Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SHORT
Trip took no notice of Bronwyn disappearing, but when Grace, the receptionist, emerged from behind her desk, he moved closer to me and hugged his teddy bear tight.
“It’s alright, little buddy, she’s got some games we can play.” I cast her a look.
Grace smiles at me. “You’re a good dad,” she says softly.
I want to tell her she’s wrong, I’m not father material, but hell, I’ve claimed Trip as my son, which does indeed make me his dad even if he’s not the fruit of my loins. And I do take some perverse pleasure in her opinion, I’m at least doing something right.
She might not have cars or motorcycles, but she brings out some blocks.
Trip’s obviously not interested, so she tries something else.
When she brings out some small building bricks, the type you don’t want to stand on in bare feet, I nudge Trip.
“Now she’s talking, isn’t she? Shall we see what we can make with these? ”
When I sink down on the floor, Trip slides off the couch alongside me.
It’s obvious he’s never been exposed to the colourful plastic toys.
I’ve no skills myself, can’t even remember playing with such bricks when I was a kid, so I think of something simple.
“Shall we make a house?” I mean, how hard can that be?
Real-life houses are actually made of, well, yeah, bricks.
Expecting nothing from him, I grab a base and start building a wall.
When I’ve completed one side, I realise I’m actually getting into this, when it should be about Trip.
Glancing at him, though, I see he’s carefully watching me.
I hand him what I’ve already built, and suggest, “You want to build the next side?”
For a moment, I think it’s a lost cause, and I’ll have to continue building it myself.
At least it seems to entertain him. Trip, who’s been studying the pile of building materials in front of us, suddenly leans forward and pulls something toward him.
Then he affixes a fucking door to the middle of what would be the next wall.
Something I’ve not even thought about yet.
“Good thinking, Trip.” I’m getting into it now. “We’ll need windows as well.” I help him sort through the heap. He finds one, and I find the other.
Then it’s a puzzle to find the right-sized bricks to fit around the door and form a base for the windows. But Trip seems to get the hang of it – placing a brick down, then replacing it with another if it doesn’t match up. I exchange a glance with Grace, who’s smiling.
I won’t say it’s the fastest house ever built, but by the time the door opens, and the therapist asks Grace to bring Trip in, we’ve got four walls assembled and a flat roof, courtesy of another base, ready to go on the top.
When the door closes behind him, Grace comes back, sinks to the floor, and starts to gather the bricks.
“I’ve got this,” I tell her, and after staring wonderingly at it for a moment, I start to demolish the house Trip had built. Then I put all the bricks back in the plastic tub she’d stored them in.
Grace, who’s returned to the reception desk, places her head in her hands, stares at me, and states, “You’re a natural with him.”
Chuckling, I scoff. “No ma’am. Truth is, I barely know the kid. But he keeps surprising me at every turn.”
“Kids do that,” she responds. “I see a lot of people around here, Mr.…?”
“Short. Just call me Short.”
“Short.” She tries it out. “We get all sorts, and while I’m not qualified, my job is to do the books and make appointments. I see a lot. I reckon your boy has some untapped potential. Dr. Hancock will give you some pointers on how to help him.”
“That’s what we’re hoping for.”
The telephone rings. She answers, and our moment is broken.
After she ends the call, she busies herself on the computer, while I pick up a magazine and read.
Time passes, and another couple comes in with what I can only describe as an obnoxious child.
They’re loud, rude, run straight for the toys in the corner, and start throwing things.
When his dad tells him to behave, he talks back as if he’s a teenager, whereas he can’t be more than five.
Maybe I should be thankful Trip’s non-verbal.
Then I backtrack in my head. I’d love Trip to be able to express his thoughts and let me know what he’s feeling or thinking. Fuck, if he played up, I’d probably be proud of him.
Their arrival does signal that Bronwyn’s time is probably up.
I’m proved right when only a couple of minutes later, the door opens and my old lady steps out, Trip beside her.
Knowing her expression and body language will tell me a lot, I try to read her.
She’s certainly far more relaxed than when she went in, and there’s a little bounce in her step that wasn’t there before.
