Unlocked

by Karen Kingsbury

  “Thank you.” She pictured her manager and his wife, his peers, praying for Holden. Week after week. “We have to keep praying. The more people, the better.”

  “That’s right.” His expression lightened. “God has a plan for that boy yet!”

  “Absolutely.” Tracy slid her purse up onto her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

  On the way home she stopped and picked up more laminate sheets from the craft store. Holden could express himself with Picture Exchange Communication System cards. PECS cards, they were called. They were expensive, so Tracy made her own. She downloaded sets of cards from the Internet, printed them, and laminated them. Holden had responded to them better than anything else regarding his communication, and now the cards were a part of his daily therapy. It wasn’t what Tracy wanted, but it was an improvement over the years of not knowing anything about what he was thinking or feeling or needing.

  She set the package beside her and thought about her son. He’d be thrilled with this latest find. Tracy had stumbled onto another set of music PECS cards online—and already she’d printed them. The laminate sheets were for those. Thank You, God … Just what we need today. Holden would be thrilled—even if he didn’t show it.

  Tracy pulled into her apartment complex and parked in the spot closest to unit C3. Then she collected the mail from the nearby lockbox. Tired or not, she was excited about the new PECS cards. They held so many more music phrases and images. Holden had worn out the last music cards—and these were even better. Clearer pictures, better wording. He loved music, the way he had loved it before his diagnosis, back when he had been drawn to the singers and instrumentalists at church.

  On more than one occasion before his diagnosis they would be at Sunday service and Holden would walk toward the front, as close as he could get to the sound. He soaked in the melodies and harmonies and he would sing. Always he would sing. Especially “Jesus Loves Me”—his favorite back then.

  Tracy pictured the end of the New York City Marathon on TV, and how the runners doubled over, gasping for air at the finish line, taking in as much oxygen as they could get. Holden was that way with music. He soaked it in like his life depended on it. No question, if there was a way to reach Holden the key would involve music. Tracy and dozens of therapists had tried reaching Holden with songs and hymns—even Holden’s favorites from his pre-diagnosis days.

  But they still hadn’t cracked the cell that so completely contained him.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Tracy walked down the narrow sidewalk to her front door, turned the key in the lock, and slipped inside. The apartment wasn’t large—just two bedrooms—but it was newer than some. And with Dan fishing in Alaska full time, it was all the space she and Holden needed. Of course, that had changed this week. Tracy’s sister, Holly, was a nurse in the army serving a tour of duty in Iraq, and next week her husband, a marine chaplain, was being shipped out too. It would be the end of the school year before Holly was back in Atlanta, so Kate would sleep on an air mattress in Tracy’s room. She rode a different bus, of course, but the way it worked out she would be dropped off a few minutes after Holden each afternoon.

  Tracy set the mail on the kitchen counter. The clock on the microwave read 3:10—twenty minutes until Holden came home. He rode a special bus, and even though they didn’t live in the Fulton High School boundaries, the school had the best program for autistic students. The bus picked up special-needs kids like Holden all across the county.

  Tracy spread out the mail. Six bills—four related to Holden’s therapy. Social therapy, nutritional therapy, educational therapy—two for that. And of course a bill for his medications. At the bottom of the stack was a small envelope addressed in Dan’s neat printing. Salmon season had ended in August, and Dan was out of work for two weeks after that. But last Friday he’d called to tell her he found a four-week job, harvesting shrimp on a sixty-foot shrimp boat in the freezing waters off the Alaskan Peninsula.

  “It’s tough.” Dan sounded worn out. “Captains pay more for the permits these days, so the take’s not as high. The seasons are shorter. Competition’s tough.”

  Still Dan stayed. A few months back the weather got rough, and Tracy wondered how safe he had been. Not that he would tell her if he struggled. “We were crazy busy,” was all he said when the month ended. He sent her three thousand dollars after that and a note that said the same thing every one of his notes said. She opened this envelope and pulled out a folded piece of notepaper.

  For you and Holden … with love, Dan.

