Half a minute passed. Holden looked at him again and began to sing—something about both of them being afraid and unprepared.
A song? That’s how Holden was going to talk to him now? Dan felt a surge of kindness toward his son. What came so easily for other people was deeply painful for those on the autistic spectrum. Music was easier for Holden, so sometimes he sang. Wasn’t that what Tracy had told him. “The words always mean something,” she’d said. So what were the words again? They were lines from his Beauty and the Beast music.
But what was Holden really saying? That this communication between them was new and more than a little frightening? Was that it? Dan remembered to breathe. He wouldn’t say or do anything that would make Holden retreat. But it took everything in him to sit still. He wanted to take hold of the boy, hug him, and hold onto him so he couldn’t disappear again. Instead, he waited.
More time, one minute, then two. Finally Holden looked at him again. “Dad?”
“Yes, Holden.”
“So … Dad … how was the fishing?”
Joy exploded in his heart. His son was talking to him! Not just spouting lyrics or disconnected phrases. He was talking. He understood that Dan had been gone at sea, and he wanted to know how the fishing was. Dan hurried with his answer. “The fishing was good. They paid me for it, Holden. It was my job.”
Holden rocked a little. “Tale as old as time …” Then he brought his hands to his chin and flapped his elbows—but only a few times before he seemed to catch himself. “I can pray like this.” He folded his hands on his lap and looked down. “I can pray like this, Dad.”
“Yes, you can pray however you want, Holden.”
“Like this.”
“Okay.”
Holden stayed that way, maybe praying about the same thing Dan was praying about. That this precious, fledgling conversation would be a beginning. The digital clock on the car’s dashboard ticked off another two minutes before Holden lifted his face. He didn’t look at Dan this time. “We watched movies without you. In the living room, we watched movies.” He glanced at Dan for a brief instant. “Without you.”
When he put the pieces together, Dan couldn’t deny the point Holden was making. His son knew who he was and where he had been, and that maybe he should’ve been at home. The puzzle was clearer than it had ever been.
Holden needed him.
Dan felt sick at the realization, like he was freefalling off the deck of a twenty-story ship. Finally he said the only thing he could say. “Not any more, Holden. I’m watching movies with you now.” It was true. Dan was trying to free up Tracy’s schedule, trying to make up for the times he’d missed. Holden’s afternoon routine belonged to him or to both of them, but Dan hadn’t missed a day. He’d been hired by the school district, but he never worked past three o’clock. So he was available for Holden. Available to watch movies.
Holden nodded. Or maybe he was rocking again. “But every time … The drums came every time and you were gone.”
Dan racked his brain. Tracy hadn’t ever mentioned this. “The drums?”
“Yes and push-ups.”
This he knew—that Holden did push-ups when he was upset. “You … you did a lot of push-ups, Holden.”
He rocked a few times and looked out the window. Fifteen seconds, thirty … a minute while Dan waited.
“Push-ups.” Holden looked right at him. “Because ‘That’s right, Holden, just like that. That’s a push-up, except when you’re older you’ll keep your back straight.’ “He caught a quick breath.” ‘If you do that at three years old, you can do anything. Absolutely anything, Holden. Push-ups will make you big and strong like me. Thatta’ boy. Keep doing that and no one will mess with you ever.’”
Dan was too shocked, too dazed to speak. He couldn’t be completely sure, but he had a feeling his son had just repeated the very words he himself had spoken when Holden was three. He’d taken Holden to the gym and he’d done a series of push-ups only to stand up and find Holden trying to copy him. His little backside high in the air, Holden spent a minute trying his very hardest to imitate what he’d seen Dan do.
And now …
The realization was still hitting him. Was Holden saying that … that … “So … when I wasn’t there … and when you were in trouble … you did push-ups,” he felt lightheaded. “Because of me?”
“Push-ups.” Holden nodded slowly. “Because you were fishing.”
