The Wake Up

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

  “What’s withers?”

  “At the top of her shoulders.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Stick to her back or her sides until she gets used to it.”

  “Okay.”

  Milo balanced on his crutches, the toes of his bad foot barely touching the straw-covered dirt floor for balance. Aiden stood behind him to lessen the chance of his being knocked down.

  Milo reached the brush out to the foal, and the foal reached her nose out to the brush. Then Milo set it gently on her withers and moved it, with the grain of the hair, down her side. The foal did not move or object. So Milo kept going.

  “I think she likes it!” he said, his voice squeaky and high with excitement.

  In that moment of distraction, Milo looked away. Craned his neck to look up into Aiden’s face. Lightning-quick, the foal darted her muzzle in the direction of Milo’s hand. Aiden saw it play out, but there was no time to stop it. It just happened so fast.

  The boy shrieked in pain. His cry startled the foal, who spooked into the corner of the stall and then wedged in behind her mother to hide.

  “She bit me!” Milo shouted.

  Aiden tried to take the boy’s hand, to look and see how bad a bite it had been. But it was too late. Milo had already turned and made his way to the stall door. He banged it hard with one hand. Aiden hadn’t latched it, so it swung wide. Milo sailed along on his crutches toward the open barn doors, not bothering to close the stall door behind him.

  “Milo, wait,” Aiden called.

  Milo did not wait.

  Aiden found the boy in his room, crying bitterly. Looking absolutely desolate. Nearly destroyed.

  “Can I see the hand?” Aiden asked.

  Milo extended his left hand in Aiden’s direction. The first knuckle of his index finger was turning purple and swelling fast.

  “Well, now we know her teeth are coming in,” Aiden said. “Sorry you had to find that out the hard way.”

  “Why did she bite me?” Milo howled through his sobs. “I never hurt her!”

  “I know you didn’t. I know. Look, Milo. I know it hurts. And I know it hurt your feelings. But you can’t take it personally. She’s just a baby. And she’s not a person. She’s a horse. She doesn’t know any better. She’s just figuring out the world the only way she knows how. She doesn’t know what’s food and what isn’t. She doesn’t know it hurts you when she does that. She just does what comes naturally for a foal. If you want her not to bite, you have to teach her not to bite. You have to teach her how you need her to act around you. She can do better if you give her time to learn.”

  To Aiden’s surprise, Milo stopped crying. Or slowed to a stop, in any case. He looked into Aiden’s face with a fierce curiosity.

  “You’re not mad at her?”

  “I don’t think it’s right or fair to be mad at her. No. She doesn’t know any better.”

  “So it’s okay?”

  “Not for you, it’s not. It still hurts.”

  “But she’s not a bad horse?”

  “No. She’s not a bad horse. She just needs to learn.”

  Milo struggled to slide off the bed. He grabbed his crutches from the floor, braced them under his armpits, and he was moving.

  “Where’re you going?” Aiden asked.

  “I have to go tell her we’re not mad,” Milo said.

  Aiden followed the boy out to the barn, and was surprised when Milo opened the stall door and moved right in, closing the door behind him. Aiden reached the stall door in time to hear the boy’s words to his foal.

  “You’re not a bad horse,” Milo said.

  He reached a hand out to her, then jerked it back when her muzzle got too close. Then he reached it out again, cautiously. Aiden could feel the sharp pangs of the boy’s fear. It was the first time he had felt anything from Milo in a long time—the first time the blank, silent wall of Milo had registered emotion in weeks, as far as Aiden could tell.

  “And we’re not mad at you,” Milo added. “Are we, Aiden?”

  “No,” Aiden said. “We’re not mad.”

  “Will you show me how to teach her not to bite?”

  “Yeah. I will. But it’ll take time. But if you stick with it, I know she’ll learn it. I think you might want to come inside for right now, though, Milo. We should put some ice on that finger.”

  “Can’t. I have to teach her how to get brushed.”

