Her Forever Family

by Mae Nunn

  “It’s more likely that he can’t accept it,” Ali corrected gently.

  Benjamin shook his head. “My daddy used to say ‘Cain’t means won’t.’”

  The exaggerated drawl gave it a humorous matter-of-fact quality. Ali smiled at Benjamin sounding less polished and more country. More Texan. More appealing.

  “Your daddy was a smart man, and in general terms I’d agree with him. But you mustn’t overlook the fact that there are simply things Ethan’s brain can’t process. It stands to reason that if he’s lacking the ability to do things that are second nature to most people, like tell a white lie, then he’s probably lacking the ability to grieve. That’s something you have to learn as you go through the experience. It sounds like Ethan’s brain can’t let the grief run its course. For most of us, when we eventually get to the end of sadness there’s a sort of comfort in acceptance.”

  Benjamin seemed to consider what she’d said, then exhaled a loud sigh as he continued. “To answer your question, in the last months of her life Theresa was butting heads with him just like you did today. We had reasonable rules and expectations in our home, but it all flew out the window as he turned inward on himself. It’s never gotten any better and I’m fresh out of wisdom.”

  The room was quiet for a while. Water trickled down the fountain above the fireplace and Simba rolled over on her side with a comfortable groan. Ali wanted nothing more than to curl up on the rug next to her friend, but she had to get home and enter everything she’d just learned into her computer notes. If she was still the therapist of record she needed to get to work.

  Ali pushed to her feet and picked up her shoulder bag. Simba was at her side immediately, ready to follow. Benjamin stood as well, noted the sudden nearness of his four-legged nemesis and eased behind the safety of the big chair.

  “For the most part she’s a quiet dog,” Ali tried to make Simba sound less threatening.

  “With an animal that big and sneaky I’d actually prefer some barking. Silence means she could be lurking around any corner. Would you consider putting a bell on her collar when you come back next week?”

  “So, you’re not firing me?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Are you biting your nails again?” Erin demanded.

  Ali yanked her hand away from her mouth and rested it on the steering wheel. How embarrassing to be busted long distance by her younger sibling.

  “Ewww! Ali that is totally gross and not even worthy of my cell phone minutes!” The teen-speak Erin had picked up from her daughter made Ali’s sister sound nothing like a thirty-four-year-old Pulitzer Prizewinning photojournalist.

  “Don’t hang up! I won’t do it again,” Ali pleaded. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “Okay, but I don’t have long. Daniel and Dana are holding supper for me.”

  Alison smiled at the thought of Erin reconciled with her husband and daughter and living just up the road in Houston. It was actually over three hundred miles, but by Texas standards that was a hop, skip and a jump.

  It had been a long journey back to family for Erin and Ali after being separated for almost twenty-five years. The immeasurable cost of their father’s violent temper had included a brutal end to their mother’s life, his ultimate death behind bars and the separation and estrangement of the three children. The sisters had only recently reconnected and their brother still refused to answer communications. But Ali was determined not to give up on reuniting what was left of their family.

  In that regard she could relate to Benjamin, desperate to regain some of the life he and Ethan had lost.

  “Back to the point of my call,” she resumed the conversation. Now that her sister was on the line Ali wasn’t so sure she wanted to blurt it all out. But if anybody could understand debilitating self-doubt, it was Erin. A woman who’d chased danger to prove to herself she wasn’t a coward. “Remember the kid with Asperger’s that I told you about?”

  “Of course. Did his father do something else stupid?”

  Ali winced, ashamed she’d given another person such a poor impression of a man she hardly knew herself. Yes, there was plenty about him she didn’t agree with, but she was quickly coming to respect his dedication to Ethan.

  “No, as a matter of fact he’s not quite the bonehead I first thought.”

  “But you said his political support base included those crazies with the extreme parental rights platform. I searched the Internet on that bunch and they don’t need a voice, they need handcuffs. I saw more liberal thinking among the Taliban.”

  Erin’s years with World View News had afforded her a front-row seat to the international plight of children. She knew from personal experience there were worse things than foster care, and one of them was remaining in a dangerous home environment. But only Ali knew the true depth and damage of their father’s depraved mind because she’d been the object of his sick affection.

  “Has the guy commented on his platform to you?” Erin asked.

  “So far we haven’t had any reason to get into Benjamin’s political affiliations.”

  “Benjamin, is it? Well, if we’ve become so familiar and he’s not the bonehead you once thought, then what’s the problem?” The connection crackled as Erin waited on her sister’s reply.

  “The problem is me.”

  “Well, that’s pretty specific. Could you be a little more general?”

  “Erin Elise, I’m not up to this kid.” Ali reached for the a/c, switched it on high and pointed the vent at her face. “The short circuits in his brain are impossible to anticipate. One moment you think you’re speaking with a bright, fifteen-year-old boy and the next he’s looking at you like you’ve just sprouted horns. His communication skills have gone haywire.”

  “For example?”

  “Ethan doesn’t understand that the rest of the world is not enamored of igneous rock the way he is.”

  “That doesn’t sound so awful,” Erin cajoled.

