Revealing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  Carolyn caught Abby’s attention and nodded toward the door. Then she turned back to the group. “Say goodbye to Abby, everyone.” Only a few of the children responded, most now absorbed in their reading or games—or their internal visions.

  Carolyn slid off the desk and told Abby, “Come with me,” as she headed toward the door. Abby followed silently, and Carolyn didn’t speak until they had reached her office. After Abby walked in, Carolyn shut the door behind them, although there was no one in sight on the quiet hallway. Was she about to deliver bad news?

  “So, what did you think?” Carolyn asked.

  Was that a challenge? Abby wondered. She took a breath. “Based on what little I’ve seen, they’re well-mannered and polite. That’s the after-care group, right?”

  “It is, and we seldom accept the difficult students for this after-care program. That’s a practical decision—you saw that there was only one staff member in charge there.”

  “You’re saying that behavior is not typical of your students?”

  “It’s at one end of the range. We have limited resources here, and we try to concentrate our efforts where we think we can do the most good. Please don’t think we’re cherry-picking those who are easily managed. You may already know that children on the autistic spectrum have distinctly different learning strategies—aural, visual, even musical—and we don’t assume that one size fits all. We work with each individual to fit their needs and abilities. But having said that, we do need to keep this school afloat financially. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I do. And I think it makes a lot of sense. How do you find your students?”

  “Mainly word of mouth, so they find us. We don’t do a lot of glossy advertising, although we do have a website and we offer some outreach programs. It’s a constant juggling act. Which is why our salaries are somewhat less than competitive—you need to know that up front.”

  Abby smiled. “That’s not a problem. But that doesn’t mean I’m a dilettante just dabbling in social causes. I’m lucky enough to have other sources of support, but I like working with children and I think I can help.” More than you know.

  Carolyn smiled. “When Christine called me, I didn’t see this as a standard interview. She suggested you were exploring job options now that you’ve moved to this area. We aren’t actually hiring at the moment. But Christine made some interesting comments about you. She told me I ought to talk to you. She and I have been friends for a while, so I followed up on her suggestion, and asked her to arrange a meeting with you. I took a quick look at your résumé while you were with the kids. To tell the truth, I didn’t have high expectations—after all, you’re young, and you don’t have a lot of teaching experience, certainly not with challenging students like ours. And as you might guess, this school, these students, are far from typical, and I doubt that your experience provides much insight into how to handle them.”

  Carolyn paused. “I believe that there is an active intelligence within each of our children, and my long-term goal is to bring it out, as much as I can. I accept that it won’t always be possible with all the children. I also accept that they may never fit neatly into current society, but it’s better than being isolated for their entire lives. I have no time line, no benchmarks. We recruit both students and parents carefully. We do need income, but not by packing the enrollment with people I know will never fit. We have a fairly narrow definition of the kind of student we’re looking for, because we know we can’t possibly help everyone.”

  “Do you have to meet state teaching standards?” Abby asked.

  “Yes, or we wouldn’t be accredited. We’re not a fly-by-night organization.”

  “Where do they go when they leave here? I assume you’ve been in business long enough that some of your students have aged out?”

  “Yes, we have. We don’t push out anyone who isn’t ready, but we try to prepare them to be ready. We welcome them back if they can’t cope immediately, and we don’t judge, either the children or ourselves. This is an extraordinary challenge for all of us, and sometimes we fail. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  Abby took a long moment to consider her answer. “Carolyn, I appreciate your willingness to talk about what you do, and I admire your philosophy for this place. I know my experience is kind of limited. Listen, can I make a suggestion, if it doesn’t break any rules? This is Monday. Let me spend time with the students as an observer, maybe for the rest of the week. For all I know, I don’t have the psychological strength to deal with this particular group of children on an ongoing basis. You can be the judge of how well I handle it, and you can tell me if there’s a place for me here, or somewhere else.”

  Carolyn cocked her head at Abby. “Interesting idea, Abby. You might know that this is an odd week, around the holiday. We’re open tomorrow, but we have a half day Wednesday, and we’re closed for Thanksgiving and on Friday. Why don’t you plan to come in tomorrow and Wednesday and see how things go? And I’ll give you my opinion after.”

  “Tomorrow?” Things were moving faster than Abby had expected. “Uh, sure, that’s fine. And I would welcome your honest opinion. How do you explain me to the staff? Or the kids? I’ve heard that autistic children don’t respond well to changes, and sometimes to strangers. And can I interact with them, formally or casually, or should I just watch and listen?”

  “That’s your call. Some of these kids operate on their own schedules. Like most people they have times when they’re ‘up’ and times when they’re dragging. And you don’t have to talk to every child here. You won’t have enough time to get to know them individually and see how they respond to you, but you’ll have a sense of how things work here. Does that sit well with you?”

  “I think so. What about other staff?”

  “You’ll meet them, but not all at once. We have teachers of both genders, although kind of weighted toward the women. But we believe the boys need some male influence. For the moment it might work better if we labeled you an outside consultant, or you’re just doing research. We’ve had a variety of consultants, for things like art and music, or even yoga and a few sports. Don’t worry—the staff won’t pry. We’re all here to help the kids.”