  The cashier’s check was for just under five hundred dollars. Not a surprise, with his being out of work for a few weeks. It was like this with commercial fishing in Alaska. Some months there was money for rent, utilities, and Holden’s therapy. Other months the bills had to wait.

  Tracy glanced across the counter to the small, framed photo of the three of them, a picture taken back when Holden was two. She remembered that day, how they’d arrived at the park early and played on the swings until they were all red faced and worn out. Tracy had her camera, the way she always did back then. She’d taken pictures of Holden on the swing and Holden on the slide, Dan and Holden racing across the open field, and the two of them playing in the sand near the slide.

  But before it was time to go home, an older couple walked by and offered to snap a shot of the three of them. Until then Tracy hadn’t thought about the fact that she wasn’t in any of the pictures. Now she stared intently at the framed photograph. I thought I had all the time in the world with that boy … that we’d always stay just like that, every afternoon a photo opportunity. Endless days for someone to take their picture—the three of them.

  She looked at Dan, at the expression on his face, the light in his eyes. He loved Holden more than life—then and now. Tracy didn’t doubt that for a moment. Dan was a good man, a man strong in his faith and convictions. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Holden. He cared too much. For the first ten years after Holden’s diagnosis, Dan would spend hours every day after work talking to him, reading to him, sitting near him.

  Searching for him.

  But after a decade when nothing worked, Dan became distant. Almost as distant as Holden. Tracy remembered one day when she’d found him sitting on the edge of their bed, his face in his hands.

  “Dan?” She came to him, touched his shoulder lightly. “What

  is it?”

  Clearly, he didn’t want to look at her, but finally he lowered his hands. His eyes were red, his cheeks tear stained. “I can’t do it.” His eyes met hers. “I keep looking and looking, but I can’t find him. I can’t reach him.”

  Tracy tried talking to her husband, but that spring he watched The Deadliest Catch, and when his work at the custom cabinet shop ran out that summer, he took a flight to Alaska. Tracy didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t stop him.

  He came home once in the spring, again in the summer, and for Christmas—three times a year—but most days it was easier to tell herself he wasn’t coming home at all. She hated to picture him sliding across the deck of an old commercial fishing boat, tossed around on towering waves in a part of the ocean where ships sank all the time. The thought could paralyze her with fear. And so she’d released him to God’s care a long time ago. But even so the losses piled up.

  First Holden, then the life they’d known together, and their family time the way it had been in the photograph. And finally

  Dan.

  Tracy glanced at the microwave again. It was time to meet Holden. She peeled off her sweater and tossed it on the back of the kitchen chair. As she stepped outside, the sunshine felt warm on her shoulders. A few minutes and Holden’s bus came into view. It was a short bus, of course, the kind used for specialneeds kids. The size of the bus used to grate on Tracy’s nerves, reminding her that something was wrong with her son. But not anymore. She was grateful for any help she could get, any efforts made in finding the boy he’d once been. Now the bus only served as a reminder that they
hadn’t given up.

  They would never give up.

  The doors of the bus opened, and Holden was quick to reach the steps, quick to bound down them. He landed on the ground with little effort, his muscled shoulders easily holding his heavy backpack. He saw her … he had to see her. But there was no hug no greeting. None of the connecting points Tracy so desperately craved. He looked to a spot beside her and then at another spot on her other side. Then he started walking, as if she wasn’t there.

  “Holden, wait.” She reached for his hand, but he sidestepped her attempt. Still, this was an improvement. For years he would turn away from her touch. Cry out, even. Not in words, but in shouts or grunts. He didn’t do that now. Instead he seemed simply indifferent. “Kate’s bus will be here in a minute. Remember?”

  Holden relaxed and stayed his ground, a few feet from her. A slight humming came from him, but Tracy couldn’t make out the tune. He lowered his backpack to the ground and pulled his PECS cards from inside.

  “I had a good morning at Walmart,” Tracy tried. She would never stop trying. “The customers were nice.”

  Waiting for Kate wasn’t part of his routine, and Tracy had been concerned all day that the change could throw Holden into a tantrum. She watched him, studying him. So far, so good. Holden liked Kate —at least from what Tracy had seen last night when the child arrived with her things.

