What No One Else Can Hear (33 page)

Right then, though, he wasn’t expressing an opinion about anything. It was almost as if he was getting lost in the sensations: the color, feel, and noise of the paper, the weight of the present, the smell of the Play-Doh and some of the other art supplies, even the smell of the boxes themselves. I had noticed Stevie often did that and still hadn’t figured out why. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with being an empath, but was another trait he shared with some of the other children at the center.

Whatever the explanation for why he reacted that way, it wasn’t a typical preteen’s reaction to gifts, but Stevie was anything but typical. As long as he was enjoying himself, no one seemed to mind not getting oohs and aahs about their gifts… or even thank-yous, for that matter.

Finally Stevie opened the last gift—a wonderfully soft blanket with a picture of a wolf on it. That one he grabbed up and started rubbing on his face. Before he could get too lost in the feel, Drew got his attention and told him there were two more gifts, but he’d have to go inside the house to see them.

Drew, Dottie, and Mike led Stevie and me and the rest of the party guests into the house and up the stairs, stopping at the first door on the right—the third bedroom.

As they swung open the door, Stevie and I could see numerous, colorful shelving units laden with most of his art supplies from Dottie’s house, but with plenty of empty spaces for the new gifts. An easel stood in the middle of the room with a small movable cabinet nearby. Inside the cabinet, we would find later, were his paintbrushes, oils, palette, and other supplies. Drew had even set up a table where Stevie could work with clay Mike had donated and promised to teach him to use later. Stevie was impressed and walked around the room in awe, touching each new item. When it looked like he was ready to dismiss the rest of us in favor of painting on the clean canvas set up on the new easel, Drew asked him if he thought he could wait for a little while before doing that.

“We have one more gift, big guy.” Drew led us to the next door on the right. “We saved Mike’s gift for last.”

With that, Mike, his face a mixture of excitement and apprehension, opened the door to Stevie’s room.

As the door swung open before Stevie and me, we were left speechless. Painted on all the walls was a beautiful forest, obviously inspired by some of Stevie’s numerous paintings of his mental landscape. A canopy of oak and maple leaves adorned the ceiling, and on the wall opposite the door stood a majestic wolf painted in shades of white and tan, obviously ready and waiting to watch over his charge. Just under the wolf was a beautiful bed made out of roughly hewn logs, carefully sanded and lacquered, that matched the rest of the rustic furniture in the room. It all looked perfectly at home in the middle of the forest Mike had created.

Stevie silently entered the room, one awestruck step at a time. Most of the partygoers in the hallway had already seen the room prior to the party, so the ones who could see him were watching Stevie. All of them were silent.

I followed Steve into the middle of the room and draped my arms over his shoulders, awestruck myself. My son’s quiet voice broke the silence when he murmured, “It’s our forest, Bear.”

“It sure is, buddy,” I whispered back.

Mike, Drew, and Dottie watched our expressions as I noticed theirs. Drew looked triumphant, Mike relieved and pleased, and Dottie was proud and happy to be a part of something Stevie obviously cherished already. I knew these three people had put a lot of effort into providing our favorite young man with the perfect birthday. As I peeked around and got a look at Stevie’s face, I knew they had succeeded.

He wrapped his arms around mine and we stood there, transfixed. Drew came up behind me and put his arms around both of us.

“Room enough for me?” he whispered in my ear.

I think he just meant in the room or in the hug, but when I answered, I meant in our lives.

“Always.”

Stevie silently agreed by moving his hands from where they lay over mine and wrapped them around Drew’s instead. Together we remained unmoving, and I barely noticed when Dottie ushered everyone out of the room to leave us alone.

A new family, in our new house.

About the Author

B
RYNN
S
TEIN
has always loved to write. Fan fiction, original fiction, whatever. While Brynn wrote in numerous genres—everything from mystery, to contemporary, to supernatural—she had always tended toward strong male characters. And then she discovered “slash,” male/male romance, and all those strong male characters were finally allowed to express their love for one another. It seems that there are always at least two characters clamoring to tell Brynn their story.

Brynn lives in Virginia near her two grown daughters who encourage her writing and provide a sounding board for fledgling stories. When she isn’t writing, Brynn teaches children with special needs. In free time, when such a thing exists, she reads anything she can get her hands on, and haunts bookstores. She draws and paints, and enjoys the outdoors—especially if she can get to the beach—and is always thinking about her next story.

Please feel free to contact Brynn at any of the following:

http://brynnstein2.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/brynn.stein

[email protected]

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