  “I really think the ice will help, though.”

  “Will you bring it out here?”

  “Um. Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

  Aiden turned toward the house.

  He stepped out of the barn and into the afternoon sun. Elizabeth was riding up on her pony, Buddy wagging behind. She smiled at Aiden and he smiled in return.

  “Where’s Milo?” she asked.

  “In the stall with his foal.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “What changed?”

  “You know . . . I was just trying to figure that out myself. At first it was because I insisted. And then she bit him. And now all of a sudden he can’t get enough of her.”

  Elizabeth laughed one short bark. Then she scratched her head underneath the edge of her helmet. “That seems weird,” she said.

  “I know. I think so, too. But I’m not questioning it right now. I just have to go inside and get him some ice for his finger.”

  When Aiden arrived back at the barn with a bandana full of ice cubes, Elizabeth had put Penny away and was just walking out into the sunlight.

  “You’re right,” she said. “All of a sudden he can’t get enough of her. Did you know he gave her a name?”

  “Just since she bit him?”

  “No idea. I don’t know when he thought of it. But he told me just now.”

  “What did he name her?”

  “He wants to call her Tesserae, after the stuff you use to make mosaics. He said it always sounded like a girl’s name to him. And he specially likes it because you can shorten it to Tess.”

  “Ooh,” Aiden said. “That’s good. I better go bring him this ice.”

  “Bet you ten bucks he’ll just ignore it. He’ll drop it on the stall floor and let it melt. He’s really into brushing her, and it’ll be like the way he gets when he does his mosaic projects. Nothing can tear him away.”

  She moved off in the direction of the house.

  Aiden stepped into the barn and leaned on the stall door. Watched Milo gently brushing his foal.

  “Ice for that finger?”

  “No thanks,” Milo said.

  “I like the name you gave her.”

  Aiden saw the boy miss one brushstroke. Then Milo’s hands picked up the motion again.

  “How do you know what I named her?”

  “Elizabeth told me.”

  “You really think it’s good?”

  “I think it’s perfect. Did you think of it just now?”

  “No. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. But I didn’t want to say it out loud unless I really thought she felt like mine. And also . . . I wasn’t sure if it was good enough.”

  Aiden draped an arm loosely around Milo’s shoulder as they walked into Hannah’s office. He did it without thinking. The boy flinched and tightened, but did not explode. Aiden removed the offending arm.

  They sat on the couch together, a respectful distance apart.

  “So,” Hannah said, “let’s get some work done here today. Aiden, what do you most want to say to Milo?”

  “Oh,” Aiden said. “Give me just a minute to get my thoughts together.”

  It struck Aiden as strange that he hadn’t anticipated the question and prepared for this session. It was almost as though he’d thought his words for Milo would take care of themselves when they sat down together with Hannah. And nothing could have been further from the truth.

  “I guess I want to say . . . It’s really nice watching him bond with Tess—”

  Hannah interrupted. “To Milo,�
�� she said.

  “Oh. Right. Sorry. To Milo.” He turned his head in the boy’s direction. “It’s really nice watching you bond with Tess, Milo. It’s . . . I don’t know quite how to say it. It’s so much like my own childhood. It’s like coming around full circle on my life. And I appreciate the way you sent me that message through Dr. Rutledge so I would know you wouldn’t hurt Tess. But I want to get to the point where we can say things like that to each other. Not need anybody else to help us communicate. If you know what I mean.”

  He waited. But Milo did not betray what he did or did not understand.

  “But there’s also something I want to ask you,” Aiden continued. “Why did you like her better after she bit you? Usually you would expect a boy to like a foal less after she bit him. But that seemed to win you over, and I think we’re all a little confused about that.”

  “Hmm,” Milo said. “I sort of know why. But I’m not sure if I can say it right. But I guess I thought she was perfect. But she’s not. She hurts people, but it’s okay, because she just needs to learn to do better. I just have to teach her. That’s what Aiden told me. And I liked that.”

