On Blue Falls Pond

by Susan Crandall

  She put the quilt aside, still unsure about delivering it. Then she went inside and pulled out the notes she’d taken from the magazine article on service dogs. She called two of the organizations referenced in the article, requesting information. There were endless things to be considered—funding and her own training not the least of them. But it was a beginning.

  After that, while she and Granny had sweet tea on the porch, Glory explained the skeleton of a plan she had thus far.

  “You ain’t thinkin’ I need one of them dogs, are you?” Granny asked.

  Glory decided to be honest. “Not like a Seeing Eye dog, but if you decide to throw me out, it might be nice to have a dog around here. They can be trained to call 911, you know.”

  “In case I stub my toe and crack my head open?” Granny said, her dander obviously rising.

  “Yeah, Gran, in case of that.”

  Glory put enough challenge in her tone that Granny’s expression shifted. A slight smile came to her lips.

  “Reckon lots of folks could use a dog that can dial 911.”

  “And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Glory said.

  “Seems to me,” Granny said, “we could start with them pups we got right under our own roof.”

  Glory could see the wheels of enthusiasm beginning to turn, the brightness come alive in Granny’s eyes. At her core, Granny was a giver. And training the dogs would allow her to give to others in a new way.

  A good portion of the “observation” done by the Duke team evaluating Scott had to be done without Eric and Jill in the room. During those times, Eric had felt like he’d crawl out of his skin. But that was nothing compared to the way he felt as they waited to go in and hear the results of those observations from Dr. Brandenburg.

  He held Scott tightly on his lap. Jill had reached over and clasped his hand. Over the past hours, even her determined optimism had begun to slip.

  There was one other couple with a child in the waiting room. Even so, it was silent enough that Eric could hear everyone breathing.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.” The secretary called them in.

  Eric wasn’t sure his knees would hold out when he stood up. But they did. Jill’s didn’t. She faltered, then sat back down.

  He shifted Scott to his left hip, then extended his hand toward her. “Come on. We’ll get through this.” God, he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

  Slowly she put her hand in his, that same trust brimming in her eyes that haunted Eric from accident victims; as if he had the power to save. Right now, he felt like he could use the saving.

  Suddenly, he wanted Glory—needed her to stand beside him, to hold his hand while he faced the news that would shape his son’s future.

  They were seated in front of the doctor’s broad desk. It was clean and organized, evoking confidence that the man knew what he was about.

  Dr. Brandenburg folded his hands on top of a thick folder, filled, Eric supposed, with all of those observations. “I think our team has enough evidence to say that without a doubt, your son is suffering from several of the symptoms of autism.”

  Eric felt as if he’d stepped into a snare that whipped him off his feet and had him suddenly dangling upside down thirty feet above the ground.

  Why couldn’t the man beat around the bush a little bit? Ease them in.

  Jill made a squeaking noise.

  When Eric glanced at her, she was pale. Her lips were moving, but nothing but that thin squeak came out. She had been in denial for so long, he supposed this had to be more of a shock to her than it was to him—and he felt as if he’d been gutted.

  Dr. Brandenburg got up and retrieved a glass of water, giving it to Jill and telling her to take a sip.

  Each breath Eric took while that happened brought him layer upon layer of steely calm. Now they could do something.

  The doctor sat back behind his desk—an objective distance from the emotional upheaval his words had just caused. “This is not the end. It’s the beginning for Scott. It might be a long road, but we can help.”

  Eric asked, “What’s our first step? Where do we start?”

  Jill led Scott to the front door, while Eric followed along with the suitcase. She’d convinced him to spend last night in North Carolina when he’d wanted to drive back immediately after their appointment with Dr. Brandenburg.

  Eric set down the suitcases, kissed Scott’s head, and moved back toward the door.

  “You’re not just leaving, are you?” Jill asked.

  He stopped and turned around. “What were you expecting?”

  “You can’t just leave me with him! He has autism.” That panic she’d first felt in Dr. Brandenburg’s office was back in full roil.

  Eric rubbed his forehead. He looked tired, but Jesus, she was tired too!

  He took her by the arm and led her to the couch. Scott sat on the floor with his pirate boat. Suddenly, what she’d viewed as play now seemed ominous, dangerous even. That ceaseless spinning had condemned her child.

  “Jill, Scott isn’t any different than he was two days ago when we left here. We’re going to get a good night’s rest, then we’ll make the arrangements the doctor suggested for therapies.”

  “But”—she glanced at her baby—“what if—”

  “There’s nothing different about tonight. Just do what you normally do. We’ll worry about changes and modifications tomorrow.”

  She could hardly whisper, “What if they don’t help?”

  “We have to believe they will. If one fails, we’ll find another. Remember the doctor said it might be trial and error until we hit on the right combination.”

  She shot to her feet. “That’s easy for him to say! It’s not his little boy.”

  “Do you want me to take him?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to take Scott with me?”

  Anger bubbled in her chest. “No. I want you to stay here and behave like his father! We have to do this together.”

