by Kelly Rimmer
Really, I should have known better than to risk bringing him into a grocery store today. I don’t think he fully understands what this hospital visit means, but he knows something is off. Not for the first time, I wish he could handle a full-time school placement, instead of the two-day-a-week schedule we’ve had to settle for. If only I could have dropped him off at school today and come here alone, or even if I could have convinced my husband, Wade, to stay home from work with Eddie.
Wade had meetings. He always has meetings, especially when not having meetings would mean he would have to be alone with Edison.
“Excuse me.”
I look up wearily, expecting to find another staff member has come to offer “assistance.” Instead, it is an elderly woman—a frail woman, with kind gray eyes and a startling blue hue to her hair. Blue rinse aside, she looks a lot like my Babcia—short and skinny, but purposefully styled. This woman is carrying a flashy handbag and she’s dressed from head to toe in explosive floral prints, all the way down to her fabric Mary Janes, which are patterned with gerberas. Babcia would wear those shoes too. Even now, well into her nineties, Babcia is still generally dressed in clothes featuring crazy flowers or outlandish lace. I have a feeling if the two women met, they’d be instant friends. I feel a pinch in my chest at the recognition, and impatience sweeps over me.
Hurry up, Eddie. We have to hurry. Babcia is sick and we need to get to the hospital.
The woman offers me a gentle smile and opens her handbag conspiratorially.
“Do you think something in here could help?” She withdraws from her bag a collection of little trinkets—a red balloon, a blue lollipop, a tiny wooden doll and a small wooden dreidel. The woman crouches beside me, then drops them all onto the floor.
I’ve already tried distraction so I know this isn’t going to work, but the kindness in the woman’s gaze almost brings me to tears anyway. When I look into her eyes, I see empathy and understanding—but not a hint of pity. It’s a beautiful and unfortunately rare thing to have someone understand my situation instead of judging it.
I murmur false appreciation and I glance between the woman and Edison while I try to figure out if this is going to make the situation worse. He has at least turned the volume down a little, and out of his puffy, tear-filled eyes, he’s watching the woman warily. He does so love Babcia. Perhaps he sees the likeness too.
I nod toward the woman, and she lifts the balloon. Eddie doesn’t react. She lifts the doll, and again, his expression remains pinched. Then the lollipop, with the same result. I’ve completely lost hope when she picks up the dreidel, so I’m surprised when Eddie’s wailing falters just a little.
Colorful Hebrew characters are etched into each side, and the woman runs her finger over one of them, then sets the dreidel onto the floor and gives an elegant flick of her wrist. As the dreidel spins, the colors hypnotically blend into a brilliant blur. “My grandson is on the spectrum too,” she tells me quietly. “I have at least an inkling of how difficult your situation is. The dreidels are Braden’s favorite too...”
Eddie is staring intently at the dreidel as it spins. His wailing has stopped. All that’s left behind now are soft, shuddering sobs.
“Do you know what the Hebrew means?” the woman asks me quietly. I shake my head, and she reads softly, “It’s an acronym—it stands for a great miracle happened there.”
I want to tell the woman that I don’t believe in miracles anymore, but I’m not sure that’s true, because one seems to be unfolding right before me. Eddie is now almost silent but for the occasional sniffle or echoed sob. The dreidel’s spin fades until it wobbles, then it topples onto its side. I hear the sharp intake of his breath.
“Darling boy, do you know what this is?” the woman asks quietly.
“He doesn’t speak,” I try to explain, but Eddie chooses that exact moment to dig deep into his bag of embarrassing autism tricks as he turns his gaze to me and says hoarsely, “I love you Eddie.”
The woman glances at me, and I try to explain,
“That’s just...it’s called echolalia...he can say words, but there’s no meaning behind them. He’s just parroting what he hears me say to him—he doesn’t know what it means. It’s kind his way of saying Mommy.”
The woman offers me another gentle smile now and she sets the dreidel down right near Eddie, starts it spinning again and waits. He stares in silent wonder, and by the time the dreidel falls onto its side for a second time, he’s completely calm. I fumble for his iPad, load the AAC, then hit the finish and the car buttons before I turn the screen toward Eddie. He sits up, drags himself to his feet and looks at me expectantly.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” the woman says softly. She bends and picks up the dreidel, and she passes it to Eddie as she murmurs, “What a clever boy, calming yourself down like that. Your mommy must be so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I say to the woman.
She nods, and she touches my forearm briefly as she murmurs, “You’re doing a good job, Momma. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Her words feel like platitudes at first. I lead Edison from the store, empty-handed but for the unexpected treasure from the stranger. I clip him into his special-order car seat, a necessity despite his size because he won’t sit still enough for a regular seat belt. I slide into my own seat, and I glance at him in the rearview mirror. He’s staring at the dreidel, calm and still, but he’s a million miles away like he always is, and I’m tired. I’m always tired.
You’re doing a good job, Momma. Don’t you ever forget that.
I don’t cry much over Eddie. I love him. I care for him. I don’t ever let myself feel self-pity. I’m like an alcoholic who won’t take even a drop of drink. I know once I open the floodgates to feeling sorry for myself, I’ll get a taste for it, and it will destroy me.
But today my grandmother is in hospital, and the kind woman with the gerbera shoes felt like an angel visiting me in my hour of need, and what if Babcia sent her, and what if this is my grandmother’s last gift to me because she’s about to slip away?
It’s my turn for a meltdown. Eddie plays with his dreidel, holding it right in front of his face and rotating it very slowly in the air as if he’s trying to figure out how it works. I sob. I give myself eight luxurious minutes of weeping, because that brings us to 10 a.m., and we’re now exactly an hour later than I hoped to be.
When the car clock ticks over the hour, I decide to stop wallowing—and then I do: just like that I turn the pity off. I wipe my nose with a Kleenex, clear my throat and start the car. As soon as I press the ignition, my phone connects to the car and on the touch screen by the steering wheel, the missed messages from my mom appear.
Where are you?
You said you’d be here by 9.00. Are you still coming?
Alice. Call me please, what’s going on?
Babcia is awake, but come quickly because I don’t know how long it will be until she needs another nap.
And then finally, one from Wade.
Sorry I couldn’t take today off, honey. Are you mad?
We haven’t even made it to the hospital yet. It’s going to be a long day.
Don’t miss The Things We Cannot Say by Kelly Rimmer. Available now!
Copyright © 2019 by Kelly Rimmer
ISBN: 9781488056413
Truths I Never Told You
Copyright © 2020 by Lantana Management Pty Ltd
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Th
is edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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