Soul Unique

by Gun Brooke

  Hayden was standing ramrod straight over by the window, clutching a whole set of brushes. Her dark-gray eyes looked like wells in her chalk-white face. Next to her, with his arm around her, stood a young man, his face radiating fury. His physical resemblance to Hayden was uncanny.

  Leyla was facing Hayden and the young man, speaking furiously, and she hadn’t seen me yet. Behind her, seemingly holding her back, stood a tall, lanky man with a shock of gray hair and bushy, black eyebrows.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Leyla said. “You don’t know this woman, and you’ve no idea what her true motive is for keeping you under her roof.”

  “Then why don’t we ask her,” the young man said calmly, even as his ice-gray eyes shot daggers at Leyla. “I believe she’s arrived in the nick of time.” He looked at me with something I could only interpret as sorrow. “Welcome to the poshest dysfunctional family in Boston.”

  “Hayden,” I said, and crossed the floor in long strides. “Are you all right? What’s going on?” I cautiously wrapped my arm around her back and the young man let go of her shoulders, but he didn’t leave her other side. Hayden seemed rigid but turned out to be trembling, fine, invisible tremors that I easily detected as I pulled her closer.

  “Hayden doesn’t like to be touched by strangers,” the older man said, frowning. “I suggest you let go of her, for your own good.”

  “Greer isn’t a stranger.” Hayden spoke firmly, but the way she pressed against me proved how upset she was. I caressed her side under her jacket, out of sight of the others.

  “Of course I’m not. We’re good friends.” I raised a deliberate eyebrow at the man. “You have me at a disadvantage, as I’m sure Leyla has spoken of me. You are?”

  “Michael Rowe. Hayden’s father.”

  “I’m Oliver, her older brother.” The young man extended his hand. “Glad you could come over right away. Hayden’s been holding the fort against these two all day, but I was worried they were wearing her down.”

  I shook his hand, studying his face closely. He seemed to be on Hayden’s side, but I knew better than to pass judgment after only a brief encounter. “Nice to meet you. Call me Greer, please.”

  “Oliver!” Leyla gasped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t seen how Hayden idolizes this woman—”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mother, but isn’t this the same Greer Landon whose praises you’ve sung for the last year or so? The one you wanted to come and endorse your school so you could start raking in the big bucks? The way you spoke of Greer made her sound like the next Messiah, for heaven’s sake. Now she’s discovered Hayden’s talent, not to mention the fact Hayden’s living in a fucking gym hall, and she’s offering her a better living arrangement and a chance to sell some paintings.”

  “You’re so naïve, Oliver, that it’s ridiculous,” Leyla spat. “The mere fact that Hayden’s taken with this woman should send up warning flags to you, like it does to your father and me. Hayden doesn’t like people. Throughout the years, has she had a single normal friendship, not counting your grandmother?”

  “You know next to nothing of my life, Mother.” Hayden spoke quietly and squeezed her brushes hard enough to whiten her knuckles. “I’ve had friends, several, and you don’t know because I was certain you would wreck it for me. Nana suggested I keep that part of my life to myself.”

  “Trust the old bat to say something like that.” Leyla turned and hid her face against her husband’s chest. “You’ve got to do something, Michael. How are we ever going to have the slightest glimpse into Hayden’s life if she leaves here? I’m not happy your mother’s ill, you know that, but the one good thing that came from that was us getting Hayden back.”

  “God. Reality check, Leyla,” Oliver said, sounding disgusted enough to forgo calling her “Mother.” “You didn’t get Hayden back, as you put it. Hayden didn’t have anywhere else to stay. This was her last option, which is shameful, really.”

  Michael glowered at his son. “Did Hayden call you today? Is that why you deigned to visit for the first time in six months?”

  “Yes, she called to ask if I could help her move. Besides, I see Hayden every couple of weeks. Did you think I’d pass up actually being able to help her for once?” Oliver took a step closer to his parents, and I wondered if they were going to come to blows. “You just don’t get her. That’s the whole basis for this far-too-typical scene.” He turned to me. “I’m sorry you had to witness this altercation, but if Hayden’s going to stay with you, it’s good for you to know what her situation used to be like before she lived with Nana.”