  “That’s good to hear. Thank you.” Abby held out her hand and Carolyn took it to shake. Abby held on a moment longer than usual, to see if she could sense any connection to Carolyn, but didn’t feel anything.

  “So, I’ll see you in the morning,” Carolyn said. “Come by my office around eight and I’ll introduce you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Thanks for being so accommodating.”

  • • •

  Abby drove home feeling both confused and elated. She liked Carolyn. She seemed intelligent and open—and she was willing to let Abby observe at the school. Maybe she thought Abby would give up quickly and that would be the end of it.

  She really did need to know more about autism, to make this work. There were a lot of autistic children these days, or at least more who had been diagnosed correctly rather than labeled stupid or uncooperative. Or idiots, as in the past. And it must be expensive to run such a heavily staffed place, with a high teacher-student ratio, combined with limitations on the number of students they could manage. She should have asked more questions about how they managed classes. Did they group students by ability rather than age? How much information could the students process and retain, and how was anybody supposed to test that, if different students responded better to music than to words? Or mathematical formulas? Before she realized it she was pulling into her own driveway. It was close to five, but Ned’s car was nowhere to be seen. However, Christine was sitting on the porch steps waiting for her. She stood up as Abby got out of her car.

  “How’d it go?” she called out.

  “Good, I think. You didn’t want to be there?”

  “I got held up,” Christine said without elaborating. “But I trust you to speak for yourself, and Carolyn’s not exactly an ogre. So what happened?
”

  “Come inside and have a cup of tea and I’ll tell you.” Abby walked past Christine and inserted her key in the door, opening it and letting Christine pass. “That is one incredible building,” she tossed back over her shoulder, “and I didn’t even see much of it.”

  “If you dig around online, you’ll find that there were a great many imposing and no-doubt expensive buildings built to house the idiots and feebleminded. Too bad what went on inside didn’t match the outside. It was kind of like a statement of social guilt—look what we’ve done for these poor people, all the while knowing that no one except a parent would ever set foot inside the grand building. Probably not even parents, once they’d dropped their flawed darling off at the front door. It was considered somewhat shameful to have produced a less-than-perfect child, at least for those who had the money to hide the child away for life.”

  “Christine, you’re depressing me. At least things are better now. There are schools where they can learn.” Abby opened a cupboard. “What kind of tea would you like?”

  “Something without caffeine. I need to catch some sleep before my next shift. So many people die in the dark hours.”

  Abby started her hot-pot boiling and spooned loose tea into a pot. “I’d offer you cookies or something, but I haven’t had time to bake lately.”

  “Don’t worry about it. So, what happened? What did you talk about? Did you meet any of the kids?”

  “I did—a small group, anyway. There weren’t many people around, but it was getting late. How did you meet Carolyn?”

  “I took care of her mother. It was an odd way to become friends, but we are.”

  “I gather she doesn’t have any psychic abilities?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. Unless you count human empathy.”

  “That’s pretty rare too,” Abby commented.

  “It is. But I think Carolyn’s exactly what she seems to be—a decent caring woman who’s trying to do something difficult. I thought you two would hit it off. Did you tell her about . . . the whole psychic thing?”

  “No. I volunteered to spend some time at the school, getting to know how it operates, meet some of the staff, and get to know some of the kids, quietly. After that Carolyn can decide whether I’d fit in there, but with no commitments. If she says no, I won’t say anything. Why ask for complications?”

  “What was it like, sitting in the midst of the children?”

  Abby shut her eyes, trying to remember her impressions. “Some were interested in me, some weren’t. I tried asking them various basic questions, and some responded, some didn’t.”

  “But what about, well, connecting with them?” Christine pressed, seeming almost anxious.

  “I didn’t really have the opportunity. Just as well,” Abby said.

  “That would have been awkward,” Christine said with a half smile. “Do you think you can make this work?”

  “I don’t know yet. But my overall impression was positive”

  Abby stood up to pour the tea. Christine added sugar and milk from the containers on the table and sipped thoughtfully.

  Abby hesitated, then asked, “Are you thinking of making a change? Away from death counseling?”

  “Maybe. I’ve been doing it for a while now, and it can be depressing. I know I’m doing something important, that matters to people, but it feels like dealing with children could be simpler. Even if they don’t talk.” Christine looked away for a moment. “You know, I’ve never been married or had a child, and I’ve never been the kind of person to hang out with a gaggle of girlfriends. And maybe what I do, as a death nurse, puts some people off. So I’ve never had many opportunities to test my abilities at the other end of the spectrum.”

  “I wonder if it’s different if you welcome people into the world, rather than help them out of it?” Abby said, almost to herself.

  “I guess I’m beginning to wonder too,” Christine said with a touch of sadness.

  Chapter 19

  Monday

  Then Christine drained her cup and stood up. “I should get out of your way. Ned will be home soon, won’t he?”

