Heavenly (5 page)

out of my arms and into hers without the necessity of taking the steps that would bring her closer. Sobs broke her shoulders

into wracking spasms. She snagged Abria out of my embrace and squeezed her, weeping on Abria's shoulder. At her side,

Dad silently patted her back. Luke and I exchanged relieved glances. Without another word, we started for the building. Luke

and I hung back behind Mom and Dad. I leaned toward Luke.

"Did you see anybody suspicious?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, did you see anybody lurking around?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Now?"

"Now, yes, or earlier when you were looking for Abria."

"No, just some church people."

That made me think; maybe Matthias was a member of our parish. Someone I hadn't seen yet. "You know anybody

named Matthias?"

The far off look in Luke's eyes told me the wheels were spinning through the leftover tangle of weed in his head.

"Matthias? What's he look like?"

"Tallish, caramely hair, really blue eyes." Luke grinned. "I know a guy named Matt."

I pictured Matthias. Something ethereal about him told me he was definitely not a pot-head. Luke wasn't your most

observant guy; there was a chance that Matthias was a new member of our church. Pastor Perrigan kept a special eye out for

Abria. Maybe he'd found some social worker somewhere he thought could covertly keep watch on her.

That idea felt pretty good and made sense. Something akin to wonder jangled in my blood and streamed through my

system. I'd felt this curious excitement before: when something thrilling was about to happen. But how could Abria's safety

issues link to something thrilling?

Throughout the service I couldn't think about anything but my odd encounter with the stranger named Matthias.

Maybe that wasn't his real name. How could I know?

When Abria started to squirm and make noise, drawing curious and annoyed glances, I stood, gathered her into my

arms, and slid silently out of the pew. Mom's hand touched my arm and our eyes met for a brief moment, just long enough for

me to read, "Thank you," in her gaze.

Out in the foyer, I set Abria to her feet. She raced for the door. In her lacy white dress with a big blue sash, ties long

undone and hanging at her back, she looked like a cherub trying to escape. I laughed.
How ironic.
Like a shadow I followed her out to the large patch of grass and shrubbery that cradled the building.

Telling her to stay nearby was like telling a puppy not to explore, so I continued following her. The day was bright and

I was glad to be outside, reeling the rays of the sun cut through the cool air and warm my skin. Maybe I'd see this guy again, since he seemed to pop out of thin air wherever Abria was. I swept my surroundings, but didn't see him. Who was he, really?

How did he come and go so quickly? What did he really want with Abria? Was he some doctor studying children with

autism? That had to be it. Maybe there was a hidden camera. Maybe we were part of a reality show following children with

autism and their families, documenting the slow insanity that comes over everybody when they live with kids like Abria, the

inevitable death that occurs as a family is torn apart under pressure.

I let out a sneer. Like anybody cared.

"Sometimes it's really lame you can't talk to me," I said.

She babbled back. "You could tell me who that guy was."
And tell me why I don't feel afraid around him.

His face came into my mind. I hadn't been so creeped out this time. Nope. And the reason was clear now. He was a

hottie. What kind of girl looks at a complete stranger, one who could very well be stalking her little sister, and sees him as an object of desire? I shook my head.

"Well, if I see him again, I'm going to tell him to leave us alone or I'm going to call the cops."

Abria stepped up onto a decorative boulder and squealed with delight. Grass surrounded the rock, so I let her enjoy the

indulgence.

My thoughts drifted back to Matthias.
The first cute guy I see in a really long time and he comes and goes like a

dream?
Did Abria have to be in mortal peril for him to appear? Our family had learned to be dobermans where my sister was concerned—following, guarding, protecting like she was a priceless treasure.

Abria lifted her small arms heavenward and started giggling.

The drive home Abria rode with me and Luke. She stared out the window, seeming to enjoy watching the buildings

go by. At home, I offered to change her into some play clothes so Mom could take a breather, and Abria cooperated.

Mom's 'special' Sunday music played lightly in the background.