  “I’ve figured some of it out, but I agree.” I turned to Leyla, who was sobbing against Michael now. “I’m missing something here. What could possibly be wrong for Hayden about our arrangement?” I half knew the answer: they didn’t want to lose the control they had over her, but there had to be more to it.

  “You’re going to fill her head with dreams, and we’ll be the ones picking up the pieces when everything falls apart.” Michael sounded genuinely sorrowful. “You’ve made her think she can be a true artist, able to sell paintings and make a living from it. When her condition throws a wrench in the wheels, she’ll come crashing down. Then you’ll wash your hands of her when there’s no more money to be made.” His voice sank to a growl. “I know your kind.”

  I was floored. I couldn’t care less what they thought of me. I’d met many protective parents over the years, worried I’d exploit their talented son or daughter for my own gain alone. So far, I’d been able to put all such worried minds to rest. No, what had me aching inside was how they regarded their daughter.

  “Her ‘condition’?” I know I sounded shocked, because I was. “Hayden’s not ill. She has Asperger’s, which is a syndrome, not a disease. We’ll find ways to make this work for her. I think her work, her art, will speak for itself. I’m not sure if either of you, at least Leyla, who claims to have an eye for art, has even bothered to look at any of her paintings.” I turned to Oliver. “Have you?”

  “Not lately.” He smiled apologetically. “I’m not artistic at all. I can’t draw a stickman to save my life. I do know Hayden can draw and paint, but I’m not able to judge if she’s good or great.”

  “But I am.” Whipping my head around to glare at Leyla, I continued in a low, menacing voice. “And you know I am. That’s why you wanted me here to begin with. Endorse the school, then teach master classes. My ultimatum just expanded. If you stand in Hayden’s way, I withdraw both.”

  Leyla held out her hands, looking pleadingly at me. “That’s just it. She doesn’t know what she wants. You fill her head with this and she thinks that’s what she wants. You say she can walk on the moon, and she’d buy a space suit tomorrow. For some reason she’s latched onto you and—”

  This had gone on far enough. When her mother started comparing Hayden to a brainless leech or something, I couldn’t be around her or her husband anymore. “Oliver,” I said, “Hayden’s prepared canvases, some boxes, and her suitcases. Can you help us carry them down to the cars?”

  “Sure thing.” He ushered us out of the room. The sound of Leyla’s wailing sobs echoed behind us. Was she truly upset or was this yet another method of manipulation?

  “It’s going to be fine, Hayden,” I said and kept my arm loosely around her. She wasn’t shaking as badly, but she felt cold. Still pale, she stopped just outside the door to the staircase leading up to the gym hall.

  “I can’t.” Hayden shook her head. “I can’t walk through the door anymore.”

  “Is this everything, sis?” Oliver poked his head out. “You managed to drag all this down the stairs all by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll start with the boxes. Those are the heaviest.” He hoisted a cardboard box and then put it down again. “Wait. We can’t run back and forth with all this. Let me get one of the carts from the cafeteria.”

  “Clever thinking.” Relieved not to have to drag this ou
t by running a gauntlet with Hayden’s things, I began moving the canvases through the door. Hayden took them from me and put them along the wall, careful not to cross the threshold.

  “You don’t believe anything your parents say, I hope,” I said casually. “They have a very old-fashioned view of what Asperger’s and autism is, from what I just heard.”

  “So Nana says.” Hayden sighed. “Do you believe I don’t know my own mind?”

  “No, I don’t believe that at all. Let me know if something doesn’t feel right, okay?” I wasn’t just talking about her art and the professional part of our relationship, but I didn’t want to bring such details up when we could be overheard.

  “Okay. I’m a terrible liar, Nana says.”

  “Excellent.” I, on the other hand was good at lying, but I vowed to be as truthful as possible to Hayden. She deserved nothing less.

