Chapter 33
Man parts jiggling
Gage
Iwalked into Pushing Up Daisies and took a seat in the back of the Garden Gathering Room, pleasantly surprised to find the space almost full.
I could just pick out Zoey’s standout curls in the front row.
The crowd appeared to be riveted by the presentation that was happening in front of Lacresha’s coffin display.
Quaid stood in front of a high-end pewter coffin, looking like he’d just hopped off a surfboard in floral shorts and a sweatshirt.
He had his arm around the small boy with glasses who was leaning into him and peering down at a tablet.
Next to them, a young woman with a floral sleeve tattoo was leading the discussion in a brisk, no-nonsense voice.
All around the room, pens scratched on paper and fingers tapped on keyboards as my friends, neighbors, and family—of course my parents were there—took notes.
“It was this lack of public education, my own personal experience, and meeting other individuals with autism like Benjamin here that motivated me to become a community autism educator,” the woman explained.
“As I said before, I am considered to have high-functioning autism, which means I enjoy an above-average intelligence but I still struggle with things like social cues and interactions. I might not make eye contact with you while I bombard you with interesting facts about meteorology. For instance, did you know that lightning often follows a volcanic eruption?”
The crowd chuckled appreciatively.
“Now for individuals like Quaid’s brother Benjamin, autism can present differently. Benjamin expresses himself through his speech tablet and sign language.”
She paused, and Quaid nudged Benjamin, who keyed something into his tablet.
“Hello,” said the tablet.
The crowd waved back at him.
“We both exhibit repetitive behaviors and share a preference for routines. But Benjamin’s tolerance for overstimulation is lower than mine or yours.
Loud noises, bright lights, tags on his clothing can all lead to an overstimulated brain.
A neurotypical brain can take in these kinds of stimuli and choose to ignore or at least dial them down.
A brain with autism cannot do that. So it’s helpful to know how to minimize triggers or provide access to safe, quiet spaces.
In a survey of parents of children with autism, these are the top three ways they said we can best support them in public places. ”
She gestured behind her at the screen on the wall.
“Creating inclusive spaces with sensory considerations where individuals can take breaks from external stimulation.
Having a sensory tool kit on hand with items like weighted blankets, fidget toys, or noise-canceling headphones.
And finally, just providing positive reinforcement to the families when you recognize autistic behavior goes a long way in making everyone feel safe and welcome.
“It looks as though our time is up. Thank you for your time, your attention, and your willingness to learn about me and Benjamin and the best ways to support people like us.”
“Thank you so much, Maria,” Zoey said, popping up from the front row.
She turned to face the crowd, and I couldn’t help but smile. Damn, she was pretty.
“And since Maria’s taught us that loud noises can be a trigger, may I suggest that we thank her, Benjamin, and Quaid in sign language like we learned tonight from Mr. and Mrs. Blumenthal.”
I watched, impressed, as every person in the audience signed thank you.
Maria took a little bow, and Benjamin said, “You’re welcome,” via his tablet.
“Thank you so much for coming out and spending the evening with us. I hope we can all find ways to implement what we’ve learned here tonight. Please take any leftover snacks, sodas, and wine with you,” Zoey said.
Pride warmed my chest like a sip of bourbon as I watched everyone perform the ASL sign for applause for her. She was beaming right back at the crowd.
“Stop it. You’ll make a girl blush,” she teased.
I worked my way through the gathered crowd to find her in conversation with Darius and Kitty Suarez.
I wanted to pull her into me and kiss her but realized any kind of physical contact witnessed by this percentage of the town would be a mistake.
The gossip would have us dating by midnight and planning a wedding by eight a.m. Instead, I stuck my hands in my pockets and tried to keep the lust off my face.
“Hey, great turnout,” I said.
Zoey’s face lit up, and her smile hit me like a tractor trailer to the sternum. Shit. I was in serious trouble with this woman.
“Thank God you’re here. You were right. I’m starving. Feed me,” she begged, sagging into my side.
I had no choice but to slide an arm around her waist, or at least that was what I told myself as Kitty’s eyebrows arched upward in interest. Darius at least remained blissfully unaware of the gossip unfolding before him.
“Thanks again for organizing this, Zoey,” he said. “This was amazing. I’ve never seen a turnout like this before. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home and finish my chem homework.”
“Sooo I heard you two are…” Kitty wagged her finger back and forth between us.