  Tracy made small talk, telling Holden about a few of her customers, all while Holden stared at the tree line across the street. A minute later Kate’s bus came into view. Relief washed over Tracy. “There it is!” She stayed at Holden’s side. “Kate’s bus.” She smiled at him. “Kate can watch the movie with us today.”

  Holden swayed a little, still humming, still intent on something just out of reach.

  The bus stopped and Kate scrambled out, her pale blonde hair framing her tanned face, her SpongeBob backpack almost half her size. Her face lit up when she saw them. “Aunt Tracy, hi!” She ran toward them, her eyes shining. “It was the best first day ever.” She danced over to Holden and hugged him around his waist. “Hi Holden!”

  Holden’s posture stiffened some, but he didn’t pull away or cry out. Something about Kate’s childlike innocence, her youthful heart and love for people, seemed to connect with him.

  Kate bounced back to Tracy. “And guess what? Teacher said it’s okay that I missed last week. She’s gonna help me make it up!”

  “Perfect!” Tracy liked the smile in her voice. She reached for Kate’s hand. “Let’s get home, and I’ll fix you a snack.”

  “Okay, and then me and Holden are watching a movie, right? That’s what Mommy told me. Holden watches movies every day.”

  Tracy hid a ripple of laughter. “Sort of. You might get tired of it after a while.” She looked over at her son. “Right, Holden?”

  He moved his gaze to the ground near his feet and then up to the sky again. They started walking with Kate between them. Kate still had hold of Tracy’s hand, but she seemed to know instinctively not to reach for Holden’s. “Teacher says we each have a cubby with our name on it and we put our spelling in the red box and pick it up the next day in the yellow box and guess what?” Her enthusiasm was beyond refreshing.

  “What?” Tracy treasured the feel of her little-girl hand, the way Kate clung to her, needing her. The moment made her realize again how much she’d missed with Holden.

  “Teacher says two recesses, not one. Isn’t that the best news, Aunt Tracy? Two recesses!” She giggled and skipped for a few steps. “And guess what else?”

  They were almost at the apartment door. “What, sweetie?”

  “Dance and music class! Every Wednesdays and Friday. That’s the best news for first graders.” Her expression grew serious. “Kindygartners don’t have dance and music, even at my old school.” She stopped short. “Will I ever go back to my old school?”

  “Yes, honey.” Tracy loved this, her niece’s energy and passion. It was a tremendous change from her usual time with Holden. “Next year you’ll be back.”

  “Okay, good. ’Cause Sarah and Tessa aren’t at this school and we’re bestest friends.”

  “I’m sure they miss you.”

  Kate looked sad for a few seconds, but then her eyes sparkled again. “But this ’venture will give me lots to tell them, right?”

  “Right.”

  She looked at Holden as they walked. “Right, Holden?” Holden shifted his gaze, but still he didn’t look straight at Kate.

  Kate gave him a sympathetic smile. “Holden’s shy, right, Aunt Tracy?”

  “He is.” Tracy’s heart ached at the way even little children immediately knew something was different about Holden. “He loves you very much, Kate. He just doesn’t really talk much.”

  “That’s okay.” She nodded in Holden’s direction. “I love you, too, Holden.” She patted his arm, and again he didn’t jerk away.

  As they reached their apartment, Holden sorted through his PECS cards and held out the television card, the one that read “Movie.” Tracy tried to take hold of it, the way she always did. But this time Holden pulled it back, keeping the card close to his chest.

  Kate watched the exchange, clearly bewildered. “What’s he doing?”

  “Just a minute, honey …” She held up her finger to Kate, her words gentle.

  Kate nodded, anxious to understand. She looked at Holden, her eyes wide, curious.

  Tracy turned to her son. Had something happened at school, something that had made him less secure? “I understand, Holden.” She kept her tone calm. “You don’t want me to hold the card.” She smiled, her voice pleasant. “That’s fine. You want your movie. I understand.” She didn’t want to upset him. When he was upset he would drop to the ground and rattle off a string of push-ups. Something his therapists had never seen in a kid with autism. Tens and hundreds of push-ups.