  Glancing at the canvases leaning against the walls, I had a thought. “Do you still have the key to this door, Hayden?” I envisioned a wrath-filled, vindictive Leyla going up to Hayden’s old domain and either slashing or stealing art pieces, claiming them somehow. Until we could arrange for movers to pick them up for safe storage, we should lock the door. Perhaps that wasn’t enough, there could be a master key on Leyla’s keychain, but it was worth a shot.

  “You think we should lock up the rest of my work.” Hayden’s mind seemed to follow mine.

  “Yes. I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me before now, but I suppose I didn’t consider just how…adamant your mother is.”

  “All right.” Hayden locked the door and tucked the large key into her small backpack. “If there is another key to this door, nobody has used it as far as I know.”

  “Let’s hope not. I’ll arrange for movers tomorrow.”

  “Does that mean I have to be here?”

  “I think so, but you won’t have to do it alone. I’ll be here too, and perhaps Oliver as well. We’ll ask him.”

  Oliver returned with a large stainless-steel cart that could hold all the boxes for the first trip to my car and Hayden’s suitcases and the ten canvases during the second one. Relieved to be out of the imposing building, I tried to put the thought of having to return on Thursday out of my mind.

  “Do you have a car, Oliver?” I asked as Hayden got in behind the wheel of her car.

  “Yes, I’m parked over there.” He pointed at a red Audi. “Why don’t I follow you guys and help you get the boxes where they need to go? Then I’m off on a hot date, so you have to unpack yourselves.” He winked at me, and I wondered if this hot date of his was real or if he wanted Hayden to settle in as independently as possible. This young man impressed me more and more, and I already liked him.

  “I’m really grateful you were here today. Your mother clearly has some sort of hang-up.”

  He shrugged. “Mother saw the custody battle with Nana as the ultimate defeat, and I’ve heard her express her wish to get back what was hers many times. I don’t think she realizes Hayden’s her own person, an adult who’s clearly able to lead her own life. To Mother, Hayden’s still that problem child she felt the doctors blamed her for. She took Hayden to dozens of pediatricians, trying to find out what was wrong with her. Looking back, I think she was simply trying to find a doctor that would clearly state that this problem with Hayden wasn’t her fault. Back then, some docs still talked about autism and Asperger’s as having something to do with the mother rejecting the child.”

  “As hard for her as this must have been, it wasn’t Hayden’s fault.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Oliver smiled toward his sister, who was busy double-checking the rearview mirrors.

  “I have a question for you. Are you free sometime tomorrow afternoon? I just realized we need to store the rest of Hayden’s pieces, and I’m sending some people over here to pack them up. I’ll join her, but with the scene your parents caused today…”

  “I can be here after four p.m. No problem.” Oliver nodded solemnly and hurried over to his car.

  I turned to Hayden, who was ready behind her wheel. Making a circular motion with my finger, I then tapped the window. She looked blankly at me and frowned.

  “Roll down your window.” I grinned, suddenly so relieved and happy after all the turmoil.

  Hayden opened the door. “I can’t roll any windows down. There’s a button for this purpose.”

  “My mistake. Should I perhaps say ‘unbutton the window’?”

  Hayden’s mouth created a perfect circle and then, there it was, her smile, the real one. “More like ‘button down the window’ I think,” she said, and snorted.

  Floored. There was no other word for it. Hayden’s broad smile and the short laugh had me turning into a puddle. It was as if I was reaching her little by little, and I had no clue what I was doing or what might be working or not. Just that it did. And what it did to me was miraculous. The analogy of the puddle was accurate. Something inside me was melting, and I hadn’t known just how frozen it had been.