Dinners were usually a fight with Abria to keep her from crawling and standing on the table while the rest of us ate.

Not tonight. Tonight she sat, watched, seemed to listen, and ate—I hated to think the words, but couldn't help it—like a

normal little girl, minus the little girl talk about kittens and dolls and everything sugary. Her mumblings and songs were in her very own language.

About halfway through dinner, I looked around the table. Mom's face didn't look quite as defeated. She even smiled.

Laughed twice. Dad noticed her lighter mood, because his gaze met mine and in his eyes I saw a sparkle I hadn't seen there

for a long time. Luke was typically uninterested in anything but eating and splitting the scene. I wished he'd lift his head from his cell phone and texting long enough to witness the miracle happening.

"I'm done. Can I go now?" He rose and took his empty plate to the kitchen sink.

"Where are you going that can't wait until tomorrow?" I asked. I sent him an
it better not be Sam's house
look, which he ignored.

"Kevin wants to hang out. He's gonna fix my car."

"It's Sunday, Luke. We talked about making Sunday a family day," Dad said.

"I need the car fixed."

Dad eyed Luke for a long moment—as if weighing the battle— then finally nodded.

Luke strode out without another glance at me or anyone else. Inside, I hoped fixing the car was all he was planning to

do.

"Abria's being so good today," Mom said as she and I cleaned up the kitchen. It was good to see her smiling.

"Yeah, she is." I glanced over my shoulder at Abria, standing on her chair now, napping her hands. "Abria, sit down.

Sit."

She giggled and flapped more furiously, her eyes wide, mouth puckered in one of many odd facial expressions in her

repertoire.

"Kind of gives me a peek at how she'd be if she didn't have autism." Mom's eyes glistened like they did sometimes.

Random moments I could never predict. Tears would simply be there. Mom's tears always pulled a chord deep inside of me.

I wanted to hug her, but we hadn't hugged for so long, except for obligatory hello/goodbye hugs, I was afraid I'd

somehow ruin the moment. I continued loading the dishwasher.

“Get off the table, Abria." Mom's voice was patient as she crossed to my sister, standing on the table, laughing. Mom

pulled her into her arms and hugged her. My mind flashed a memory of hugs just like that when it had been me in her arms,

being squeezed so tight breath left me. I missed those hugs.

"Want me to get her ready for bed?" I asked, closing the now full dishwasher.

Mom looked over. The surprise in her eyes didn't settle well with me. I'd been ignorant of helping her for too long.

"That'd be nice." She brought Abria to me and passed her into my arms. "Thank you, honey."

"No problem." I started out of the kitchen, catching Mom's glance to Dad.

Abria loved bath time. She splashed like a baby. The tiled walls were drenched, the floor had puddles and my own

clothes were splattered. Her fine hair curled around her face, accentuating her rosebud lips and round cheeks. When my heart

was full and ready to burst with caring for her, I reminded myself to remember times like this.
See, you do love her.
When aggravation reached a boiling point, I'd ask myself if I really loved her.
Would I care if anything happened to her? Of course
I care. Look how I took off today, racing after her in the parking lot.
Just thinking she might be harmed by one of those speeding cars sent a shudder through me.

Then
he
had shown up.

Matthias.

"Matthias." When I said his name, Abria looked at me for a second then went back to splashing. Did she remember

him? He'd only spent a few minutes with her. But he'd spoken to her with that tranquil voice.

I closed my eyes, seeing the graceful curve of his fingers, the way they'd fluttered over her hair before finally laying

on her head for the briefest moment.

She'd been calm since.

Could her changed behavior really be linked to his touch? The idea was outlandish, yet streaming warmth and

comfort filled my soul, like the feelings I'd had when I stood in his presence. I let the water out of the tub, hoisted Abria out and dried her, all the while she sang and chattered. I tried to reason why something so impossible was not real. And yet, there was no other explanation except that with autism, behavior was unpredictable.

Abria liked to sleep in one of my old tee shirts, and she had a spaz if she couldn't. Mom always made sure there was a

stack of them in my drawer, because after her bath, Abria ran naked into my bedroom and stole one.