All this time? Dan couldn’t see for the tears in his eyes. All this time there had been meaning in Holden’s push-ups. Because they made him feel closer to his father. The father who was fishing. “Holden … I’m sorry.” He could barely get the words out, but he had to say this. No matter how difficult. “I didn’t know you missed me.”
Holden looked like he might say something. But instead he looked at Dan again and smiled. A smile Dan recognized, because it was the smile of the three-year-old boy he’d lost so many years ago. Holden hummed for a few seconds and then sang softly, a line about giving in to friendship even against the odds. Even here in the car, his voice was clear and powerful. No question the boy could sing.
Dan thought about the meaning in the lyrics and he smiled. “That’s right, son. Unexpected and wonderful.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Holden?”
“You can drive now, Dad.”
Dan hesitated, then he chuckled out loud. “You got it, buddy. Let’s get back home to Mom.” “And the movie.”
“Right.” Dan pulled the car back into traffic. “And the movie. We can’t forget about that.”
THERE WAS A PHOTOGRAPH TRACY KEPT, ONE SHE DIDN’T SHARE with anyone—not even Dan. In the picture, Holden was just three, a few weeks before the trip to the doctor, a few weeks before a whole slate of immunizations and the changes that eventually led to his diagnosis.
But in the photo, Holden was holding a dandelion out in front of him, his eyes bright and alert, his smile full of love and unabashed charm. The flower had been for her. Holden had picked it during an outing to the park, and he had run up to her, calling out, “Mommy! Mommy, look what I found for you!” Tracy pulled her camera from her bag and held up her hand.
“Wait there, buddy. Mommy wants to get your picture.”
And Holden had flashed the cheekiest grin ever. He’ll break a hundred hearts before he finds her, Tracy thought to herself.
By the time she had the film developed, Holden was a different child. He would line up his cars and his toys and his building blocks. One after another. And when she’d talk to him, he wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t respond. Watching her son slip away before her eyes was enough to make Tracy doubt whether Holden had ever been very communicative.
She would walk up to him and touch his shoulder, only to have him jerk away—almost as if the feel of her fingers on his arm caused him physical pain. It was the same when she and Dan tried to pick him up and take him to bed. He would kick and fight, screaming as loud as he could. From the beginning, music provided the only respite, the only calm in a constant storm.
Sometime in that first month of a nightmare that was only now beginning to end, Tracy drove to Walgreens and picked up her pictures from summer. She sat in her car and looked through them and when she got to the one with Holden and the dandelion—for the first time since he began slipping away from them, Tracy broke down and wept.
The little boy in the picture was as gone from their lives as if someone had swept into their house at night and kidnapped him. In their situation, the loss was accompanied by a child who looked like Holden and smelled like Holden and lived in Holden’s room. But after that summer he was gone. And the one bit of private proof that he had ever existed was the picture. Holden and the dandelion.
Tracy kept the photo in an envelope in her top drawer, tucked beneath a stack of summer shorts and tank tops. She didn’t look at it often, only when she missed Holden so much she wasn’t sure she could breathe without taking a few minutes alone with him. The boy he used t
o be.
This was dress-rehearsal week for Beauty and the Beast. Opening night was the second Friday in March —just a week away. Dan was off to pick up Holden, which left Tracy alone for an hour. Lately she’d been meeting with Suzanne, having coffee, and in the past few weeks even reading the Bible with her. They still hadn’t found the same closeness they’d shared before, but their new friendship was headed that way. Suzanne was meeting with Randy today—to talk about their marriage. Tracy had been praying for her all day.
Whenever she wasn’t thinking about Holden. His conversation was still quirky and stilted, not nearly what they wanted. But now that he was making strides to connect with them, there were days when Tracy wondered what would become of her son.
