Mrs. Blessing removed her silly hat and smiled imploringly. “Max had a great morning. I want you to know that. He finished his math worksheet before everyone else and participated really well during circle time. It was only after lunch that things got rocky. I’d asked the kids to turn in their Larry the Leprechaun projects. We’re gearing up for our St. Patrick’s Day celebration next month—”
“St. Patrick’s… is… STUPID!” Hissss.
Beau gritted his teeth as the woman impressively ignored his son’s outburst and continued on with her explanation.
“Unfortunately, Max couldn’t find his. We checked his backpack and cubby several times. Perhaps he brought it home by mistake?”
Beau had a sudden flash of a sheet of paper he’d set his coffee mug on that morning. He’d barely looked at it, but he had a sickening feeling that the green blob drawn at the top might have passed for some sort of super-mutated clover.
Shit. The cause of his son’s meltdown was currently laying on a desk in his condo being used for a coaster. “Yeah, I think I might know where it is,” Beau said with a sigh.
Mrs. Blessing offered another understanding smile. “These things happen. It’s not a big deal. I just told Max he could do another one.” She looked down at the scraps pooling around her clogs and gave a rueful snort. “Obviously, Max wasn’t too jazzed about that idea. He crawled under his desk and started tearing up the handout I gave him. I tried to coax him out by transitioning to Tooty Ta time—”
“Excuse me, what?”
“It’s Max’s favorite song. All the kids love the ‘Tooty Ta.’”
“TOOTY TA IS STUPID!”
Mrs. Blessing giggled nervously.
Mrs. Singh frowned.
Beau thought his kid probably had a point.
“Well, normally, it’s his favorite,” Mrs. Blessing amended. “Unfortunately, Max just wasn’t having it today, and seeing his friends singing and dancing only seem to make him more agitated.”
“I’ll bet,” Beau muttered dryly.
Mrs. Blessing flushed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Browning. I was trying to redirect him.”
Beau felt like a jerk. Being snide to this lady was a dick move. She’d been trying her best to deal with his volatile son while also maintaining control of twenty other kids. And all she’d gotten was bitten for her efforts.
Sadly, Beau could have prevented the whole situation by actually listening to his ex when she’d come to pick Max up from his place yesterday morning. Janelle had asked him then if Max had all his things for school, and Beau, eager to be done with their weekly switch so he could get back to the piles of work he had for clients, had blown her off with a thumbs-up before scooping Max into their usual good-bye hug.
“I’m sorry too,” he said to his son’s teacher. “I’ll talk to Max tonight. I can assure you this won’t happen again.”
But even as he said this, Beau knew that he couldn’t, and he could tell by the lady’s placating smile that she knew it too. His son had autism. He’d always had it. He always would have it. And some things were just far more difficult for Max to deal with than others. The unfortunate surprise of a missing homework assignment was obviously one of them. That was Beau’s fault.
Hell, maybe even the autism was his fault. The psychiatrist who’d diagnosed Max had asked Beau if anyone in their family was on the spectrum. Beau hadn’t thought so at the time, but now that he considered the matter, he’d often wondered about his eldest brother Bennett. The dude was really hard to connect with, and not just because he was an ocean away serving in the Marines, but also because he didn’t much like talking.
Of course, it was also possible that genetics hadn’t had anything to do with Max’s autism. Maybe it was an environmental thing. Beau frowned as he thought of this.
To say that he and his ex-wife had been drinking heavily the night Max was conceived was an understatement. They’d been absolutely smashed. Smashed as in waking up the next morning with no clue how their clothes had ended up in a fish tank smashed. Could that level of intoxication have messed with his swimmers—
Bang!
Beau flinched, another jarring blow to the table dragging him from his spiraling thoughts as Mrs. Singh cleared her throat.
“Mr. Browning, I did want to give you a heads-up that we’re going to be transferring him to a different—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Beau raked a hand through his hair, trying to focus on what the woman was telling him as the racket under the table grew louder. “You want to kick him out of school?!” Beau hollered over the noise. As soon as the words slipped out, Beau could have kicked himself for jumping to conclusions because his son suddenly let loose with some furious hollering of his own.
