get Dad on track with the whole thing.
