by Mae Nunn
“The answer is yes. Simba goes everywhere with me because she’s part of the team. And since rescues can’t be scheduled like football games, we’re always together and prepared, even during office hours at the clinic.”
“Can you put her back in your car or tie her up outside?”
Simba growled. A hand signal silenced her, then Ali offered what she knew would be a condescending smile and shook her head.
“Listen, Mr. Lamar, you all but begged me to give this a shot, so you’re going to have to be flexible on this one point. Simba won’t make a move without my command, she doesn’t shed and she hasn’t had an accident on the floor since she was six weeks old. If you’re going to trust me with your son, then you ought to trust me with my own dog.”
A look of resignation crossed his tanned face. He stepped back and opened the door, his hand sweeping toward the foyer, an invitation to enter. Ali inhaled slowly and moved across the welcome mat. She was greeted by a room with soaring ceilings, hand-dyed rugs over a mesquite parquet floor and cozy French country furnishings. She recalled reading his late wife had been into interior design.
“You have a beautiful place.” She admired the wall of windows opposite the entry hall. “What a sensational view.”
“Thank you,” he answered humbly. “It’s way too big for just two of us, but it’s the only home Ethan’s ever known. Getting him to change his socks is a chore most days, so changing our residence is out of the question for now.”
Alison nodded, understanding. An Asperger kid was a creature of rigidity and order. Keeping life calm meant holding change to a minimum. His mother’s death must have sent Ethan into a nosedive. He seemed to feel somehow responsible, so it was no wonder he wouldn’t drop the subject that had rocked his world. Having lost her own mother to family violence when Ali was only nine years old, Ethan’s irrational sense of accountability was a belief she could relate to on so many levels.
“I’m sorry I was rude at the door,” Lamar apologized, keeping one eye on Simba’s whereabouts. “I really do appreciate you driving out here this evening. Have you had your dinner yet? Our housekeeper makes a tasty chicken pie from scratch, but Ethan turned his nose up to it. What a shocker.”
Ali heard the frustration in his words. A father wanted answers, but very often there were none. Just as there were few alternatives when living with the chaos of mental illness. And the patient always seemed to hold the trump card, the threat of self-destruction.
“Thanks for the offer, but I had a power shake on the way over.” She curled her arm in a body builder’s pose, pointed to her biceps and enjoyed his nod of approval. “So, where do I find that son of yours?”
“His suite is upstairs.”
“Suite?” She felt her eyebrows rise.
“It’s a big house, remember?” Lamar explained. “The area was originally intended for out-of-town guests. When Ethan was old enough to need more space, we thought it was a good idea for him to have a game room where his buddies could hang out. Unfortunately, my son’s friends can’t tolerate his OCD, and instead of games his shelves are lined with specimen samples.”
“Specimens?” Her lips twisted like she’d just sucked a slice of lemon. Even in med school dead things floating in formaldehyde had creeped her out.
“You’ll see” was Lamar’s ominous explanation, but the sparkle in his blue, blue eyes indicated humor.
He pointed toward the steps that wound upward two flights. “Ethan’s expecting you. He’s on the second floor.”
“How will I recognize his suite?”
“Just look for the rooms with no doors on the hinges. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
“This may take a while,” Ali warned as she shifted the weight of her oversize bag and started up the steps.
“It usually does when the meter’s running, Doctor Stone.”
She rolled her eyes as she trudged up the stairs with Simba close behind. Of course, Benjamin Lamar would make sure he had the last word.
Just like a politician.
Chapter Four
Ben watched as the lady and her dog climbed the carpeted steps. The only other time he’d seen Alison Stone she’d been in a rescue worker’s one-piece jumpsuit. The zippered pockets from chest to ankle had been stuffed lumpy with recovery gear that hid her womanly curves. With her lustrous hair caught up beneath a safety helmet, it was no wonder he’d mistaken her for one of the guys.