  “And it’s not for the first thirty minutes the initial time he gives his lecture. But he goes on and on and on, endlessly. No amount of yawning or looking at my watch or fidgeting gets through to him.”

  “I get that he’s boring and self-absorbed. What else?”

  “His hygiene is deplorable. The boy could care less whether or not he bathes or changes his clothes.”

  “I hear ya, he’s lazy. What else?”

  “Even the smallest verbal exchange becomes a dispute. Ethan won’t answer a simple question without making it contentious. He’s a one-man debate team.”

  “Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight. The kid is wrapped up in his own world and couldn’t care less about what you think, he’d rather lie on the bed than make it up and he challenges your every word.”

  “Exactly!” Ali was getting worked up just discussing it with Erin. But it felt good to know she understood.

  “Big sister, surely you don’t need me to tell you that Asperger’s or not, most teenagers behave just like that.”

  “Yes, but you eventually get through to them, and you can make a difference in their lives!” Ali’s voice rose so much that Simba’s head popped up, her floppy ears alert for sounds of trouble. There was silence on the other end of the line as she waited on her sister’s response.

  Ali felt the pressure of deeply buried emotions well up in her throat, knowing there was so much more to the story.

  Chapter Seven

  “Ali, what’s this really all about?” Erin asked. “You’re very good at your job and you know it takes time and patience to change behavior. Why the big rush to throw in the towel on this case?”

  Ali steered the Land Rover into a nearby Waffle House parking lot and slipped between the lines of an empty space. She lowered the windows and cut the engine, glad it was late and nobody would see her so close to tears. She crossed her right forearm over her eyes to block out a nearby street lamp.

  “Ali, you still there?”

  “Yes,” she whispered into the cell
phone.

  “Hey! I can hear how upset you are. Talk to me.”

  Talk was good therapy Ali knew that for a fact. But she also knew there were some memories better left undisturbed. She’d try to explain this to Erin but there were not enough words in the English language to describe how she’d felt when that call had come in late one night nearly eight years ago.

  “Doctor Stone? This is Rose from your answering service. Darien Sims was pronounced dead on arrival at City General about two hours ago. His mother found his body when she made her nightly check on him. Darien had hung himself in his closet.”

  Ali was stunned by the news, unable to speak.

  “Doctor Stone? I hope I did the right thing by calling you so late.”

  “Of course you did, Rose. Good night.”

  Ali tried to stand but her legs folded beneath her. Instead of climbing to her feet she only made it as far as her knees, where she wept and prayed for the soul of the boy everyone had failed.

  The boy with Asperger’s.

  “Oh, Ali, I had no idea,” Erin’s voice was hushed.

  “They taught us in school that patient suicide was a professional hazard nobody escapes. But being armed with that fact in your head doesn’t prepare you to deal with it in your heart.” She crossed her arms and hugged her chest where it ached with the memory. “It seems like young people today are more desperate to get away from their problems than we ever were. Even in my darkest days I never considered taking my life to escape what I was enduring.”

  “You don’t feel responsible for that boy’s death, do you?”

  “No.” Ali shook her head, a reassuring motion. “But I can’t help thinking that I treated his case like a lab exercise instead of the life of a human being.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For my Ph.D. dissertation I chose Asperger’s and studied Darien’s case for months. It wasn’t until Darien took his own life that I realized I’d never fully engaged with him. I had no idea he was capable of carrying out the act of suicide.”

  “And you believed you’d failed him?”

  “Of course. But even worse, I felt justified in keeping my distance. If I don’t keep an emotional-free zone with my clients my spirit will be like an open wound that never heals.” Ali was afraid that revealing her self-centered nature would drive away the sister she hardly knew as an adult.

  “Ali, I understand. Really, I do.” Erin’s voice was soft, forgiving as she spoke into her phone. “I built a career out of observing and documenting other people’s lives. And I knew all along exactly what it was—a vicarious existence without the messy personal part.”

  “Do you feel like you missed out on real life?”

  “Oh, sure. But Dana and Daniel are giving me a crash course and it’s a wild ride.” Erin chuckled.

  “Well, enjoy this special time, Erin Elise. You deserve good things.”

  “That’s true for both of us, Ali. The Lord is using you in a powerful way, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  Ali lowered her chin and mouthed “Thank You,” eternally grateful that Erin was a believer.

  “You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Ali complimented Erin. “You’ve given your favorite sister some good advice. Got any for your favorite therapist?”

  Erin snapped her fingers near the phone as if she’d just had a light-bulb moment.

  “As a matter of fact, I might. One of the ways I got Dana to let down her defenses and just be herself was over pizza and Scrabble.”

  “You know, it may take all night, but it’s worth a try.”

  “Better keep him away from those red triple-word squares and get the latest version of Webster’s.”

  “Yeah, this kid could do some damage with stuff like ‘metamorphosis’ and ‘geochronology’ in his vocabulary.”

  The conversation ended on a humorous note as Erin headed off to be with her family and Ali pointed the Land Rover toward home. Her exhaustion and aggravation were forgotten as she tried to remember where she’d last seen the big, fat dictionary she’d used in college to prop up a thrift store sofa that was missing one leg.

