“Phone waked me up.” He frowned and lay down.
I answered it. “Hello?”
“Did Atticus get you up?” Opal hollered into the phone.
“Yes.” I yawned.
“I guess we’re having breakfast in twenty minutes?” She sounded annoyingly alert and cheerful for so early in the morning.
“I guess so.” I groaned.
“OK! Meet you outside in twenty!” She hung up.
I finally pried Timmy and Reba out of bed. We’d all slept in our clothes after staying up late and talking. Opal and Atticus had still been visiting on the porch when Reba and I headed to our room. Timmy awoke when we came in but fell back to sleep while I talked to Aaron and the boys. I didn’t tell him about Timmy getting lost or my jail time. I thought it might be better to tell him when I got home, face to face. No need for him to worry.
At the Dragon Café, I was too bleary eyed to notice the white bushy-tailed squirrels in pictures on the wall. Opal noticed them right away. Was it just me, or was she glowing? How does one glow without coffee?
“What’s with the white squirrels?” She took a sip of tea.
“There’s white squirrels over in Brevard.” Atticus
shoveled a big fork of biscuits and gravy in his mouth.
I’d never seen so much food on one plate. Apparently, the man could hold a lot of grub.
“Really?” I blew on a spoonful of oatmeal. “Albino squirrels, eh?”
“Nope.” He picked up a sausage link with his fingers and plopped the entire thing in his mouth. “They’re white. A whole species unto themselves.”
“No way.” I
looked closer at one of the pictures hanging on the wall.
“Yup, they’re white all right. I’ll take y’all to see ’em if you want.” He scooped more biscuits and gravy into his mouth along with a few lumps of scrambled eggs. “But they’re way over in Brevard.”
“Pisgah Forest is out that way, isn’t it?” Reba spread butter on her blueberry pancakes.
“Gorgeous ride.” Atticus nodded. “It’s about a hundred miles to Brevard where most of the white squirrels are, but it’s a ride you’ll never forget. Lots of beautiful waterfalls, plenty of shade from tall trees.”
I nibbled on a piece of bacon and handed Timmy more sausage links. “I haven’t had a chance to take many pictures yet. I wouldn’t mind a nice scenic ride for a change.”
“Well, that settles it. I want to see those cute little critters.” Opal poured more maple syrup on her pecan pancakes. Life sure wasn’t fair. There she sat, petite, cute, and glowing, eating pecan pancakes, while I suffered through a bowl of oatmeal.
“White skrilz. White skrilz.” Timmy rocked back and forth and flicked maple syrup covered fingers in front of his face. All the wheat and sugar on the table would make him climb the walls
. Fortunately, he liked the taste of sausage links dipped in maple syrup, a sweetener he was able to eat.
“Timmy, you gonna ride with Mommy?” I tried to pull his hands down out of his face, but he resisted.
“Timmy ride with Mommy.” He squealed.
People stared.
“Are you sure?” Reba
looked at me, her fork in midair.
I nodded. “I need him close to me today. And it’s just to Brevard. I gotta learn to ride two up sometime.”
The table got quiet while we shoveled in a hearty breakfast. After we finished we headed out to our bikes.
Atticus’s fully dressed Ultra Classic Electra Glide Harley was parked in front of the cafe. Its dark root beer color radiated in the sun. I heard Reba suck in her breath when she saw it.
“Ohhhh, Atticus…” She
walked slowly around the bike admiring every detail.
“Like it?”
He stood next to the front tire smiling down at his stunning sculpture of metal and chrome.
Reba scoffed. “That ugly thing?” She smiled.
While Reba and the others gushed over Atticus’s bike, I got Timmy ready for the ride.
“You sit still and hug Mommy, OK?” I
zipped his protective jacket. He didn’t answer me and flicked his fingers in front of his face.
“Timmy go!”
“OK, OK!” Atticus chuckled.
We all mounted our bikes.
Opal parked beside Atticus, and next to his powerful body and bike, looked like a tiny porcelain doll.
“You ready to go, Apple?” Atticus teased.
“The name’s Opal.” Opal grinned. “Are
you
ready?”
She revved her little Rebel’s engine.
Atticus laughed. I was beginning to love that laugh.
Riding through the Smokies felt like a beautiful dream. The roads wound through the mountains, beside streams and past waterfalls. Trees and tunnels cradled us in peaceful comfort. It was hard to believe I’d been in a jail cell
hours before.
