“You should do something to control that kid,” a man said to Doug as they walked out of the water.
Doug turned to confront the man and started to walk toward him. Fortunately, Ray was close enough to intervene and stepped in front of him. He could tell that Doug was both embarrassed and angry.
“Just let it go,” Ray said. “He’s just being an ass.”
He steered Doug back towards their towels and lawn chairs. They started gathering up their stuff to head home. On the way, they picked up pizza. Everyone loved it, especially Tyler.
It was shortly after supper that Tyler started to get agitated again. No one could figure out what the problem was. He’d been fed. It wasn’t that late and he didn’t seem over-tired, but something was obviously bothering him. Finally, it escalated into another screaming fit.
“I can’t deal with this,” Doug said to Amanda. “I’m sorry, but I’ve just got to get out of here.”
He grabbed the car keys and bolted for the door.
“You can’t just leave every time things get rough,” Candice yelled at him.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Amanda said. “Let him go.”
“But he shouldn’t just dump everything on you all the time,” Candice protested.
“Mom, I can’t deal with you right now. I have to take care of Tyler.”
Candice didn’t want to let it go, but Ray pulled her back. “Not now,” he whispered to her.
It took them over an hour to figure out what was bothering Tyler. It was actually Elizabeth who solved it.
“He keeps pulling at his right ear,” she said.
They took him to a walk-in clinic and sure enough, his ear had become plugged. The doctor drained his ear and gave them a prescription for some antibiotics.
* * *
The following morning Ray was fully reclined in his La-Z-Boy chair, trying not to fall asleep. Tyler had woken up early and Ray had volunteered to keep an eye on him while Candice and Amanda slept.
Elizabeth was also awake and was sitting on the couch listening to music through the earbuds connected to her iPad. Tyler sat beside her, watching her every move. It was obvious he adored his sister.
“Is it okay if I get something to eat?” Elizabeth asked her grandfather.
“Sure,” Ray said. “There’s cereal in the cupboard to the right of the fridge.”
Since Elizabeth was ten, Ray felt comfortable that she could handle everything herself. She put her iPad on the coffee table before heading into the kitchen.
After she left, Ray watched as Tyler picked it up. He placed one of the earbuds in his ear, the one that wasn’t hurting, and then started scrolling through the list of songs on the device.
Tyler would listen to the start of a song and then pause it if he didn’t like it, before choosing a different song. When he found a song he liked, he would listen to it two or three times before choosing the next one. This kid is amazing. He seemed to have no trouble at all figuring out where to push or swipe on the device. And this was a kid that couldn’t even talk yet.
It reminded Ray of a feature he had seen on “60 Minutes” a while back, about how some autistic people were now using technology to help them with everyday tasks. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and wondered whether he still had the number for the lady from Social Services in his list of contacts. There it was. It was still only eight-thirty in the morning, but he decided to call anyway. She answered on the second ring.
“Ray, it’s been a while. I thought you retired.”
Ray knew Sarah from his days as a cop. She had always come through for him if he needed help with an abandoned or abused child.
“I did,” Ray said. “This isn’t police business. It’s personal.”
This caught Sarah by surprise. “Personal? What’s up?”
“Remember that autistic kid that we pulled out of a home a few years ago?”
“Yeah, Danny Carson. I hear he’s doing quite well these days. What about him?”
“It’s not really about him, but I remember he couldn’t talk and you brought in some device to the station to help us communicate with him. Do you still have that thing?”
“I’m sure we do, but there’s better technology available these days. That thing is pretty old now.”
“Do you think I could borrow it?” Ray asked.
“I suppose,” Sarah said, “but I’m not sure you’d be able to figure out how to use it. It’s pretty complicated. Who’s it for?”
“My grandson. He’s autistic – can’t talk – but I’m starting to think something like that might be able to help him.”
“How old is he?”
“Seven. Is that too young?”
“No, that’s just about right,” Sarah said. “Give me a sec,” she said as she put him on hold. It was almost a minute later when she came back on the line. “Tell you what, how about I come by your place tomorrow at lunch. I’ll bring the device with me – actually, a newer version – and we’ll see if your grandson is a suitable candidate. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” Ray said. “See you then.”
As he hung up the phone, he heard the squeak of the back door.
“Hi, Dad,” Elizabeth said.
Ray couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation as they whispered to each other. After a minute or two, Doug slowly entered the living room.
“You must hate me,” Doug said.
“Not really,” Ray said. “Hate is a pretty strong word. I can tell you’re frustrated.”
As a former cop, Ray had been in a lot of living rooms dealing with domestic situations. He knew the key was to remain calm.
Doug sat on the end of the couch and looked at Tyler, who seemed completely unaware that he was even there.
“When he throws one of his fits and I can’t get him to stop – sometimes, sometimes, I feel like hitting him,” Doug confessed. He looked at Ray. “That’s why I run. I just can’t handle it, so I run. You must think I’m a terrible father. I know I do.”