But today in jangly silver jewelry, a bright turquoise sleeveless blouse and perfectly fitted jeans there was no doubt about her gender. She was one hundred percent female and very easy on the eye.
He cleared his throat to whisk away the direction his mind was wandering. The slight sound drew the attention of the dog. It stopped at the landing to turn a dark, searching gaze downward. Ben pointed toward Simba’s attractive mistress, narrowed his eyes and mouthed the word “Shoo!” The animal complied but Ben felt certain she’d made the decision on her own and it had nothing to do with his command.
“Father, am I ever going to have a say in the direction of my life again?” He prayed aloud as he’d done a million times since the day he’d returned from Theresa’s memorial and come back to the house to face Ethan’s problems. Alone.
With time, the aloneness had turned to solitude and eventually the home so filled with his late wife’s touch had become comforting. Where Ben found refuge in their tasteful surroundings, Ethan continually used reminders of his mother as reason to resurrect the past. Certain he bore guilt for distracting her during a rainy drive, Ethan felt he deserved the blame for her death. The assumption was as wrong as wrong could be, but it had become part of Ethan’s obsessive thinking, a behavior that had Ben clutching the tail end of his frayed rope.
“Father, for forty-two years You’ve blessed me with the ability to face any challenge.” Ben continued his one-sided conversation as he headed across the foyer and into the fragrant kitchen. “By now I thought we’d be operating on a Texas-size scale. But instead of wrestling legislative issues I’m struggling to get my kid to sit at the dinner table with me. What’s up with that? And if the folks who used to pay their hard-earned money to hear me speak could see me now, they wouldn’t be lining up to vote, they’d be lining up for refunds.”
Ben shook his head at his inadequacy, slipped quilted mitts on his hands and scooped a cookie sheet from the hot oven. He flipped one of the single-serving pies upside-down on a stoneware plate, removed the baking tin and pierced the flaky bottom crust with a fork. Steam drifted upward, lasting only a few seconds before dissipating into air stirred by the fan blades slowly rotating overhead.
You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Ben recalled the words from the book of James.
“Okay, Lord, I get it,” he admitted. “This is temporary and there’s a bigger picture that I can’t see. But gaining a first down would be helpful now and again.”
Too impatient to take his plate to the table, Ben shoveled a mouthful of chicken and vegetables through parted lips. He was immediately reminded with scalding consequences that a cool-down moment and a proper grace are helpful now and again, too.
Ali walked through Ethan’s rooms, amazed at the affluence that was basically lost on the boy who really only cared, that is to say obsessed, about one thing.
Rocks.
After a brief reunion they’d struck a deal, or at least she thought so. Ethan would brush his teeth and comb his hair within ten minutes and in exchange Ali would allow him to show off some of his specimens, which turned out to be an impressive collection of core samples. Putting a time constraint on Ethan’s activities would give her a starting point toward measuring his OCD rituals and then she’d begin to strategize on how to hold them to a dull roar. She glanced at the large-faced, loudly ticking alarm clock she’d brought with her and noted his first deadline was approaching.
“Ethan, time’s about up,” she called without turning in the direction of his dressing area. Maybe if
he was cooperative she’d suggest his father reconsider the sanctity of the bathroom and agree to re-hang the door.
“The water hasn’t been running long enough,” Ethan answered, referring to one of his requirements that had to be fulfilled before he could begin to brush his teeth.
“You can let it run all night for all I care, but if you’re not finished and back in here minus the stinky breath in three more minutes, Simba and I are going downstairs to visit with your dad and we’re not coming back up tonight.”
He poked his face around the door frame and held up five fingers. “I need a little longer.”
“Nope.” Ali shook her head. She had to take a hard line right out of the gate or she wouldn’t have any wiggle room when it came time to ease up. “Ethan, it’s been a long workday for me and right now Simba needs a walk more than you need to purge the plumbing. When time’s up we’ll be downstairs for a few more minutes. Otherwise, we’ll give this a try again tomorrow. If you don’t want the same results, I suggest you take care of personal hygiene before we arrive.”