“No, I’m not! You are kicked out of school! YOU ARE A STUPID LADY!!”
Beau slammed his hand down on the table. “That’s enough, Max!”
His son burst into tears under the table. Mrs. Blessing tossed her ice pack and slipped from her chair with a mothering cry. “Of course we’re not kicking you out, Max.”
Beau felt even more like a jerk as the woman attempted to console his child while Mrs. Singh frowned at him from across the table.
“Mr. Browning, I was referring to a transfer to our other Pre-K class. One of our goals here at Leighton Mills is to give all our kiddos the best possible learning environment, so the transition to primary school is a successful one. Miss James is an exceptional teacher, she has fewer students in her class, and plenty of experience working with our autistic friends.”
“There are others here?”
Mrs. Singh shifted forward, dark eyes boring into his own. “There are,” she said, deftly pulling a necklace from the v of her blouse. The little silver pendant attached to it was shaped like a puzzle piece. “You’re not the only parent with a child on the spectrum, Mr. Browning. My son, Kal, will be graduating from Finkerton next year.”
“Oh.” Beau felt his throat tighten. “You must be very proud.”
“I am,” she said quietly, “and trust me when I say that I’ve been right where you are now.”
Beau had to look away, the empathy in the woman’s expression suddenly overwhelming him. He backed from the table quickly. “I, uh, I should be getting Max home.”
“Of course. Feel free to call me if you have any questions or concerns about the transfer, and in the meantime, you might want to check this center out. It was a godsend to Kal.” Mrs. Singh pulled a card from a Rolodex on the table and handed it to him.
Beau recognized the gold star embossed on it immediately. For the second time within the last two hours, he was staring at an advert for this Journeys place. It was probably just a random coincidence, but right then it seemed awfully profound. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing the card more carefully.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Browning.”
Beau knelt back down beside his son’s teacher. Max had finally quieted and seemed hyper-focused on covering her hand with the strips of paper he’d scattered all over the carpet. She watched him with a smile. Beau couldn’t immediately tell what had her amused, but as he peered more closely at the scraps, he realized they were actually being shaped into a small rectangle.
Mrs. Blessing looked up and met Beau’s gaze, her grin widening. “Max is making me a Band-Aid.”
He was. Beau could see it clearly now, the meticulously pieced together pattern blowing him away. Because, suddenly, he could understand it now too. His son had never been very good at expressing himself verbally, and he often acted in emotionally inappropriate ways. But in that moment, he was making himself abundantly, beautifully, clear. Max was apologizing.
“Isn’t it extraordinary how their minds work?” Mrs. Singh smiled down at them.
“Yes, ma’am. It is.” Beau could only shake his head in wonder as he reached for his child. Max sniffled, his big brown eyes significantly calmer. They swung to Beau for only a second before shifting to a spot over his shoulder as they often did. Then Max c
rawled out from under the table and straight into his lap. Long skinny legs latched around Beau’s middle, and a shaggy mane of dark curls settled in the crook of his neck. “Hey, Maximilian,” Beau whispered, “you wanna go to Papa Finn’s house and mess with his coin collection?”
“Okay, Daddy.” Max’s arms tightened around him, and Beau could feel his son’s jaw clench as the kid squeezed with as much force as his scrawny limbs could muster.
Beau stood with his son and turned to the two people now watching them with smiles in their eyes. “Tell his mama we’ll be at the Gate House when she gets here.”
“No problem.”
Beau walked from the room with his son clinging to him like a monkey.
And he was very proud that Max Browning was his kid.
Chapter 5
Maison Hills, more commonly referred to as the “The Hills” due to the rolling stretches of green separating the homes in the affluent East Baton Rouge community, was only a few minutes away from his son’s school. Beau’s parents’ place, more commonly referred to as “the Gate House” due to its close proximity to the tall brick barrier separating the Hills from the rest of the city, was the first estate in the neighborhood.