A year ago she figured he’d live with her forever, unable to work or care for himself. But now … now he was showing more signs of independence. Brushing his teeth and flossing, cleaning up after himself. He’d even made his own peanut butter sandwich this morning. Did that mean he’d want to go to college and get a job? Live on his own? And what about his friendship with Ella? Once—a lifetime ago—Tracy and Suzanne had lightheartedly joked about Holden and Ella going to the prom. Ella didn’t see him that way, and Tracy was pretty sure Holden saw Ella the way he’d seen her when he was three years old. She was his best friend, nothing more. Further proof that even as he was coming out of his severely autistic behaviors, he was still not the same as other kids his age. Not the same little boy they’d lost.
That afternoon, for the first time since Christmas, Tracy couldn’t go another day, another hour without seeing the picture. Kate was watching a SpongeBob video, sleepy after a day of school. Tracy crept back to her bedroom, opened her top drawer, and found the envelope tucked between the clothes and the rough wood bottom. The envelope was yellowed now, the flap ripped some at the edges. She opened it and slid the photo out. It was faded a little, but Holden’s smile still shone through the frozen images, his eyes still danced with life the way they’d done back then.
What had happened? Was it the immunizations, the way some people believed? Or something in the food they fed him? She’d heard specialists tell parents not to panic about getting kids their shots. The inoculations protected kids against deadly diseases, after all. But maybe not so many at one time. That was the new thinking. The schedule of shots had changed in 1989, … become more aggressive. Maybe too aggressive for some kids —kids like Holden. It was hard to know.
Tracy let the thought fade. It no longer mattered the reason, the culprit behind the kidnapping of Holden’s personality. It had happened. The photograph was proof. Tracy held it a little closer. “I miss you so much, Holden …” she whispered, and as she did she heard the sound of footsteps behind her.
“Aunt Tracy?” Kate was standing there, her blue eyes so much like Holden’s, so alert and full of life the way Holden’s had been.
“Hi, sweetie.” She lowered the picture. “Is your movie done?”
“It’s boring.” She flashed an irresistible grin. “I wanna dance instead.” She peered around Tracy at the photograph. “Holden used to dance, right? In the movie he dances all the time.”
“That’s right.” Tracy wasn’t sure whether she should put the picture away or wait for Kate to finish talking to her. She hadn’t shared the photo with anyone, and it felt strange to do so now. Like an invasion in the only private world she still shared with her son.
“What’s the picture?” She came closer and hovered her little tan face over the photo. “Is it Holden?” She looked up at Tracy. “It looks like Holden from the movies.”
Tracy hesitated, but only for a moment. She was being ridiculous. What could it matter if she shared the picture with Holden’s little cousin? “Yes, Kate. It’s Holden—back when he was three.”
“Can I see?” She stood on her tiptoes.
“Here.” Tracy brought the photo closer. “He was giving me a dandelion.”
“Oooh.” Kate grinned. “I like dandelions. They’re yellow.” “They are.”
Kate studied the photograph. “Yep,” she nodded. “That looks like Holden. His eyes are the same.”
Tracy wanted to disagree. She looked at the picture of her son and back at Kate. “You think so?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. “If you look really hard at Holden his eyes are the same. And he still likes to dance.”
“He does?” Kate had only been with them for a few months. But her sweet spirit and guileless concern for Holden already made her an expert. She was good for Holden, for sure. Tracy had a feeling the two talked more often than anyone knew. “How do you know, sweetie? That he still likes to dance?”
Kate giggled. “He told me. He dances with Ella when he’s the Prince.”
“Oh.” Tracy should’ve guessed that. “Did he tell you?”
“A’course. He tells me everything.” Kate was finished with the photograph. “Come on, Aunt Tracy.” She took hold of her hand. “Let’s go dance! I have energy bursting through my feet!”
Tracy laughed. Kate wasn’t only good for Holden … she was good for all of them. Joy brimmed from her heart and soul and filled their home with love and laughter. Between Kate and Ella, and Dan and her, God had Holden covered. That was for sure.