“Having casual sex?” Zoey supplied cheerfully. “Yep. Lots of it.”
“Good for you guys. The world would be a better place if we all had more sex. Well, I’ve got some knitting to do, and that true crime docuseries isn’t going to watch itself. Have a good night,” she said with a wink.
“Well, that’s gonna be all over town by morning,” I said.
“We’re two consenting adults. We don’t need to pretend we’re dating or running a book club. Besides, I don’t have the energy to keep up a facade. I’m exhausted.”
“I can take the heat,” I promised her.
We were interrupted by funeral director Lacresha, Dahlia from Angelo’s, and Junior Wallpeter. They were all wearing matching shirts that said KDA. “Zoey! We have something for you,” Dahlia said, thrusting a thick envelope into her hands.
“What’s this?” she asked, opening it. Her eyes went wide. “Why are you handing me an envelope stuffed with cash? And where can I get one of those shirts?”
“It’s for the Kick Dominion’s Ass committee,” Junior announced, pointing proudly at his shirt.
Zoey looked at me. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“What’s the Kick Dominion’s Ass committee?” I asked.
“We are,” Lacresha announced. “Our goal is to kick Dominion’s ass in all things.”
“The high school marketing club made the shirts, and we sold two dozen of them tonight,” Dahlia explained.
“It’s so you don’t have to keep paying for things out of your own pocket, seein’ how you’re broke and selling all your expensive underwear online,” Junior added.
“To be clear, I’m not selling my underwear. It’s just my regular clothes,” Zoey said.
“Maybe you should think about selling underwear. My cousin Frances makes five figures a month selling hers,” he suggested.
“Selling them where?” Zoey asked.
I pulled her into my side and stared down Junior.
“Uh, I forget?” he said, shooting me a nervous look.
“Well, thank you for the spontaneous fundraising and the overinvolvement in my personal business,” Zoey said, waving the envelope.
“You’re welcome,” they all said together.
“Dinner?” I said when the Kick Dominion’s Ass committee dispersed.
Zoey’s face fell. “I know I said yes already, and I am starving. But I’ve spent the entire day peopling. I don’t think I can deal with a restaurant full of nosy neighbors.”
“I had a feeling you might feel that way and planned accordingly.”
“Really? No more peopling?” Her face was hopeful.
“None,” I promised. “Come on.”
“How very you of you,” she said as we made our way outside.
“Are you trying to offend me or compliment me?”
“Probably both. You identified the potential for a problem and planned around that potential. God, I wish I could be inside your brain for a day. It sounds so orderly and organized in there.”
“I’m not sure I’d survive in yours,” I admitted, opening the passenger door of my SUV for her and holding Nana back.
“It’s not for the faint of heart,” Zoey said, greeting my dog with an enthusiastic squish of her face. “Hi, baby.”
Nana’s tail thumped against the seat as Zoey managed to dodge her tongue.
“Back seat, Nan,” I ordered.
The dog grumbled but complied.
I slid in behind the wheel and started the engine.
Zoey released a long, slow breath and closed her eyes as I pulled out of the parking spot.
No questions about where we were going, what we were eating.
She trusted me, I realized, sneaking a look at her profile in the streetlights. She probably didn’t even realize it.
I took us north on Lake Drive, leaving the town in the rearview mirror.
She opened her eyes when I turned off the road and gravel crunched under the tires. Nana poked her head between the seats, recognizing our destination with a cheerful yip.
“Where are we? Wait. Is this Levi’s place?” she asked as the headlights hit the cedar shake cabin among the trees.
“It is. He’s not home tonight. He had some weekend law enforcement training. I figured you wouldn’t mind a quiet, lakefront dinner,” I said, cutting the engine.
“This feels date-y,” Zoey mused with suspicion.
“Maybe. But I bet you’re hungry enough you’re willing to look past any unintentional romance.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop being right all the time. It’s annoying.”
“Watch your step,” I warned when we got out. Nana jogged off to sniff and pee. I grabbed the blanket, cooler, and flashlight out of the back seat and met her around the hood.
The evening air had a hint of warmth to it. Tree frogs sang out in the canopy above us, one of the hallmarks of spring for as long as I could remember. The lake glittered in the moonlight beyond the cabin.
Zoey followed me to Levi’s back door and waited while I found the spare key on the hook.
“Your brother leaves a key hanging next to the door? Haven’t you people ever heard of security? You’re too trusting,” Zoey complained.