“There’s no need to be difficult,” he complained. “I don’t remember you being this way before.”
As she had during their first encounter, Alison noted Ethan’s speech seemed normal, even above average for teens. She’d learned early in her research that language is one of the most diverse areas of autism, ranging from nonverbal to highly skilled. And while Ethan communicated well, he processed information and reacted with the behaviors of a boy half his age.
“I’m not the one being difficult, kiddo. Like I told your dad, if I’m going to spend my time driving out here, then I expect some flexibility from the two of you in return.”
“If I’d known you were so bossy, I wouldn’t have asked to see you.”
“Is that a fact?” When her young patients wanted to spar, Ali was happy to oblige them, keeping it on their level. “Well, welcome to reality where most of the world learns to adjust. I’m here to work with you, not cater to you.”
“You sound just like him.” Ethan jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. “You’re not going to start quoting his positivisms at me, are you?”
A swarm of barbed responses tumbled inside her brain, but she held them in check. While she hoped Benjamin Lamar would share her position on the treatment of his son, any further like-mindedness would probably be a fluke. Ali couldn’t imagine finding much more in common with a man so well known for his conservative affiliations and views. Ethan’s comparison was definitely not complimentary.
He stared, waiting for her response.
“Your insult is duly noted,” she quipped. “And if I think of something you need to hear, I’ll quote Mickey Mouse if it appeals to me.”
The final few seconds ticked away and the old-fashioned bell began to clang on the top of the red enameled clock.
“So, will you wait a little longer on me?”
Knowing Ethan would likely interpret the expression incorrectly, Ali controlled the urge to pfffft at the comment.
“No, sir.” She gestured for Simba to follow and both headed for the door. “Tomorrow is another day,” Ali called over her shoulder. “And if you’re interested, the source of that quote is Scarlett O’Hara.”
Ben tipped the bottom of his glass toward the ceiling and waited for the last, stubborn chunk of ice to drop into his waiting mouth. His pallet was roasted from the molten chicken pie, but two frosty glasses of tea had eased the burn. The echo of footsteps against the wood floor caused him to turn his face toward the hallway that connected the grand entry to the spacious kitchen.
“Mr. Lamar?” The doctor called out and stepped into his field of vision.
Clunk! A frozen, pointy projectile thumped Ben’s right eye followed by a cold dribble and then the smack of a mushy wet blob.
He squinted hard against the blow of the ice and then the sting of the fat lemon wedge. Though his eyes were tightly closed, his ears clearly detected snickering.
He groped for the napkin he’d tossed beside his empty plate.
“I’m sorry if I startled you.” More snickering. “Do you need help, a bib maybe?”
He pressed one corner of the linen square to his eyeball and used another corner to soak up the moisture trickling down the side of his face. Ugh. Cold.
“Thank you for your generous offer,” his voice was muffled by the thin layer of fabric. “I think I can manage this.”
Toenails tap-danced on the kitchen tile nearby.
That dog!
Ben dropped the napkin, swiveled his head to the left and unconsciously pulled his knees upward in one smooth motion.
Thankfully, the animal had come to an obedient halt, not appearing aggressive at all. Still, its mere presence in Ben’s personal space made his flesh shrivel. Alison Stone’s smile said she was really enjoying his discomfort, as well she should. He knew his reaction was just one step below a woman jumping on a chair while she screamed bloody murder over a cockroach in her kitchen.
“You’re a psychotherapist. Surely I’m not the first person you’ve run across with cynophobia.” Ben’s tongue began to feel fat and dry in his mouth and his pulse thumped in his ears thanks to the nearness of the animal.
“Actually, the fear of dogs is not uncommon in kids. But by your age most guys have worked through it.”
“Well, until now I’ve been able to stay away from it so I’ve never felt the need to ‘work through it’ as you say.”