Beau had spent much of his youth climbing across the thick branches of an old magnolia tree just outside his bedroom window, scaling over the massive wall, and then chasing after three much older brothers. In addition to Bennett, there was Nathan, a happily married executive living in Mobile, and Jackson, a happily unmarried lawyer living in New Orleans.
Beau was the baby of the family. Born twelve years after his eldest brother, his conception had come as a surprise to Finneus and Nadine Browning. His mother loved to recount the moment she learned the happy news, often saying she should have known Finn could still get her pregnant at forty because apparently Beau’s old man had some sort of “super sperm.”
Beau didn’t like to think about his father’s “super sperm,” or the fact that his parents had sex, or the fact that, even now, well into their sixties, they were on vacation at some nudist colony in the Caribbean where they were, quite possibly, still having sex. He also thought it highly unlikely his parents had been as shocked by their last pregnancy as he’d been by his ex-wife’s first.
Beau glanced at his son in the rearview mirror as he navigated up the long curving driveway to the house. Max was playing with the learning tablet Janelle had bought him for his last birthday, the volume turned up way too loud. It was only after Beau had cruised to a stop in front of an expansive, gray two-story with crisp white shutters that he could actually hear his cell phone ringing. Beau grabbed it as he helped Max down from his booster. Even before his son had scampered from the car, Janelle’s panicked voice was shrieking into his ear.
“Is Max okay!? My appointment ran late, and this stupid hospital has terrible cell coverage, and I just got your message—”
“He’s fine, Janelle. Calm down. We’re walking into the Gatehouse now.” Beau dumped the contents of his pockets onto a rustic wooden tray topping an ottoman in the foyer. His son darted down the hall. Beau trailed after him, smiling as Max beelined for the small chest of coins Finn kept on a coffee table in the study just for him.
“Oh, thank God! I was freaking out when I saw the school’s texts. I can’t believe Max bit his teacher. He loves Mrs. Blessing! What are we going to do? Leighton Mills is a highly respected preschool. Will this go on his record? Are they kicking him out—”
Janelle wasn’t calming down. Beau didn’t think this level of stress was too healthy for a woman in her condition. “Is Aaron there with you?” he asked, cutting her off mid-rant.
“Nooo,” she wailed, “he missed our ultrasound because his stupid boss kept him late doing stupid safety checks on their new engine. Can you believe that?”
Actually, Beau could. Janelle’s husband worked for a fire station, and Beau didn’t think the man’s boss sounded particularly “stupid” for running a safety check. Beau made a note to have a conversation with his ex later about her overuse of the word when she wasn’t liable to bite his head off. Of course, he should probably be glad Janelle didn’t love the f-bomb, or his son might have been swearing like a sailor all morning.
“Look, Max is fine,” he said once again, this time lowering his voice to a soothing drawl as Janelle continued to hyperventilate in his ear. “He just got worked up over a missing assignment. I know where it is. I’ll take care of it. And I also got a tip on a therapy program for him. He’s gonna be alright. Try not to stress. Okay?”
Janelle let out a long, exhausted breath. “Okay,” she said at last. “And thanks for picking him up. I’m on my way.”
“No rush. Take your time.”
“Be there in ten.”
Beau hung up, tossed his phone on the table, and sat down in his dad’s recliner to watch his son play with a bunch of colorful plastic coins. His father’s “collection” was actually an assortment of old Mardi Gras doubloons the family had saved from countless parades over the years. Max was utterly fascinated with them.
“Twenty-nine,” he muttered to himself. “There are twenty-nine coins. Five silver, seven gold, nine bronze, eight blue. That makes twenty-nine.”
Beau leaned closer to gaze at the pile scattered on the floor. “Very good, Max. Do you want to add another coin to make an even number?”
Max looked at him curiously. Beau loved it when he did this. One of the few times his son would actually hold his gaze was when they were talking math. It was also one of the few times Max would ask him questions, and Beau could tell he was turning one over in his head because he usually tilted his head slightly as he did it.