I slipped the shirt over her head, carefully ran my fingers through her hair because she hated it when the bristles of a

brush touched her scalp, then I picked her up and held her on my hip, looking into her distracted face.

"Matthias," I whispered.

Her eyes widened. A tingle raced through me. "Who is Matthias, Abria?"

She seemed mesmerized by either my voice or his name, how could I know which? Her eyes rounded, focused on my

mouth. The room was quiet. All I heard was the soft rapid beat other breath. I hugged her close, snuggling against the

softness of her body. "Time for bed," I said.

Abria let me put her into bed, and she looked into my eyes intently for a few seconds—a brief miracle I savored

before she stared up at the ceiling and started flapping. I stood back, relief filling my inner core. She was safe. Home, in bed, and safe. If Matthias really did come only when Abria was in some sort of peril, I wouldn't be seeing him any more tonight.


FIVE


Morning came, and I showered and dressed for school in jeans and a baggy white hoodie. I'd busted my butt for three

years so I could have a semi-relaxed senior year. My first period started at second period, which enabled me to sleep off

whatever I'd done the night before.

I added some color to my cheeks, plus a little eye shadow and mascara. I threw my dark hair up in a pony tail.

The house was unusually quiet. How had Abria done through the night? I hadn't heard her get up. Had her changed

behavior lasted?

I went downstairs to the kitchen where Mom, dressed in a black suit for work at the real estate office, sat over a bowl

of fiber cereal. She looked more rested today than she had in a long time. Abria sat behind a plate of apple slices, toast, and a banana.

"Morning, sweetheart."

"Hey." I went to the fridge, opened it and stared at its contents, then glanced at Mom. "You look nice." "I do? Oh.

Thanks."

I shut the door and decided to forget about eating. The clock over the microwave read eight-twenty. "Want me to take

Abria out and wait for the bus?"

"That'd be great." Mom took another bite other cereal. "But aren't you going to eat something?" Her gaze skimmed me from head to toe. "There are blueberry muffins in the pantry."

"Costco?"

She nodded. That didn't sound too bad. I went over, got one, and grabbed a napkin. "So how did Abria do last night? I

didn't hear her get up."

"She didn't." Mom glowed. "I don't know what happened yesterday, but I'd like about a thousand yesterdays to happen again. It was wonderful."

I nodded. "You were such a good girl yesterday, Abria. Good girl."

Abria flapped and made one of her animated, goofy faces.

Finished, Mom took her bowl to the sink then kissed Abria on the cheek, wiping my sisters hands with a napkin so she

was clean. "It's time for school, sweetheart."

"Come on." I took Abria's hand, grabbed her backpack, slung it over my shoulder and headed out the garage door so

we could wait on the driveway for the bus.

Abria was enrolled in a special school for the handicapped. Her bus came at eight-thirty. Typically, we were distracted

by the gargantuan effort it took to get her ready and she missed the ride. Then Mom would have me drive her to school.

Today, the same smoothness we'd enjoyed the day before seemed to linger. I was glad. Mom and Dad deserved a little

break from the twenty-four hour stress that was living with a child with autism.

Abria broke free of my arms, antsy. She wanted to run up the street. Stay here. No running." She giggled and ran back

and forth on the icy sidewalk
.

Winterś air nipped my cheeks and lips. I eyed the blueberry muffin and took a bite. Nothing was worse at school than

a quiet classroom and a growling stomach.

When the bus finally ambled to a stop, I chased after Abria, who was halfway down the street in the opposite

direction now, gathered her into my arms and hauled her, and her backpack, onto the bus. “Mornin' Abria." Her driver was an older, jovial, bellied man named Dan who always greeted her with a twinkling smile. His helper Marla, a grandma-type,

assisted the children into the seatbelts some handicapped children needed to stay put for the drive.

"Morning," I said, setting Abria down inside the bus. She tried to take off down the aisle, but Marla stopped her with a laugh and a fast grip.