“I asked you a question,” Ethan snapped.
“I beg your pardon.” Ben attempted to contain his aggravation. A sarcastic tone would only confuse Ethan’s warped decoding process. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“Well, now you have it.” Ethan tightly folded his arms across his chest, unaware of his own body language, much less anyone else’s. The lack of ability to send or interpret a nonverbal cue had been one of the earliest signs of trouble.
“Mrs. Alvarez made your favorite before she left for Mexico. Chicken pot pie,” Ben tempted. “How about coming down to eat while it’s hot? I thought we might invite company over later, maybe watch that History Channel documentary again.”
Ethan leaned toward his night table, opened the top drawer and pulled out a cellophane package of peanut butter crackers. He raised the snack for his father to see, then tossed it back into the drawer where he obviously hoarded treats. “No, thanks,” he muttered.
“Okay, that covers dinner. How about visitors?”
Ethan sighed, unfolding long legs that would have made him a great athlete once upon a time. He stood and turned his back, giving Ben a look at dirty hair flattened to his head. After a few steps toward his bathroom, Ethan glanced over his shoulder.
“Listen, Dad. You don’t have to keep making all this effort, pretending you’re not mad at me for what happened.”
“You mean with the camp?” They’d covered this territory a number of times. Ben hoped the topic was closed, but nothing was ever completely finished with Ethan.
The boy’s chin dropped to his chest. After several long moments he looked up, his face flushed with unspoken pain.
“I mean with Mom.”
Ben shut his eyes against the comment. He shook his head, exhausted from the ever-present subject. “Please, don’t go there again. Not with me anyway.”
“Then with who?” Ethan demanded.
“You name it! There are any number of excellent therapists willing to come see you if you won’t go to them. I’ve had calls from Doctor Ackerson, Doctor Cooke and Doctor Hunter. They’re all anxious to hear from you.”
“What about Doctor Stone?” Ethan squinted, watching for a reaction.
Ben couldn’t help admiring his son’s sense of timing.
“You’re kidding, of course,” Ben answered.
Ethan shook his head. “I liked her,” he said simply, then moved toward his dressing room, through another threshold without a door. Physically beyond his father’s sight and emotionally beyond his comprehension.
Ali parked in the circular driveway of the three-story mansion that showcased Texas limestone and Mexican stucco. The foundation for the home had been blasted from a hillside and then positioned to appear as if it sprung up naturally out of the rock. In no hurry to go inside, she moved to the edge of the front terrace designed with an overhang facing west where a brilliant sunset was in progress.
“Check it out, Simba.”
Alert eyes followed the direction her mistress pointed, as if understanding perfectly.
Ali had always been fascinated by the setting of the sun, a dazzling kaleidoscope unique for each day. Nothing was more breathtaking than a long line flight during the last twenty minutes of daylight. And she’d prefer the dangers of an air drop mission any day over the one Benjamin Lamar had implored her to consider.
“If this is the view Ethan has from his bedroom, it’s no wonder he won’t come out.” She turned away from the stunning vista and moved to stand before the home’s front entry with Simba close by. The dog was truly a gift from God, a family member who could never be taken away and perfect in her inability to judge the failures of her mistress.
Three sharp raps of a brass knocker brought footsteps and a large blurry figure to the inside of the frosted glass. One of the double doors swung wide and then immediately closed to a four-inch opening.
“Was it really necessary for you to bring that animal?” Benjamin Lamar spoke though the gap.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, too. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” Ali hoped a snappy response would mask her self-doubt from the man so full of self-assurance.
“I asked a simple question.” And evidently had no intention of inviting her inside until she responded.
“The answer is yes. Simba goes everywhere with me because she’s part of the team. And since rescues can’t be scheduled like football games, we’re always together and prepared, even during office hours at the clinic.”
“Can you put her back in your car or tie her up outside?”
Simba growled. A hand signal silenced her, then Ali offered what she knew would be a condescending smile and shook her head.
“Listen, Mr. Lamar, you all but begged me to give this a shot, so you’re going to have to be flexible on this one point. Simba won’t make a move without my command, she doesn’t shed and she hasn’t had an accident on the floor since she was six weeks old. If you’re going to trust me with your son, then you ought to trust me with my own dog.”
A look of resignation crossed his tanned face. He stepped back and opened the door, his hand sweeping toward the foyer, an invitation to enter. Ali inhaled slowly and moved across the welcome mat. She was greeted by a room with soaring ceilings, hand-dyed rugs over a mesquite parquet floor and cozy French country furnishings. She recalled reading his late wife had been into interior design.
“You have a beautiful place.” She admired the wall of windows opposite the entry hall. “What a sensational view.”
“Thank you,” he answered humbly. “It’s way too big for just two of us, but it’s the only home Ethan’s ever known. Getting him to change his socks is a chore most days, so changing our residence is out of the question for now.”
Alison nodded, understanding. An Asperger kid was a creature of rigidity and order. Keeping life calm meant holding change to a minimum. His mother’s death must have sent Ethan into a nosedive. He seemed to feel somehow responsible, so it was no wonder he wouldn’t drop the subject that had rocked his world. Having lost her own mother to family violence when Ali was only nine years old, Ethan’s irrational sense of accountability was a belief she could relate to on so many levels.
“I’m sorry I was rude at the door,” Lamar apologized, keeping one eye on Simba’s whereabouts. “I really do appreciate you driving out here this evening. Have you had your dinner yet? Our housekeeper makes a tasty chicken pie from scratch, but Ethan turned his nose up to it. What a shocker.”
Ali heard the frustration in his words. A father wanted answers, but very often there were none. Just as there were few alternatives when living with the chaos of mental illness. And the patient always seemed to hold the trump card, the threat of self-destruction.
“Thanks for the offer, but I had a power shake on the way over.” She curled her arm in a body builder’s pose, pointed to her biceps and enjoyed his nod of approval. “So, where do I find that son of yours?”
“His suite is upstairs.”
“Suite?” She felt her eyebrows rise.
“It’s a big house, remember?” Lamar explained. “The area was originally intended for out-of-town guests. When Ethan was old enough to need more space, we thought it was a good idea for him to have a game room where his buddies could hang out. Unfortunately, my son’s friends can’t tolerate his OCD, and instead of games his shelves are lined with specimen samples.”
“Specimens?” Her lips twisted like she’d just sucked