  Aiden waited, hoping the boy would go on. But a silence fell, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock.

  “I’m still not sure . . . ,” Aiden began. But then he didn’t finish.

  He wanted to understand, because he wanted the communication between them to become clear. He wanted it to be something they could practice at home. Something they didn’t need Hannah to intermediate, as if they spoke two languages and required an interpreter to translate. But Aiden didn’t understand. Not yet.

  “I think what Milo is saying,” Hannah interjected, “is that it was a relief to know that someone else could do a hurtful thing and not be thrown away. I think when his foal hurt him and you felt like that was fairly normal, and to be expected, and you weren’t mad at her . . . well, you tell me if I’m right, Milo, but I think it made Milo feel like there could be some forgiveness there for him, too. He’s hurt living things. And maybe he liked the idea that he could learn to do better if someone would just take the time to teach him.”

  “Yeah,” Milo said. “That.”

  Just in that moment, Aiden felt something from the boy that was not fear, or pain, or dread. It was not joy exactly, or even contentment. But it was another brief moment of respite from the negative feelings that dragged the boy down nearly every minute of every day. And if Milo could have a moment or two free from those things, maybe he could find a few more moments as time went on. It was a start.

  “Milo,” Hannah said. “What do you want to say to Aiden?”

  “I don’t know,” Milo said.

  Aiden could feel the boy shut down again.

  “No,” Hannah said. “Sorry, Milo, but that’s the lazy way out. No more taking the lazy way. I understand if there’s a lot you can’t put into words right now. And I understand that you feel like you don’t even want to try. But just say one thing. Big or small. Doesn’t matter. Just pick one thing you could say to Aiden, and say it out loud in this session.”

  Milo sighed. He sat, rather darkly, Aiden thought, in a cloud of gloom and confusion that Aiden could not read.

  The clock ticked while they waited. At least two full minutes.

  Aiden almost stepped in to fill the void, but as he opened his mouth Hannah shook her head. So he closed it again, and weathered the silence.

  It was awkward. Almost like eating at a restaurant all by himself.

  “I guess . . . ,” Milo said, startling Aiden, who had grown to accept the silence. “Just . . . thanks for getting me all the stuff for mosaics. And giving me Tess. I’m still scared of Tess. But not really in such a bad way. If that makes sense.”

  The boy fell silent again, and his face reddened. He stared down at his lap, then raised his eyes to Hannah without lifting his head. Strained to look up at her from under his eyebrows.

  “Was that good enough, Dr. Rutler?”

  “That was excellent, Milo,” she said. “I think it’s a very good first step.”

  It wasn’t much. And yet it felt like a good first step to Aiden, too.

  PART SIX

  AIDEN DELACORTE AT AGE FORTY-ONE

  FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pride

  Aiden’s uncle Edgar met them at the airport in Buffalo.

  Aiden had skipped the previous Christmas going back to see his mom. There had been too much going on at home. Milo had been loath to leave his therapy and his filly. And, because Aiden’s mother didn’t tend to know who Aiden was when he visited anyway, they had let the traditional family Christmas visit slide. But only for the one year, because Aiden knew he did not have unlimited opportunities to see her.

  Uncle Edgar waved to them as they stepped into the baggage claim area, and Aiden was struck by how much older he looked. As though he had become elderly in just two years. He wore a snow-white beard now. The skin on his face, and especially under his eyes, looked almost translucent in its thinness. He seemed a good two or three inches shorter than when Aiden had seen him last.

  He grabbed Aiden in a bear hug, then turned his attention to Aiden’s family.

  “You must be the new wife, Gwen. So nice to meet you, darling.”

  He reached a hand out for her to shake, but Gwen moved in for a bear hug of her own instead.

  “And these two lovely young people must be Elizabeth and Milo,” Edgar said when she had let him go.

