Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
The following morning, Beth rose early, bleary-eyed and exhausted, for a shift at the cafe.
After reading the rest of her father’s letters, each of them as wonderful and heartbreaking as the others, she’d stayed up late, scouring countless articles online about bipolar and narcissistic personality disorders, but her research had only served to confuse her further.
While some traits could be applied to Rosie, others couldn’t.
She’d certainly been impulsive, at times volatile and definitely ignorant of the needs of those around her, but she hadn’t been arrogant, attention-seeking or preoccupied with power, beauty or success—quite the opposite, in fact—and in that respect, Beth realised just how alike they’d been.
Like mother, like daughter.
Preoccupied with comparing herself to Rosie and wondering what had led to their shared struggles, Beth made silly mistakes all morning.
She mixed up customers’ orders and broke not one, not two, but three plates.
Tom kept giving her funny looks and eventually asked if she was feeling okay.
Apologising profusely, she assured him that she was fine and soldiered on.
Around mid-morning, Celia and Ellie came in together.
Beth pasted on a smile and took their brunch orders, taking extra care to note them down correctly, but when she delivered their drinks, she sloshed so much coffee from Celia’s mug that she had to make another.
And after placing their meals in front of them, she backed into the diners at the next table, causing an elderly gentleman’s cutlery to clatter to the floor.
Frustrated by her own ridiculousness, she was about to burst into tears when Celia reached out and laid a hand on her forearm, concern etched into her features.
‘Honey, are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ Ellie said, making a move to get up out of her chair, ‘maybe you should sit.’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Beth waved away their worries. ‘I’m just … I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.’
Celia didn’t seem convinced. ‘You’re not nervous, are you? To be around me? Because I can assure you, whatever’s happening between you and Noah is—’
‘What?’ Ellie squealed, her face lighting up. ‘What’s happening between you and Noah?’
Crap. Noah had been right. Small towns and all that.
‘I’ll explain later,’ Beth promised, then glanced at Celia. ‘It’s not that, I promise. I really do have a lot on my mind …’ She hesitated, wanting both to escape and open up about what she was dealing with.
In the end, it was Celia’s maternal concern that gently coaxed the words from Beth—that and the fact that she remembered Celia had actually met Rosie.
‘I, uh, found out that Pru believed Mum had some kind of personality disorder. Do you think maybe she was right? I mean, I get that you didn’t know her very well, but on the off-chance you remember something …’
Celia gave her an odd look, so Beth gave up, feeling stupid for having asked.
‘Never mind. Forget I said anything!’
‘No, Beth, wait!’
The urgency in Celia’s tone made Beth pause.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that you shocked me when you mentioned personality disorders because I watched a program about them only last week. It seemed an odd coincidence, that’s all.’
Ellie stood. ‘Here, Beth, sit. I’ll clear some tables and say hi to Tom while the two of you chat.’
Though Beth was grateful for a moment alone with Celia, she was suddenly nervous to hear what she had to say. ‘So, what do you think? About Mum?’
‘Oh, honey.’ Celia reached across the table and took Beth’s hands.
‘I can’t be certain, and like you said, I didn’t know your mum very well.
But this program I watched? I found the main point really interesting.
They had experts discussing the similarities and differences between certain personality disorders and autism.
‘According to the experts,’ Celia said, ‘some autistic people are misdiagnosed with a personality disorder because so many of the traits overlap. In many cases, exploring the motivation behind the behaviours is essential for a correct diagnosis to be made.’
‘Right.’ Beth was so confused. She’d been to school with an autistic boy for a brief time, and he’d constantly been on the move, bouncing on the spot or flapping his hands. Oh, and he’d never spoken a word to anyone—at least, none that she’d heard.
She told Celia as much.
‘Well, not every autistic person displays the same traits. On the program, they made a point of saying that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. No two are the same.’
‘Okay.’ Beth nodded. ‘Are you saying that … that maybe Mum didn’t have a personality disorder? That you think she was autistic?’
Celia squeezed her hand. ‘I’m not saying that at all, honey, but if you’re wondering whether Pru was onto something about your mum, the show is definitely worth watching.
It’ll give you a better understanding of the different personality disorders and autism.
And if nothing else—’ she smiled kindly, ‘—it makes for interesting viewing.’
Beth thanked Celia and got back to work, though their chat had done nothing to alleviate her troubled thoughts. If anything, they’d multiplied.
After sending Ellie back to her table to eat her brunch, Beth made use of the lull between the breakfast and lunch services to tap out a message to Noah, letting him know that something had come up and she wouldn’t be heading out to the farm later.
Then she searched online for the program Celia had mentioned and bookmarked it.
It looked as if she had another long night of research ahead of her.