“You’re in a very difficult situation. That’s why I think you need some help. I called a friend of mine from social services.”
Doug shot up from the couch. “You called social services? Look, I’ve never hit him, not once. I swear. You had no right to do that!”
Just then, Amanda came down the stairs. “What’s going on?”
“Your father called social services,” Doug said. He was now pacing back and forth.
Amanda looked at her father. “Dad?”
Ray got out of his chair and went over to hug his daughter. “Both of you calm down. It’s not what you think.”
He led her over to sit on the couch and waved for Doug to sit down beside her. Tyler seemed oblivious to the whole situation, but Elizabeth had heard the commotion and come in from the kitchen.
“It’s okay,” Amanda said. “You go back in the kitchen.”
Elizabeth looked at each of them before returning to the kitchen. Ray was sure she’d be listening to everything that was said, even from the other room.
“It’s a friend of mine,” Ray started to explain. “She’s got some kind of a gizmo they use to help communicate with autistic kids. I’ve seen her use it and it seems to work.”
Doug and Amanda looked at each other, each trying to overcome their skepticism.
“Doug, I know you’re frustrated that you can’t communicate with him,” Ray continued. “Think how frustrating it is for Tyler. And look, he already seems to know how to use some of this tech stuff.”
Doug looked over at Tyler and saw him playing with the iPad. “That’s Elizabeth’s. He’s not supposed to touch it. He’ll break it.”
He started to move to take it away from Tyler, but Amanda grabbed his arm to stop him.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Elizabeth said. She had been watching everything by peering around the corner from the kitchen. “I let him play with it all the time.”
“Look,” Ray said. “You don’t have to do this all on your ow
n. There are people out there who can help you. All you have to do is ask.”
* * *
The next day, Sarah Caldwell arrived as expected and spent a few minutes talking to everyone in the living room. “This doesn’t work for everyone,” she warned, “so I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but we’ve had a few real successes with it.” She pulled an iPad from her briefcase, one that was only a little bit bigger than the one Elizabeth had.
“That’s not the same device you had before,” Ray said.
“That thing was too big, too expensive and almost two years old,” Sarah said. “In the tech world, two years is a lifetime.”
“I’d like everyone to stay out here while I work with Tyler,” Sarah said to the group. She held out her hand to Tyler. “Tyler, why don’t you come with me into the kitchen?”
Tyler held his arms tight to his body.
“It’s okay,” Elizabeth said. She took Tyler’s hand and led him into the kitchen.
“Maybe you could join us,” Sarah said to Elizabeth, “until he feels more comfortable.”
While Sarah, Tyler and Elizabeth worked in the kitchen, the rest of the family waited in the living room. Every few minutes, one of them would begin pacing and attempt to eavesdrop on the proceedings in the kitchen, but they couldn’t get an inkling one way or another on how they were doing. After well over an hour, Sarah came into the living room.
“We’d like you to join us,” she said.
After everyone had gathered around, Sarah nodded to Elizabeth who helped Tyler get started with the demonstration. She moved his hand over the screen of the iPad and Tyler pushed one of the squares.
“My – name – is,” the iPad announced in a digitized voice.
Tyler pushed on another square which opened up a new screen showing pictures of each of them. Elizabeth had helped upload some of their pictures onto the device. Tyler looked at all of the pictures until he found his own. When he pressed on it with his finger, “Tyler” was heard over the speaker.
Next, Tyler swiped the iPad and clicked on a different square. “I – am,” the device said. Tyler opened another folder and pressed hard on the screen. It didn’t work, so he pressed again and again. He started to get agitated.
“Gentle,” Elizabeth said as she placed Tyler’s finger on the square.
“Hungry,” the speaker announced.
Tyler swiped again. “I – want – some,” the speaker said. He quickly opened another folder which showed pictures of different types of foods. He scrolled until he found the picture of what he wanted.
“Grapes,” the speaker said when he clicked on the picture.
He clapped his hands excitedly and was grinning from ear to ear. He looked up to see everyone watching in amazement.
“Oh my God,” Amanda said as tears streamed down her face. “He can talk.”
* * *
Later that night, Ray slowly headed up the stairs to bed. It had been a long day. When he opened the bedroom door, his wife’s bedside lamp was still on.
“I’m glad you told Doug what he needed to do,” Candice said.
“I didn’t,” Ray said. “I have no idea what he needs to do, but I could tell that he was overwhelmed. All I told him was not to be afraid to ask for help. It’s going to take a whole team of people to help them raise Tyler.”
Candice reached over and stroked Ray’s back. “I’m sure you helped them a lot today.”
“I hope so.”
Chapter 11: Changing Teams
Jeff Stryker sat in the boardroom of his law office surrounded by boxes and boxes of files. He normally worked in his own office which was quite large and well appointed, but he’d commandeered the boardroom when the civil litigation case he and his partner had taken on had grown ten-fold.
His partner, Tom Borden, came in and pulled up a chair. “We need to talk,” he said.