  That was bound to frighten Kate, so Tracy wanted to at least get the three of them inside just in case.

  “Why does he have those cards?” Kate angled her head, trying to understand. “Is it like a game?”

  “Yes.” Keep it simple, she told herself. Kate didn’t need more than a basic understanding of her cousin. “Holden uses cards to talk sometimes. Like a game.”

  “Oh!” Kate bounced around and clapped her small hands a few times. “I love games.”

  Holden lifted his eyes to the sky, and as always Tracy was amazed at how striking they were. Ice blue, with a depth that was almost otherworldly.

  They needed to get inside. “Let’s go watch our movie.” She opened the door, and Holden and Kate followed.

  “Can I help make snack?” Kate ran to the kitchen and set her backpack on one of the chairs. “Mommy lets me help make the snack every day.”

  “I’d love some help.” Tracy walked with Kate to the kitchen. Holden’s routine was so exact she could predict his every action. He set his backpack on the floor, kept the PECS cards tight in his hands, and crossed the room to the single sofa that stood beneath the lone window in the living room. In a series of practiced motions he stood the three sofa pillows in a perfect row and then patted out every wrinkle in all three of them. When they looked like something from a magazine, he moved to the white curtains that hung on either side of the window. Meticulously he straightened them, making sure every pleat was neat and straight.

  The routine took awhile, and Kate didn’t seem to notice. She was distracted by her work in the kitchen. She helped get out the string cheese and apple juice, carrots, and raisins. “I love raisins, Aunt Tracy.” She giggled. “Maybe I’ll live here forever.”

  “Maybe.” Tracy loved the energy Kate brought to their small apartment. “Of course, your mom and dad would miss you an awful lot.”

  “True.” Her smile faded for a few seconds. “I miss them so much, Aunt Tracy. So, so much. First Mommy, now Daddy.”

  Tracy held out her arms and Kate came to her, holding her the way a child was supposed to hold on. Taking in all the love and comfort a
nd support she could get. This is what it feels like to be needed, Tracy thought. It must kill Holly and Aaron to be away from her.

  The moment passed and they made up the plates. Tracy kept Holden’s diet gluten free, the way she’d been doing since he was five. She had never seen his diet make much difference, but it didn’t hurt to try. Gluten-free was one of the many recommendations that had come from his nutritionist.

  He finished tidying the living room and found his place at the kitchen table. Kate sat beside him with Tracy across the table. She folded her hands, her elbows spread out to either side on the small table. “Let’s pray, okay?”

  Kate squeezed her eyes shut, her head bowed. Holden tore his string cheese into tiny pieces and lined them along the outer edge of the plate. He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak.

  Tracy bowed her head. “Dear God, thank you for this food. Please bless it to our bodies. Thank you that Kate can be with us for the next few months, and thank you for Holden. Let him know how much we love him. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Now that his cheese pieces circled the plate, Holden made another inner circle of carrot pieces, and a third circle of raisins. Not until that task was finished did he eat the first bite. Tracy didn’t have to watch to know what he would do next. He would eat his food in the exact order he’d laid it out on the plate. Not one bite out of order.

  Kate noticed the pattern right off. “I like your circles. I’ll eat my snack like that too.” She arranged her food in circles on her plate and ate them in order, the way Holden did. Halfway through, she giggled up at him. “You’re fun, Holden.”

  Again Tracy’s heart was pierced by the child’s innocent comment. Holden had no friends, no one who had ever told him he was fun. Not since he was three, anyway.

  Kate chattered on about recess and lunch and how she liked the taste of milk in a cardboard carton. When she grew tired of talking, Tracy turned to Holden. “You had music today, Holden. You love music.”

  No response.

  She remembered the new PECS cards. “And guess what? New cards, Holden! Music cards. I already printed them. I’ll laminate them this afternoon.” She hurried from the table to the counter and brought the package of printed cards to Holden. “Remember? Your music cards were too old, so I’m making you new ones.” She set the envelope in front of him and waited, silently praying that he might pick it up on his own, be interested enough in the contents to search what was inside.