* * *
Beth ran the paint roller down the length of the wall, her mind, once again, elsewhere.
She’d learned so much during the last week but was still trying to come to terms with it all.
She suffered in silence, though, unwilling to give voice to her fears, because talking about it would only make it seem real.
When she’d returned to the B the difficulties she’d had with making friends, making eye contact, making small talk; her sensitivities to noise, light, textures—and, oh my god, yes, she did have a favourite spoon!
Some of her most common behaviours—the hair twirling, the mouth chewing, the feet rubbing whenever she was relaxed, falling asleep or waking up—were actually stims. Her meltdowns, her shutdowns, her debilitating anxieties—there was a reason she experienced the world in this way, and now she knew why … the reason was autism.
Perhaps Rosie had been autistic, perhaps she hadn’t, but the more Beth read, the more certain she became that she was on the spectrum herself.
And that was how she came to be painting walls alongside the man who knew every inch of her body, and told her every day that he loved her, and all she could think about was the fact that she had a hidden disability.
Her house was only weeks away from being finished, but she honestly couldn’t care less.
‘Okay, enough is enough. Let me take that.’ Noah prised the paint roller from her fingers and dipped his head to get a better look at her. Clearly, he didn’t like what he saw, because a deep crease formed on his brow. ‘What’s wrong?’
She shook her head and looked away, unwilling to tell him what was on her mind. ‘Nothing. I think it’s just the paint fumes. They’re giving me a headache.’
‘Are they making you sad, too?’
She shooed a non-existent fly away, delaying the inevitable but only by a few seconds. ‘No, why?’
‘Because.’ He laid the roller in the paint tray then pulled her into his arms and tipped her chin up. ‘I know this look. You’re trying not to cry.’
‘I’m not.’ Liar.
He pressed his lips together, wisely dubious, but let the matter slide. ‘Time for a break, I think.’
She let him lead her through the house and out onto her beautiful new deck, but not even her favourite view could cheer her up. She was a slave to her own neurotic thoughts.
‘Better?’ Noah was leaning on the railing, though his attention was on her.
She blinked. ‘Hmm?’
‘Away from the fumes.’
‘Oh.’ She nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks.’
A beat passed, then he dropped his head, as if in resignation, or perhaps frustration.
Suddenly, she was on high alert, hypervigilant to the nuances in his behaviour—a reaction common among autistic people, apparently.
Rocking back on his heels, he pulled on the balustrade then released it and turned to her, his gaze searching for answers.
‘Look, I don’t know what’s happening and that’s okay.
I’m not saying I have to know everything that’s going on with you.
But I do know that you haven’t been yourself this past week.
I just—If it’s something I’ve said or done, I need you to tell me. ’
‘What? No.’ How could he think that? ‘You haven’t done anything.’
He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Then what is it? Are things between us moving too fast? Because we can put the brakes on. You won’t hurt my feelings if you want to take a step back.’
‘No!’ She shook her head violently. That was the last thing she wanted!
Determined to make him believe her, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, fusing her body to his. ‘I don’t feel that way at all, I promise. Everything’s perfect, you’re perfect. Or perfect for me, anyway.’
He relaxed, the tension easing from his body as his arms came around her. ‘Okay, well, I get that maybe you don’t want to talk about whatever’s going on, but promise me you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’ He kissed the top of her head.
Tears pricked at her eyes and she squeezed them shut. ‘I promise.’ Liar. ‘But, honestly, it’s nothing.’
Her heart was breaking, tearing right down the middle.
She’d come such a long way, had learned to share what was on her mind, but this?
This she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. She needed to come to terms with it herself first. Then again, maybe she didn’t have to tell him, or anyone, because did it really matter?
It might.
The thought sent a brutal shiver through her body. What if she told Noah and he rejected her? What if he decided it was all too much and walked away?
She wasn’t sure she’d survive the pain of losing him.
Why was life so damn unfair! Just when she was on the cusp of having everything she’d ever wanted, she was dealt yet another devastating blow.
Hugging him tighter, she mumbled, ‘It’s just a headache, that’s all.’
Noah rubbed her back. ‘Why don’t you take off, get some rest? I can finish up here.’
‘I think I will.’ Her head was a mess and she wasn’t being much help anyway. ‘But I really need to see Flo before I go.’
She hadn’t checked on Flo all week, despite the vow she’d made.
The need to find answers was too great, the pull to learn all she could too intense.
She’d spent every available moment researching since she’d read her father’s letters and had barely spared a thought for Flo.
It seemed that hyperfocus—or hyperfixation—was another sign of her neurodivergence.
Kissing Noah goodbye, and leaving him to finish the painting, she headed over the road to visit the woman who was a neighbour, a friend, an aunt and a grandmother, all rolled into one.