We stopped several times, taking pictures of waterfalls, ravines, and the mountains.
I kept a nervous eye on Timmy as he played at the water’s edge and caught frogs and lizards. I was thankful for the disinfectant wipes in my saddlebags.
After the last stop, Timmy threw his arms tightly around me as we flew down the road. His embrace took my breath away. My darling Timmy hugged me. My precious son, who screamed and kicked at bath time, whom I could never rock to sleep or comfort—this boy hugged me now. For the first time since he was born, I felt like he truly connected to me as his mom.
My mind flashed back to the first week of his life, when I tried to nurse him. As a first-time mom, I was sure I was doing something wrong. And so were the nurses.
“You’re too nervous, Mrs. Donovan. Learn to relax. The baby will pick up on your anxiousness.”
What kind of mother isn’t able to nurse her own baby? He was only hours old, and already I was failing at the most important job I would ever have.
“Mrs. Donovan, if you would spend more one on one time with your son, he wouldn’t exhibit such negative, defiant behavior.” This from a pediatrician before Timmy was tested by a pediatric developmental psychiatrist. And then, the call after the test results: “Mrs. Donovan, you need to consider your options. Think of your other children.
”
How does a mother choose one child over another?
A mother doesn’t.
I didn’t.
Now, held by the boy whom I was told to forget, I cried. Tears of immeasurable joy spilled from my eyes like waterfalls in the Pisgah Forest.
Things the so-called experts told me would never happen, did happen. Timmy was a happy, well-adjusted, loving young man. Thank God I followed my instincts and ignored so-called “experts.”
It’s dangerous to cry and steer your motorcycle. I
sniffed deep and blinked hard. The curves came quickly, and to hit even one at the wrong angle could be disastrous.
After spending a day in Brevard photographing white squirrels on the Brevard College campus, we decided to spend the night there. After dinner, we shopped at The White Squirrel and shipped a few things home so we wouldn’t break them. I picked out a beautiful clear glass Christmas ornament with a white sparkly squirrel perched on top and two unique games for Aaron and the boys. I got a knot in my stomach thinking about Patrick. With all the excitement of the past several days, his issues took a backseat. Now his troubles slapped me in the face.
Atticus noticed
the change in mood. “What’s wrong?” He walked up beside me as I looked over a chess set
.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just life stuff. You know, teenagers.”
“Ah.” He pulled a game off the shelf and looked at it. “I had a couple of those. Best thing to do with those critters is lock ’em in a room for ten years.”
“I think I’m inclined to agree with you.” There was an awkward silence, and I pretended to be interested in the chess game.
Atticus acted, well, squirrely. He cleared his throat, looked up at the shelf of games, started to speak several times and then stopped.
“Good grief, Atticus. What is it?” I shelved the chess game and looked him square in the eye.
“Well, uh, well. Uhm, I was wondering if, you know, if uhm, well, if Opal was taken, er, back home in Eel Falls?”
I frowned. “Taken?”
“Well, you know, is she spoken for? I know it’s none of my business or anything, but…”
I smiled and patted his arm. “She’s completely available as far as I know.”
Atticus smiled a little too quickly. “Oh. That’s good. I mean, well, you know, I don’t mean it’s good she’s alone, but, uhm…well…what’s her story anyway?”
“Her story?”
“Yeah, how long has she been, uhm, you know, unspoken for?”
“I thought you guys stayed up talking last night.” I swallowed my amusement.
“We did. We did. But we never got around to certain issues.” Atticus pulled on his white beard. “So, how long she been a single gal?”
“Well.” I paused and looked away to keep from giggling. “I believe about sixty some years or so…”
“Is that right?” Atticus looked down at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “Well, whadda ya know…?” He turned and walked away.
A woman with a large shopping bag touched me on the shoulder. “Is he your son?” She pointed at Timmy playing in the Lego area.
I cringed. What now? If she dared tell me Timmy was too big to play there, I would—I took a deep breath. “Yes, he’s mine.” I smiled.
“He’s sweet. I noticed how gentle he is with the other kids. You’ve done a good job with him. What’s his diagnosis?”
I choked. “Autism and developmental delay. Thanks for your kind words.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled. “I’m a special ed. teacher. I can always tell when the parents work with the children. Too many don’t even try.”