Dr Hancock steps up to the reception desk and has a quiet tete a tete with Grace. The receptionist taps at her computer, and then scribbles something on a piece of paper. Dr. Hancock takes the note, and hands it to Bronwyn. Bronwyn takes it, blushes red, then nods at something the doctor tells her.
I then step up, and hand Grace my credit card. I try not to wince at the sum on the bill she passes over, and make sure to hide the total from Bron. Card swiped, and we’re free to leave.
I realise we haven’t said a word to each other until we reach my truck.
“How did it go?” I ask her as she straps Trip into his seat.
She shakes her head and whispers, “We’ll talk at home.”
I’m impatient to know the diagnosis for my adopted son, but maybe she’s got a point about not speaking openly about it in front of Trip. Somehow, I’ve got a feeling he might be non-verbal, but he understands a lot more than he shows.
Realising I’m hungry, and they must be too, I suggest, “Want to stop off for something to eat?”
“Maybe a drive-thru?” Bronwyn proposes.
Well, yeah. Maybe she’s got a point. Trip’s had a lot of new experiences today for a boy who hadn’t stepped foot outside his family home.
Perhaps it would be too overwhelming to eat in a restaurant.
Then it hits me, I wasn’t thinking. Bron and Trip have to stay hidden and can’t do anything normal, like eat out.
A drive-thru would be a good compromise and would mean neither of us would have to sort through whatever’s been stocked up in the house and find something to cook.
I stop off at a burger chain and get a kid’s meal for Trip, and burgers for me and Bron. We’re only a few minutes from home, so wait to eat until we get there.
Bronwyn gets Trip out of the car seat and encourages him into the house. I start to extract the food from the bags while Bron gets some plates down.
I’ve got two enormous burgers with all the fixings for myself.
Bron had gotten a burger too, though hers is far simpler.
Trip’s got the nuggets his momma suggested, and we set the fries down in the middle of all of us.
When I produce a milkshake I’ve acquired for him, Trip’s eyes light up.
Bron told me he’d never had one before, so I watch his face as he takes a sip.
There’s no hiding the way his eyes open as the strawberry-flavoured milk goes down.
“Good, huh?” I ask him. His eyes come to me, and I swear there’s a slight up and down movement, a nod.
Not making a big deal of him responding to me, I hold the first burger to my mouth and take an enormous bite.
It’s junk food, tasty, not gourmet. But it will keep me topped up.
Seeing me eating, Trip tries a nugget that’s probably packed with shit, which makes them attractive to kids.
Whatever they do to make the flavour kid-friendly works, as the taste makes his eyes light up again.
“Dig in.” I move the fries closer to him. He picks up a handful.
“You eating?” I now turn my attention to my old lady, realising that referring to her as that is starting to feel natural.
“I feel like a failure,” she says softly, then shoots a worried glance toward her son. But he’s discovering fast food for the first time, and that seems to be all that’s on his mind.
“You’re no failure. Fuck, Bron, I admire you. You got Trip away, and are taking a chance with me to keep him safe.”
“Dr. Hancock suggested part of his communication problems are because my parents always punished him for crying or making a sound. She… she thinks just because he doesn’t talk, it doesn’t mean he can’t understand.
She thinks we ought to talk to him all the time, and include him in conversations even if he doesn’t respond. ”
“Your parents should be sent to hell for what they’ve done,” I growl.
“Dr. Hancock put it another way. If I hadn’t already gotten him out of there and promised her he wouldn’t go back, she’d have gotten social services involved. Oh, and she wants to see him regularly. And…” she sounds nervous. “She wants to see him in his new home, to assess how he’s doing with us.”
I can’t see a problem with that, though this house isn’t the best appointed.
But I’ve got my brothers, who I know will offer their assistance to do the place up.
I’ll have to get Bron to make a list of shit she and the boy need.
I’m about to mention it to her when I notice Trip’s paused in his eating.
I lean over and speak into her ear. “We’ll talk more later.
” Then to Trip, I ask, “What did you think of the doctor? Was she nice?”
“She played all types of weird games with him,” Bronwyn answers for him. “She showed him a sheet with different animals on it, and when she named one and asked him to point out the correct one, he got it right every time. You did well, didn’t you, Trip?”