  “What on earth is she doing here on the weekend?” Ben muttered to himself, surprisingly pleased when the big tires of Ali’s SUV crunched on his driveway. Maybe she’d left something behind during her visit the night before. Or maybe his home was simply where she wanted to be on a Saturday evening. Yeah, right.

  From his position at the stovetop Ben could make out the boxy vehicle through the slatted shutters on the kitchen window. The tailgate slammed as she undoubtedly released her shadow. Ben continued to whisk the sauce in the iron skillet while waiting for the doorbell. After several more minutes he poured the fragrant gravy over the seared pork loin and returned the mouth-watering dish to a hot oven.

  With Mrs. Alvarez still on vacation Ben was practicing one of the recipes he’d learned from many hours of watching the Food Network. It seemed to be the only cable channel where he could be certain the celebrities would keep clothes on their bodies and a pleasant tongue in their mouths.

  Ben glanced toward the breakfast nook where he’d set one place for himself and added a mason jar filled with fresh flowers from the back yard. He had to eat alone, but there was no reason he couldn’t be civilized. He dried his hands on a dish towel, then slung it over his shoulder. Opening the window shutter gave him full view of the front drive and yard.

  “Where’d they go?” He craned his neck but didn’t see any sign of the pretty redhead or her dog. He moved to the back of the kitchen, glanced out the bay window and spotted the pair. Their backs were to him as they walked the depth of the property.

  It was still natural for him to compare all women to his late wife who’d been a classic, willowy blonde. Alison Stone couldn’t have been more different and he was glad of it. It was odd enough having a female visit his home on a weekend, let alone a number of days in a row. If she’d borne any resemblance at all to Theresa it might have been difficult. But Ali was unique with her auburn twist of hair trailing down a rounded backside that was dressed once again in blazes of colorful cotton, denim and Southwestern silver. Her blue jean skirt grazed the top of her western boots as she walked. Polished conchos on her belt glinted in the afternoon sun.

  Ben stepped away from the window before Ali had a chance to turn and catch him staring. He opened several cans, dumped the contents into a large bowl along with eggs and spices and then whipped the mixture vigorously as he launched into his usual, one-sided conversation.

  Lord, give me something to work with here, some encouragement in one direction or the other. I need more than my worry for Ethan to occupy my life. If I’m not going to be campaigning, then I’d like to get back on the speaking circuit. But if I can’t even coax my son out of his room, why would anybody pay me to teach them the principles of positive thinking?

  With the pie filling prepared, Ben turned his attention to the homemade crust that waited on a dusting of flour over the cool, granite counter. Following Paula Deen’s example, he scooped up the pastry, positioned it in a deep baking dish, then began to crimp the edges. As he pinched the dough, he continued his words with God.

  It just seemed like common sense to me that Ethan would be in hog heaven surrounded by all those incredible rock formations in Big Bend. Nobody ever appreciated Your sculpting skills more than that kid. I’m not surprised he slipped out to get a closer look, but I didn’t expect him to feel like he’d been abandoned. Father, how could I have misjudged this so completely and undone all the good we’d accomplished up to that point? Show me a sign that we’ll get back on track and move forward with our lives again.

  The chimes above the front door echoed in the entry hall. Alison Stone. Ben glanced upward.

  And please, please don’t let that be the sign, Lord.

  Ben shook the excess flour off his hands and stepped to the edge of the kitchen.

  “Ali?”

  “Guilty.”

  “It’s unlocked.�
�

  The door inched open. “Benjamin?” she called, evidently reluctant to let herself in.

  He appreciated that.

  “In the kitchen.” He shouted above water running in the sink. “Sorry for being so informal, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting on the step while I washed up.”

  “Good afternoon,” she greeted him.

  Ben dried his hands. As he turned toward Ali’s pleasant smile he struggled not to do a double take. She’d been so lovely from a distance, but that was usually an optical illusion, right? Didn’t everybody look better from fifty yards? But now, standing five feet away she was a vision.

  She twitched her nose and sniffed the air, drawn as if against her will to the top half of the oven. “What smells so wonderful?”

  “It’s not much, just a pork loin in au jus and some roasted vegetables,” he exaggerated modesty. “A little something I threw together after a week of nonstop cooking shows.” He tipped the bowl of filling into his pie shell.

  “A true Renaissance man.” She sounded impressed.

  He waved away her praise with the spatula he’d used to scrape the bowl. “No, just a really hungry man who hates to eat alone. There’s going to be plenty if you’d like to join me later. The meat still needs to roast for a while.”

  “Oh, no, I hadn’t intended to invite myself to dinner on a Saturday evening.”

  “Now that you mention it—” he held up his hands in a what gives gesture “—shouldn’t you be out with your steady guy on Saturday night?”

  She shook her head. “God’s never put the right man in my life. And at thirty-seven I’m starting to think that’s not part of the plan. Right now it’s okay because I work seven days a week with my kids.”

  Ben opened the bottom oven, slid the pie inside and set the timer. “That’s how it was with me and football. I wasn’t around much when Ethan was a baby.”

  “Speaking of Ethan…” Ali produced the box that had been tucked beneath her arm. The contents rattled as she presented it, her expression hopeful.