With sympathy for his anxiety, she reached for the dog’s collar and slid her index finger into one end of the choker chain.
“Why don’t you count to ten and then follow us outside? I’ll put Simba in the Rover with the windows down for a few minutes while we talk.”
Without waiting for his response the pair quietly left the room and moments later the front door closed behind them. Ben did as instructed—waited for a ten count, threw in an extra five for good measure and then moved into the front hall. His natural inclination was to throw the deadbolt and lock the infernal woman and her evil-looking hound outside. But then Ben would be no better off than Ethan, who was holed up in his bedroom, paralyzed by his fears.
Lord, Lord, Lord. Ben wondered, as he often did, if he’d passed a defective gene to his son. Theresa had been a fearless dynamo, and she’d never expressed any feelings of personal responsibility for Ethan’s mental illness. Maybe that’s why she’d had so much more patience with his problems.
Ben exhaled, hoping to blow away the worry, twisted the knob and pulled the door halfway open. Good to her word, Doctor Stone had secured her lion-hunting dog in the vehicle. Yes, Ben had looked Rhodesian Ridgeback up on Wikipedia. Forewarned was always forearmed, whether the opponent was a six-foot-three guard or another candidate running against you. Or, worse, a dog running at you. The little ones could turn from yap boxes to ankle-biting machines with no provocation. Ben didn’t even want to consider what that hundred pounds of sleek muscle called Simba could do to an un-suspecting target.
“Maybe while we work on Ethan’s problems we can address this little issue of yours as well.” The doctor moved toward him, her jingling silver jewelry as complimentary and distracting as the womanly sway of her body.
“If you’d just come here alone, that’d be one less phobia on the to-do list.”
She shook her head, earrings dancing. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, especially at this time of year. Unfortunately, Ethan won’t be the last person to need a rescue crew. Simba’s not just my partner—she’s part of the team.”
Ben learned early in life about spittin’ in the wind. Ethan needed this lady and if the truth be told, Ben did, too. If he wanted to get on with his life and into the Congressional race before it was too late, then he and his son both required a miracle worker.
He prayed the beauty before him had more than a buff arm up her sleeve.
Chapter Five
From what Ben could tell things hadn’t gone well upstairs today. His wood-paneled study was on
the main floor, directly below Ethan’s rooms. On this third daily encounter with a new therapist there seemed to be a lot of cajoling, threatening, alarm clock jangling and disagreement between the muffled voices overhead. It was impossible to discern whether the subject matter was anything of importance or if it was just the two establishing ground rules.
Ben was a big believer in rules. They defined a fair game for the players, kept a race equal between opponents and prevented society from running amuck. Through the gift of the Bible, mankind had been given the ultimate rule book and Ben reasoned that if people would simply keep a positive attitude and follow God’s guidelines, their lives would be so much easier.
It was a perfect plan in theory that humans messed up in practice.
Ben folded the national politics section of the paper he’d been reading and considered his own situation. He tried faithfully to let The Word be the light unto his path. Even so, his road had been far from easy with its share of hidden trip wires. Landmines exploded when he seemed least prepared to deal with a crisis.
But he’d always survived.
“I hear Ya, Lord.” Ben tossed the newspaper into the recycle bin beside his favorite leather recliner. “You never said it would be easy, but You told us we wouldn’t be alone. I’m counting on You to keep that promise.”
Ben wasn’t prone to self-pity because overall his life had been amazing. But the past few years had tested his mettle well beyond anything the world of professional sports had thrown his way through injuries, contract negotiations and unexpected trades. Personal tragedy had shown him how quickly life and priorities can shift, turning from a skyrocket ride toward success to a struggle for emotional survival. Entering politics would not only be the fulfillment of personal dreams and family expectations, it also would be a welcome relief to focus on the needs of others for a change.
Yesterday’s call from his old college roommate had brought undeniable attention to the fact that a fuse was burning, and with or without Ben’s cooperation, matters would soon be decided.