  Not until I met Hayden.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hayden stood in the center of the studio—I already thought of it as hers, which startled me still. I, who trusted very few people on a personal level, had taken in a young woman who I feared would be strenuous to live with. I chastised my inner demon, as I also knew if anyone caused problems it would probably be me. Hayden only wanted to paint and live where she felt safe and cared for. I could imagine what the impressive but impersonal and poorly equipped gym hall had done to her. She hadn’t been safe there, of that I was certain. Being locked up by a controlling mother was just one indicator that something much worse could’ve taken place. What if a stranger had snuck into the school during the day, hid out in a broom closet or wherever, and attacked her when everyone else had gone home? I bet that hadn’t even crossed Leyla’s mind.

  Now Hayden was placing her three easels meticulously. She kept moving them around, an inch farther to the left, turning them a few degrees. The setting sun wasn’t in the right place to really do this, but she was glowing, and I thought she needed to just wind down where she felt the safest.

  “Where do you want these?” I asked and put down the last of the canvases. “Over there?” I pointed toward the northern corner, which was the darkest part of the studio.

  “Yes.” Hayden moved the last easel half an inch. She snapped her head up and gave me her shy smile. “Please.”

  “Okay. That’s about it. Oliver put your suitcases in your room. He said he’d meet us tomorrow, but he had to rush to meet his date.”

  “Oliver always has a girlfriend. Very seldom the same one as the last time. Nana never remembers their names. I do.”

  “It was great of him to show up and be supportive of you and your decision to move.” I sat down on one of the stools my grandfather had bought for me when I used to paint.

  “Yes. He visits as often as he can, but he has his own life to live.”

  “I bet that’s what your nana says.” I had to smile at how clearly she was reciting someone older.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready to go down to the kitchen. I thought I’d cook something. Don’t expect me to be anything like those master chefs on TV, though.” I wasn’t too bad in the kitchen, but I rarely cooked for more than one person and felt out of practice.

  “Why would I think that? You haven’t demonstrated any culinary prowess this far.”

  “True.” Grinning, I stood. “Why don’t I go check out what’s available? You come down when you’re ready.”

  “Okay.” Sounding absentminded, Hayden was untying the protective cover around her canvases, placing two unfinished ones on the closest easels. On the third, she placed a blank canvas. With a reverent expression, she placed paintbrushes in jars next to each work area. I realized I hadn’t moved at all and pulled myself together. If I became this sidetracked just from watching her work, my workflow might stagnate.

  The fridge provided me with salmon,
vegetables, lettuce, and tomatoes. I started my rice cooker and measured water and brown rice. This was easy enough. I had an indoor grill next to the gas burners, which heated up in no time. I put my wok on the stove, where I intended to stir-fry my vegetables.

  “I can help.” Hayden made me jump where she just emerged to my left. “I don’t like cooking, but I’m good at cutting.”

  “Excellent. Here. Thin slices.”

  “How thin? Exactly?” She was frowning at the cutting board, knife, and bowl of freshly rinsed vegetables.

  “Oh, I’m not sure. An eighth of an inch or so.”

  “Okay.” The wrinkle between her eyebrows was still in place, this time from focusing, Hayden placed the carrots in a row to her left, sorted by size, shortest to longest. The onions followed, placed the same way. She pulled the stems off the mushrooms, carefully inspecting each one. It took her but half a minute to sort even those in the same manner.

  I had turned down the heat of the wok, thinking it would take her quite a while to slice everything. I had a mandolin, but no way would I let her use it until I knew she was familiar with the super-sharp tool. It’d be disastrous if anything happened to those gifted hands and fingers.

  A fast drumming sound broke me out of my reverie and I stared in disbelief at Hayden, who was slicing the vegetables like a pro. She’d clearly taken notice when the chefs on TV demonstrated the correct way to use a knife. She went through the carrots and onions, put them in a bowl, and pushed it toward me. “You’re starting with these, right?”

  “Um. Yes.” I cranked up the heat and tossed in the slices. After brushing oil on the pieces of salmon, I put them on the grill. This would go quickly. I looked at the cooker, hoping the rice wouldn’t take too long to get ready. As it turned out, it seemed we were going to time it perfectly. I found myself humming, which didn’t seem to bother Hayden in the least. She was slicing the last and smallest mushroom and gave me that bowl as well.