“What’s an even number, Daddy?”
Beau scooted down to the area rug and quickly sorted the coins into two columns, the left with fifteen and the right with fourteen. “It’s any number you can divide evenly by two. Right now, all the coins on the left can be paired with coins on the right except this one.” He tapped the bronze coin at the bottom of the left column. “This one doesn’t have a partner, and that is why twenty-nine is an odd number.”
Max considered this for a moment. Then he pulled a glittery purple coin from the chest and placed it next to the bronze. “Now there is thirty coins. Thirty coins is even!” Max jumped into his lap with a squeal of excitement.
“Whoa, buddy!” Beau laughed as his son pounded him on the back. “Thirty coins are even,” he corrected, squeezing his boy back before setting him down on the rug again. “Now, why don’t you show me another even number…”
Max scooped up the chest, upended the rest of the coins in a great whoosh of shiny plastic, and started sorting through them with enthusiasm. Beau lay down next to him and smiled.
This was how his ex found them thirty minutes later. She waddled into the living room with her husband in tow. Aaron had a huge grin on his face. Beau suspected this had little to do with the fact that he’d finally gotten out of work, and significantly more to do with the hand resting over Janelle’s baby bump.
“It’s a girl, bro!” Aaron pumped his fist as Janelle snorted beside him.
“I thought we were going to tell them together,” she said dryly.
“We are.” Aaron ripped a little black photo from Janelle’s purse. “Look. Her head’s so big and cute, and she’s got all twenty fingers and toes, bro.”
Beau glanced at the ultrasound picture and smiled. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Janelle shot him a quiet smile in return. Then she bent to kiss the crown of Max’s curls. “Time to go, sweetie.”
“Twenty is an even number,” Max mumbled as he arranged the coins.
Janelle chuckled. “More math lessons, huh?”
Beau nodded ruefully as his son stood and walked over to his stepdad. Aaron held up the picture for him to see. Max peered at the grainy black and white image of his sister, seemed to think for a moment, and then said, “I’m going to have a partner. I won’t be odd anymore.”
“No,
kiddo, you won’t.” Janelle started tearing up.
Max looked at her suspiciously. The crying thing sometimes confused him. Janelle quickly swiped at her tears as he walked over to her. “Me and baby are partners,” he said, tapping her belly.
“Baby and I are partners, Max—”
Max wasn’t listening to the grammar lesson. He’d already moved back to Aaron and was studying him very seriously. “Aa-ron and Mommy are partners—”
“Different kind of partners, little bro, but yeah—”
Max really wasn’t interested in this kind of lesson. He turned back to his father and pointed. “How come you don’t have a partner, Daddy?”
Beau sucked in a breath as his son finally asked him a question that had very little to do with math. Then he bent down and ruffled his hair. “I guess I haven’t found the right person to even me out yet.”
Chapter 6
Shortly after hugging his kid goodbye for the second time that week, Beau found himself taking a nice long shower in the bathroom across from his old bedroom. He was exhausted by the day’s events, both physically, because of his disrupted workouts that morning, and mentally, because, in addition to having a child on the spectrum, he still had a pile of tax returns on the desk in his condo… right next to Max’s blasted leprechaun project.
Beau killed the water, dried himself off, and padded back across the hall. Minus his giant poster of Gwen Stefani and most of his magazine collection, his mother had kept much of his room intact. His old clothes were still in his dresser. His bookshelf was still crammed with sci-fi novels, economy texts, and computer books. And the quilt his mother had sewn him in middle school was still folded neatly at the food of his bed. Beau stared at the crimson and gray patchwork, wondering how many times he’d stuffed pillows under the thing before sneaking out to see some girl when he was a teenager.
Hell, when was the last time he’d “seen” a girl now? Beau frowned as he tried to remember his last date. Had it been that paralegal Jackson had set him up with last summer? Had that actually been a date or just a hookup? Beau didn’t really know what the kids called it these days.
Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3) Page 4