Stryker didn’t even look up. “About what? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I won’t have any time for at least ten months.”
“That’s what I want to talk about.”
Stryker pulled another file from the box. “What do you mean?”
“We’re in over our heads,” Tom said. “We need help.”
Stryker still didn’t look up. “We’ll be fine. We’ll just hire a few junior associates to help out.”
“I’ve received an offer from Higgins.”
This time Stryker looked up. “What kind of an offer?”
“They want both of us to come work for them.”
Higgins, Miller & Tremblay was a huge law firm with about four hundred lawyers distributed over eight offices across the country.
“But we said we’d never sell out to one of the big firms,” Stryker said. “There’s always been just the two of us, taking cases and going up against the big insurance companies. We’re good at it.”
“I know,” Tom said, “but this case is getting too big. It’ll put us in our graves.”
The file had started small, representing two patients who had developed severe complications from a new drug. Stryker had done a lot of research on it, all on a contingency basis, and discovered several other patients with the same complications. The two original claims had now grown to eighteen.
“But what about our work, our clients?” Stryker asked.
“Higgins says they’ve got over thirty similar cases and they’re adding more every day. It may go class-action.”
Stryker put his elbows on the table and rubbed his forehead as he thought.
“Higgins knows that you know more about this case than any of their lawyers,” Tom continued. “They want both of us to join their firm. You’d be made senior partner in charge of all of these files and they have the resources to put as many more lawyers and paralegals on it as you think you need.”
“We’d have to make sure our clients don’t get lost in the shuffle,” Stryker said. “We owe it to them.”
“I agree. And with you in charge, you’d be in a position to guarantee that they’re still taken care of.”
Stryker continued to rub his forehead. “What are they offering?”
“Full partnership for both of us and they’re willing to pay a premium for our client list. We can bring all of our staff. They have better health and insurance benefits than we do.” Tom decided to play one last card to sweeten the pot. “Partners automatically get full golfing privileges at any of the GolfCorp clubs across the country, including Blackhawk Ridge right here in town.”
Stryker continued to struggle with the decision. “I thought it would always be just the two of us in our own little firm taking on the world. I never thought we’d sell out to a big law firm.”
* * *
Stryker stood outside the glass walls of the main boardroom at Higgins, Miller & Tremblay looking in at the team of four associates and three paralegals that had been assigned to the class-action lawsuit. His team. The team of people he’d been tasked to lead when he and his partner, Tom Borden, had agreed to merge their two-man practice into the HMT mega-firm. Merge was the polite word they had used in the press release; swallowed would be the more accurate term.
He had no idea what he was going to say to them. He was a shark, someone who was used to hunting and killing on his own, not leading and motivating a team toward a common goal. Although he and Tom had been partners in their old firm, they had followed an “eat what you kill” approach that had always worked well for both of them.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look nervous before,” Tom said as he came up and stood beside him.
“This may have been a mistake,” Stryker confessed. “I can’t lead this team. I don’t even know half their names. They’re going to think I’m a bit of prick.”
“You are a bit of a prick,” Tom said. “That’s why you’re a good litigator. Just focus on the law and tell them what you need them to do to win the case. That’s what they brought us in for.”
Stryker gave him a sideways glance. “You really think I’m a pric
k?”
“Absolutely,” Tom said. “Now get your ass in there and take charge.”
Stryker watched as Tom walked away. Then he took a deep breath and walked into the boardroom, dropped the dozen files he had tucked under his arm on the table, and took a quick look at the faces surrounding it.
“You, Tall-Guy, I need you to contact the people in these two files and get statements from them before the end of tomorrow.” He slid the file folders across the table at him.
“You, in the yellow dress, I need you to do the same on these three files.”
“Vanessa, I’m Vanessa Armstrong, second year associate,” the girl in the yellow dress said.
Stryker didn’t acknowledge her, but looked at the remaining two associates. “You two can divvy up the rest of these files whichever way you like, but I need statements by the end of next week. There’s some travel involved.”
Then he looked at the three paralegals who were now cowering at the end of the table. “And if you three want to follow me, I’ve got several boxes of files in my office. I’ll need you to organize all of the information in them into a database of some sort so I can pull it up whenever I need it.”
Stryker did a quick scan of the faces in front of him. “Any questions?”
No one said a word.
* * *
Max Wakelam was just about to leave the pro shop when his phone rang. Since the golf course was now closed for the winter and the assistant pro was off at a trade show in Phoenix, Max was the only one there.
“Riverview Golf Course, Max Wakelam speaking.”
“Hi Max. Jeff Stryker. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be there.”
“Hi Jeff. I was just getting ready to lock up for the day. What can I help you with?”
Stryker took a deep breath. “I thought I should let you know I won’t be coming back to Riverview next year.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Max said. “Moving somewhere?”
“No. I thought you might have already heard that I’ve moved my practice over to Higgins, Miller & Tremblay.”
The Back Nine: A Novel About Life After Fifty Page 6