  When Eric stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, she wanted to lean into him, make him wrap his arms around her so she could feel safe. But he held her firmly away.

  “Jill, you know that’s not going to work. We tried to build a marriage on the wrong things before; let’s not make the same mistake twice. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here for Scott.”

  “But not for me?” She felt like crying.

  “I’ll support you, help you in any way I can. But my moving back here would be wrong. We’d both be miserable, and that can’t be good for Scott.”

  . . . both be miserable? She wondered if he’d be so sure of that if he didn’t have Glory Harrison sitting out in the hollow waiting for him.

  Exhausted as he was, Eric didn’t want to go face his empty house. So when he left Jill’s, he went by the fire station. He checked in with the guys on duty and discovered nothing had happened in his absence except two fender benders.

  He stopped in the garage to look over the equipment. It was just another stalling tactic; he knew his guys kept everything in top shape.

  As he stood there, staring at but not focusing on the gauges of one of the trucks, he warred with himself. The first thing he’d wanted to do when he left Jill’s was call Glory. So, why hadn’t he done it?

  Because I’m afraid when I tell her, it’ll be the end. I asked her if she could accept Scott as he was . . . now there’s a clear uphill battle ahead. What if she won’t fight it with me?

  Behind him someone cleared a throat.

  It was Glory; his heart accelerated.

  She held up Scott’s quilt and approached with a little uncertainty. “I was in town and wanted to drop this off. It’s all fixed.”

  He didn’t miss the hint of pride in her voice. “You fixed it?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes, I did. And I’ll take no criticism on my work. I’m a beginner.”

  He took ahold of the quilt and reeled her closer to him. “You won’t hear criticism from my lips.” H
e ducked close and kissed her.

  She pulled back and looked around guiltily.

  He laughed. “We’re not in eighth grade. Besides, I’m the boss, remember?”

  “So you can do whatever you want?”

  “Pretty much,” he said as he took the quilt from her hands. For the first time in weeks, he felt awkward with her.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to call,” she said softly.

  “We just got back a little while ago.”

  “As tired as you look, it can’t be good news.”

  “I need some comfort food. Can I buy you an ice-cream sundae?”

  For a brief second there was fear in her eyes. Then she smiled and said, “Hot fudge with whipped cream and extra nuts.”

  They walked at an easy pace to Swisher’s Ice Cream Shop. He liked walking down the streets of this town with her at his side. They both had deep roots here, had eaten sundaes at Swisher’s as children and burgers and fries at Wimpy’s as teenagers.

  He had been alone a long time; although he’d never thought of himself that way until recently. He knew he was ready for a partner, a love to share his everyday life. And he wanted Glory to be that person. But she hadn’t yet answered if she could accept his son. It was a package deal . . . and that deal had just gotten a whole lot more one-sided.

  They sat in a booth at the back of the shop and ordered sundaes. They managed to avoid the subject at hand until after their ice cream was served.

  Eric watched Glory fiddle, sculpting her whipped cream with her spoon. He recalled how much he’d wanted her with him when he received the diagnosis.

  He decided it was only fair to lay it all out. “You were right. It wasn’t good news. In their words, Scott is ‘exhibiting several symptoms of autism.’”

  “Autism,” she echoed.

  Eric nodded. “It wasn’t a surprise . . . I fully expected it—” He couldn’t continue.

  Glory got up from her side of the booth and slid in beside him. She took his hand in hers.

  He took a deep breath. “There are several things they suggested as far as therapies . . . speech to begin with, some possible modification of his diet . . . we won’t know what will help until we try.”

  The ice cream was melting in both of their dishes; a thick, sticky drip slipped from the rim of his to the table.

  Glory cleared her throat. “Yes. Well.” She licked her lips. “At least you have a place to begin. Now you can take some positive steps.”

  “Yes. But I hadn’t thought about what it might mean to you . . . to us.”

  “Scott is the same boy he was three days ago. Nothing has changed that would affect my decision.”

  He smiled slightly at her use of the same argument he’d used on Jill.

  She went on, “I’ve been thinking, as you asked me to. I have a lot to say, and I’d like to say it all at once.”

  He nodded and grasped her fingers more tightly; his stomach felt like a boulder in his midsection.

  “While I was working on the quilt, several things became clear. I finally think I understand my reticence toward Scott. It was something that never made any sense to me. I love children—and I’m not so shallow as to pick and choose only those who are perfect.

  “I told you all along that the problem was me. Every time I thought of opening up, helping Scott, something inside me shut down. I guess I felt like I was betraying Clarice—helping another child when I couldn’t help her. Letting another child into my heart when I’d lost her. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the truth of it. For a long time, something inside me was broken. And in that way, Scott and I are much alike. I understand how he feels—isolated, detached, insulated from emotions. And I want to help him in any way that I can. That said, I don’t want to be the cause of more difficulty. I know you and Jill have to do whatever is best for your son; I don’t want to interfere.”

  “I thought we understood each other on that point. It will never be best for Scott. It’s not happening.”