“Thanks.” I turned and watched Timmy sharing in the kiddie area with the Legos. Far from typical autistic behavior.
“So I can’t handle a profoundly autistic child, huh, doctor?” I whispered. “If you could see us now.”
“Kirstie! We’re leaving with or without you!” Reba walked out the front door of the store.
“C’mon, Timmy, time to go.” I held out my hand.
He looked up at me with three red Legos in his hand. “Timmy go home?”
“We’re going to the room. We’ll be home in three sleeps.” I wiggled my fingers, motioning for him to come.
“Three sleeps? See Daddy three sleeps?” He set the Legos down.
“Yes, sweetie. Three sleeps and we’ll be home in Eel Falls.”
27
Once home in Eel Falls life picked up right where we left off as if there’d never been a road trip. I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, threw on a robe, and met Timmy clomping out of his bedroom.
“You’ve got your shoes on the wrong feet, kiddo. Take them off.” I bent over and helped Timmy remove his shoes and put them on the correct appendages. “Aaron? Where are you? Come help me with Timmy so I can get ready.” The towel wrapped around my head fell off and onto the floor.
Exasperated and annoyed: emotions I felt when trying to get my family ready to go somewhere. I never had enough hands, and my dreamy husband didn’t remember I needed help.
Aaron sauntered up the stairs reading a book.
I groaned and rolled my eyes.
“What are you reading now?” Just once, I wish he’d join me on my planet.
“The handbook.” He tripped up the last step and turned the page.
I decided to forgive him since today was the big day
, and he coached Timmy’s Special Olympics team.
“Well, could you take a sec and help Timmy with his shoes so I can dry my hair and get dressed? We’re going to be late. Are the other boys ready?”
Aaron shrugged.
I let out a huffy sigh. I seemed to do that a lot
since coming home.
Somehow, we all managed to get to the Wabash High School track in time even though Patrick moaned and groaned the entire way.
“I’m not sitting with you guys.” He jumped out of the van and tried to disappear as soon as we pulled into our parking spot.
“Where are you going to sit then?” I
grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie before he had a chance to escape.
He jerked his arm away. “Somewhere no one can see me.”
“Patrick.” I sent him my best don’t-mess-with-Mom glare. “How would you like it if we acted ashamed to be seen with you?”
“Fine with me.” He stomped off to the bleachers. Where Patrick was concerned, my mom-glares weren’t as effective as they used to be.
We carried the snacks and drinks over to Timmy’s team on the left
side of the field.
I loved the Special Olympics. Excitement came bursting into our lives once a year bringing with it eager athletes, proud family members, and caregivers who understood the challenges of disabilities. The electric atmosphere was charged with positive love and acceptance. Everyone, no matter his or her ability or label, got to participate.
Timmy’s events weren’t until after the morning break, but that didn’t matter because I, along with the rest of the spectators, enjoyed watching every athlete compete.
Their courage and enthusiasm inspired everyone in the stands.
After setting the cooler down for Timmy’s team, I heard thunder rumble across the stadium. Oh no. Not rain. Not today. The
low, throaty rumble in the distance grew gradually louder.
Timmy heard it, too, and his eyes lit up.
“Harley!” He squealed, clapped, and flapped. “Harley! Puh-tato, puh-tato, puh-tato.” He mimicked the firing of the pistons.
I turned toward the guttural sound of off-center drumbeats echoing against the stands to see the parade that resounded such a joyful song.
In front of a long line of bikers rode Atticus and Opal followed by Reba and Trace and Lily. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Dozens of bikers pulled into the arena parking lot and backed into parking spaces side by side. The riders revved their motors for the crowd, much to the delight of all the athletes. Cheers went up and the announcer could barely be heard as he directed the teams to line up for the opening parade.
Timmy took off running toward Atticus
with me right behind him.
“Watch for cars, Timmy!” I yelled, trying to be heard over the thunder of the engines.
“Timmy!” Atticus grabbed him up in his arms and swung him around. He stood as tall as Atticus, but Atticus definitely had a lot more meat on him and spun Timmy like a doll.
“Oh my stars!” My hands flew up to my cheeks, and I squeezed my eyes open and shut. “This is unbelievable! I had no idea you’d be here!” No one had ever come to see Timmy compete before. But today dozens of bikers came to cheer him on
.