She slipped the picture back in the envelope and hid it once again at the bottom of the drawer. There were other photographs, and of course the home movie. Lots of ways to remember the boy Holden had been. But this single picture, hidden here in her room, would always be special. With the picture in her hand, she could smell the humidity in the air that summer day, see the shimmer of sweat on his little-boy forehead, hear the excitement in his voice. She could smell the faint scent of his baby shampoo and the hint of Tide in his shorts and T-shirts. And for just a few minutes she was there again, in the place where she’d lost Holden.
The photo was important because it brought her comfort, and it gave her a reason to believe. Holden was in there somewhere. They’d seen glimpses of that lately, and Kate … well, Kate had seen more than glimpses. Tracy sighed as she left the room, following a skipping Kate down the hallway. Yes, the picture would stay where it was. Tracy couldn’t post “Missing” signs around the community, asking if anyone had seen the Holden she’d lost. But she could have the picture of Holden and the dandelion. A constant reminder to never stop praying for his complete return.
Or that she might see his eyes the way Kate saw them.
Thirty
ALL THE HOURS WALKING THROUGH SCENES AND PRACTICING with the school band, all the afternoons painting sets and watching the show come to life and finally … finally it had come to this. Ella finished applying the last touches to her makeup. In half an hour they would take the stage for opening night.
They’d do the show three times this weekend —less than half the number of performances the Fulton High drama department had once done. Mr. Hawkins had gone over the numbers with a few of his leads, encouraging them to invite their friends, hand out flyers, and hang posters throughout the school.
“We need to sell out opening night.” He didn’t sound hopeful. “It’s a great show. One of our best. If they come opening night, they’ll come back and they’ll tell their friends.” He explained the situation, but what he didn’t say was how much this show mattered to him. Not so much that they made money for the school, but that the student body might see his swan song. That they would share in the miracle he’d watch unfold through the months. And that they would remember this … his final effort as drama teacher at Fulton High.
“If it doesn’t happen … if they don’t come …” His eyes glistened. “Don’t take it personally. Not everyone appreciates theater.” He looked around the room at each of them one at a time. “But that doesn’t make it less profound.” He nodded slowly. “And what you’ve done these past months as a team has been profound.”
He was talking about Holden, Ella was pretty sure. Everyone had come to see Holden as the centerpiece of the musical. He was clearly a different g
uy than he had been at the beginning of the school year. He still didn’t talk to the other kids, but he made up for it with her. All week he’d been looking forward to opening night.
“Seven p.m. Friday night, right, Ella?” “Right, Holden. Seven p.m.” “I’m the Prince.”
Ella laughed. She had come to care deeply for Holden, and more often lately she wondered whether he would keep improving, keep finding his way back to normal. Sometimes when he was watching her, when his forever blue eyes seemed to reflect his belief that all people were kind, and no one had ever been mean to him or bullied him, when he looked so intently at her that she wondered if he could read her thoughts, Ella would almost feel herself falling for him. This handsome friend she’d known since her baby days.
But unless he kept coming back … he would never see her as more than he’d seen her when they were three years old. A relationship at this point was out of the question. Ridiculous, even.
She slipped into her first costume—the blue dress—and took a last look at herself in the full-length mirror. Six months ago she could’ve played the part, but her acting would’ve been shallow, her portrayal of Belle only skin deep. Now, though, she felt passionate about the character. A girl willing to see the beauty in someone everyone else had pushed aside, a young woman helping in the transformation of a guy with a heart of gold.
Yes, Ella could relate to the character of Belle. She would play it with everything she had, and she would know at least this much: if Beauty and the Beast were the last show to grace the stage of Fulton High, people would remember it.
She hurried from the dressing room to the classroom just off the stage. The place was bustling with activity. The kid playing the Candlestick was having trouble with his flame and someone was tacking the hands of the clock onto Cogsworth. A group of moms had volunteered to do costumes, and now one of them had a needle and thread in her hand. “Velcro isn’t working. It’s time to sew these hands on.”
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