  Glory nodded. “I do understand you won’t be moving back in with her. But my . . . presence . . . could lead to more difficulties.”

  “Jill will have to under—”

  “It’s not just Jill’s attitude that I’m talking about.

  “My relationship with Andrew wasn’t always the mess it was in the end. Somehow I allowed it to veer off course so far that it became destructive.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to argue that it had been Andrew’s doing. She went on, “Maybe there’s something inside me that fueled that destruction. Had I been different, the outcome might have been different. And until I know myself better, I’m not ready to risk all of our futures.” She paused and looked into his eyes. “Not yet.”

  He sat waiting.

  She said, “Okay, you can talk now.”

  “I think that’s a load of bullshit.”

  Her eyes widened, and she sat up straighter.

  “There is no way in hell that you were responsible for the darkness inside Andrew. It was there long before you entered his life. The fact that you even think our relationship could take such a turn—”

  “That’s not what I said! All I’m asking for is some time. I care for you, Eric. I think we can be really good together, but I won’t rush into something. Especially since it’s not just you and me that will be hurt if things don’t work out. You asked if I could accept Scott. I’m answering you as honestly as I can. I’m a work in progress.”

  “Aren’t we all?” he said tersely.

  “Does it have to be all or nothing? Is that what you want?”

  He looked directly into her eyes. “If I say yes?”

  Her green eyes took on the same steadfast resolve that he’d seen so often in Tula’s. “Don’t.”

  In his mind, when she came to him with her answer, he’d planned on telling her he loved her—no matter what her response. Of course, in his imaginings he’d envisioned a positive reply, followed by declarations of love on both sides. Still, he’d prepared himself for the alternative; if she couldn’t accept Scott, he wanted her to know how he felt. He’d tell her and then he’d let her go. But he hadn’t planned on this half-in, half-out scenario. He was surprised by how much it hurt. Her feelings didn’t begin to touch the depths of his. Telling her he loved her now would be plain bad timing.

  He bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to decide the best course. He wanted to say yes, all or nothing, now or never—he wanted her that badly. But when now or never would definitely be never . . .

  He drew in a deep breath, knowing he was taking the risk of his life. “I’ve been doing some thinking too,” he said, gravely. “And I want more.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THE GRAY LIGHT OF dawn was squeezing out the inky darkness of night in the hollow. Glory tossed and turned in the warm bedroom. Her head throbbed, and her eyes were dry and itchy. She’d tried to relax, tried to think of the nights that she’d lain in this bed listening to Granny and Pap talking on the front porch right below her window; remembered cool rain showers that wet the windowsill during spring nights; spread herself out so none of her limbs were touching her torso. But even her old tricks for overcoming the sticky heat failed her.

  She hadn’t been able to get Eric’s words out of her head: I want more.

  Eric didn’t have casual affairs. He wanted more. And God help her, she did too. But it scared her senseless to think she might screw this up.

  No matter how she looked at it, it boiled down to the same question: Did she want him enough, did she love him enough, to take the risk?

  When they’d parted in town yesterday afternoon, she and Eric had decided to give each other a few days without contact to dig really deep and think things through.

  Can I live like this for a few days?

  She rolled onto her back and ran her fingers from her forehead back through her hair. The pressure as she pulled against her scalp eased some of the throbbing in her head.

  She was on an emotional bungee j
ump. One minute falling so fast and frightened that she nearly called Eric and told him to forget it; she couldn’t take the emotional risk so there was no sense in prolonging her suffering. The next moment, she’d bounce back, leaving her stomach behind, her love making her feel as light as a feather, and she’d almost have to tie herself to the bed to keep from calling him and telling him that she loved him beyond reason, and everything else—everyone else—could be damned.

  Lying still hadn’t seemed to cultivate a clear decision. Maybe sweating and exertion would be a better inducer. She heaved herself out of bed and got dressed. After loading a backpack with water and some fruit and a peanut butter sandwich, she wrote a note to Gran, telling her that she was hiking to Blue Falls Pond and would be back by late afternoon.

  Checking quickly on Lady and her brood, she saw the puppies in a pile, fat bellies, curled tails, and tiny paws all jumbled, oblivious to the heat. Lady lifted her head and gave a sleepy wag when Glory entered. She stooped and petted the dog. “Take care of Gran while I’m out,” she whispered, then left the room.

  Stretching her neck and shoulders, she was looking forward to the long hike and spending time at Blue Falls Pond. She felt confident everything would become clear, as it always had when she sat on the bank of the pond and watched the glittering falls and the halo of a rainbow overhead.

  She took a deep breath and went to the front door. Just the thought of being there made her feel like a new woman.

  She made it only as far as the front porch. Scrawled across the porch floor in black spray paint were the words: LEAVE NOW.

  “I don’t know how I missed hearing someone out here. I was awake all night,” Glory told Sheriff Cooper as he took photos of the porch floor.

  “It happens. I swear some of these kids are part cat.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “So you think it was kids?”

  “Maybe. Spray paint is normally their weapon of choice.” Then he asked, “Anything else disturbed?”