  “I want a hug, too,” Elizabeth said, and moved right in to take it.

  Milo hid behind Aiden’s back. Aiden could feel the strength of the boy’s hand clutching at his coat, and the icy fear that crystallized around the boy’s insides at the idea of interacting with a stranger.

  Under his other arm, Milo clutched the two gift-wrapped breakfast-in-bed trays he had brought for Edgar and Aiden’s mother. The trays themselves were exact duplicates of one another, so they nested together. But Milo had created a unique, original mosaic on the surface of each one, based on a thousand questions regarding what Edgar and May liked. And Milo had flatly refused to check them as baggage. He’d given up his carry-on bag to keep the gifts with him under the seat.

  Aiden looked around and down to see Milo staring out the automatic sliding doors, which sprang open from time to time, blasting them with frigid air. There was snow falling outside.

  “Aiden, look,” Milo said, tugging at Aiden’s coat.

  “The snow, you mean?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “You knew there would be snow.”

  “Yeah. I know. But now . . . now there is.”

  They were interrupted by Edgar’s booming voice. “And what happened to Milo? He was just here a minute ago.”

  “He’s right behind me,” Aiden said. “And I think I can safely speak for Milo and say he does not want a hug. Or even a handshake. Nothing personal, Uncle Edgar. He just needs time with new people.”

  “No problem,” Edgar said. “No problem at all. You people don’t look too warmly dressed. I think I should go get the car and bring it around. You can wait here for your bags to come down.”

  “We brought coats,” Elizabeth said. “But we left them in our checked bags. Aiden was the only one who was smart enough to keep a coat with him.”

  “Aiden is the only one who’s been to Buffalo before,” Edgar said, and then hurried off to get the car.

  Gwen had insisted that he sit in the front with Edgar. So they could “catch up.” She had squeezed into the small back seat with both kids.

  “How’s Mom?” Aiden asked on the drive.

  “Generally speaking, worse than when you saw her last. She does have her lucid moments. Sometimes seeing someone she hasn’t seen in years will bring one on and other times not. But I’d say she’s herself no more often than every week or two now, and the lucid moments are usually only a few minutes long. And, interestingly enough, if she does have a good moment, the memories she acces
ses are very old. She might say something about her first marriage, or our growing up together, but she won’t remember what city we live in now. I would say don’t get your hopes up too high. She might surprise you, but that way if she doesn’t, you won’t be too disappointed.”

  Gwen spoke up from the back seat.

  “I think it’s wonderful how you take care of her, Edgar. You don’t see that in too many families.”

  “I’ve always adored May,” Edgar said, his gray eyes misty and far away, ringed with dark circles.

  “Totally foreign concept to me,” Aiden said. “Nice, but foreign. A brother and sister who adore each other. Speaking of Valerie, she’s not coming this year, is she?”

  “No. She came last year, when she heard you weren’t going to come. Terrible to have to say, but you know how she is.”

  “Yeah,” Aiden said. “I know how she is.”

  “Did you and your sister have a fight?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not really. Not any one fight. We just never got along.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know . . . ,” Aiden said, and then faded. For a moment he searched around in the past, but he found nothing of use there. “I honestly don’t remember.”

  “Look who’s here, May,” Edgar bellowed out, artificially cheerful, as if addressing a toddler. “It’s company.”

  Uncle Edgar had told Aiden years before that he never identified visitors by name because it was just too embarrassing for May if she didn’t remember them. It seemed better to let her treat company as new, unmet people if that was the best she could do.

  Aiden watched her face light up. And, just for a moment, he thought she knew him.

  “Why, it’s just lovely to meet you,” May said.

  Aiden neatly folded up his expectations and tucked them away.

  Milo stepped behind Aiden and clutched at his coat.

  “Oh, my,” May said. “The little boy is terribly shy.”

  “Milo takes new people at his own pace,” Aiden said.

  “Reminds me of my son when he was a boy,” she said.