  “Probably.”

  “And you’ll want to share your news with him. Does he approve of the idea?”

  “He lets me make my own decisions, but I think he’ll be happy for me. It’s a step in the right direction for both of us.”

  “Would you take Ellie to meet the other kids?”

  Abby considered the question. “I haven’t thought that far. And I’d have to explain it to Leslie, which would get complicated. With Danny, he’s already a friend of Ellie’s, so it’s not like I’m poking my nose in. It’s more natural.”

  Christine smiled ruefully. “It’s difficult for you, isn’t it? Juggling who knows what and what you can say. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Call me after you’ve figured out how things are working out.”

  “I will. Maybe you and Carolyn and I can have lunch together someday soon.”

  Abby ushered Christine out just as Ned’s car pulled into their driveway. He got out of his car and waved at Christine as she pulled away, then walked toward the house. “Good news?” he called out when he was close enough to be heard.

  “I think so. Come on in and I’ll tell you all about it.” She turned and headed straight for the kitchen, with Ned following at her heels.

  When they were each supplied with a glass of wine, Ned said, “So?”

  Abby launched into a description of her meeting with Carolyn, with more detail than she’d given Christine because she’d held back some bits to share with Ned. When she’d come to the end, Ned raised his glass to her. “Well done!”

  “I hope so,” Abby replied. “I like Carolyn, and I think she’s committed to working with these kids. It can’t be easy, and from what little I’ve read, it seems that each child could have a different set of physical or cognitive issues, so there’s no single easy solution. Plus, working with autistic people really never ends. But I didn’t sense any red flags in the few I did meet.”

  “I wonder how hard it is to find staff for places like these?”

  “I didn’t think to ask. I guess we’d also have to wonder what the turnover is like. How quickly do teachers burn out, if they’re having trouble breaking through? My general impression is that it takes time to build trust with autistic children, which wouldn’t happen if people keep coming and going. And it must be frustrating to repeat the same exercises and therapies over and over again, with only limited progress.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Ned asked.

  “No! Not at all. This is kind of the perfect situation—I get to be part of the school on a limited basis, and I can observe and learn by doing. If I find out that it’s not for me or I’m not a good fit with this one place, I can walk away, and I’ll be better off than I started.”

  “Good point,” Ned agreed. “So, you start tomorrow?”

  “Looks like it. Unless Jack Maguire wants to get to work on the powder room, but he thought he wouldn’t even get the supplies and appliances until later in the week, so it may be next week before he could start. And as for the Maguires, you didn’t feel anything in the attic, right?”

  “You mean, from Aunt Mary? No, never. But it’s highly unlikely that we would have a connection. Unless I’m getting better at sensing a broader range of people, thanks to you.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that—I didn’t pick up anything, but I think Ellie did. The Force is strong with this one.”

  Ned smiled at Abby’s joke. “I’d say so. But please don’t channel Darth Vader. We’re supposed to be the good guys, right?”

  “I hope so. Now, what’s happening with dinner?”

  “Shall we scrounge?”

  “Works for me,” Abby told Ned.

  Cheerfully they threw together a meal based on whatever they could find in the refrigerator and cupboards. “You know, if I’m going to be working, we’re going to have to get more organized about food shopping,” Abby said. “And oth
er household stuff.”

  Ned grinned at her. “You mean, like ordinary people?”

  “Well, only if you want to keep eating. And using, uh, certain paper products. I don’t want to get locked into one of those ‘whose turn is it?’ situations, but some sort of plan would be nice.”

  “I agree,” Ned told her, “but we’ll have to work on it.”

  “I’ll have to see what my schedule turns out to be. And not Thursdays, because that’s Ellie’s day.”

  “We’re smart people. I think we can handle it. More wine?”

  “Maybe a little. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Oh, by the way—there may be one fly in the ointment. I got a call from Leslie today.”

  “Yes?” Abby said cautiously.

  “The Littleton schools are closed all this week, and George was planning on staying home with Ellie and Petey, but something’s come up at his office, and he has to go in for a few hours in the afternoon. The museum is open both tomorrow and Friday, and Leslie has to cover both days. I said I could keep an eye on Ellie tomorrow, but I’m meeting with some investors on Friday. They’re not American, so they don’t know what all this fuss about Thanksgiving means and why anybody should get an extra day off. Could you handle Friday?”

  “A whole day with Ellie? Sure. But I may end up working closer to full-time by next week—just keep that in mind. And I’ll be observing at the school Wednesday morning. Good thing Sarah’s doing the cooking!”

  • • •

  When she woke up the next morning, Abby wasn’t sure what she felt. Excited, she guessed, because she had a chance to see a lot of autistic kids together, that might, maybe, actually lead to a job that fit her unusual skills. And she felt scared as well, because she hadn’t had a formal job for a while. She came equipped with a hidden talent that could prove useful, but she couldn’t show it too much without raising questions. But it could turn out to be invaluable in teaching the children, and that’s what she needed to find out. It was going to be a real tightrope act until she figured things out.