A voice came from the kitchen. “Congressman, are you out there?”
Crockett did not respond. Anna pushed open the screen door. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
“No need. I learned long ago there is no escaping you.”
Anna ignored his comment. “I forgot to tell you. Somebody called for you last night after you went to bed.”
“And?”
“At first, I thought it was just someone calling for directions to the picnic, but this man knew nothing about it. He wanted to make an appointment with you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The same thing I tell everybody around this time of year. Come to the picnic.”
Grumbling something about it being picnic day and behind in her schedule, Anna turned to walk back inside but stopped suddenly and turned back. “The man said he came all the way from Minnesota just to talk to you.”
Crockett sensed what was next. Anna confirmed his suspicions. “I forgot to tell you. I told him he could have some time with you after the picnic. The rest is up to you.”
“Does he have a name?”
Anna curled her brow. “Yes, but I can’t remember it. I wrote it down somewhere. I’ll get it later.”
Anna disappeared inside as quickly as she came. Crockett smiled. He felt blessed. Since Shirley’s death, Anna had taken control of the minutia in his life, and he rarely questioned her judgment. Today would be no different. He knew he would be tired, but would honor the meeting.
Later in the afternoon, Crockett was in his glory as he toyed with an unlit cigar as he stood atop the BBQ addressing the crowd. With a huge United States flying high atop his backyard flagpole, he paused a moment and looked around. It was the fifteenth backyard everyone’s invited Independence Day celebration at his home, and it always ranked high on his list of priorities. He had no idea how many people had squeezed themselves into every possible crevice of his yard and didn’t care.
Speaking with well-honed voice inflections reminiscent of Mark Twain himself, Crockett began to wind down. “Let’s all remember that today’s celebrations are all about the character of those who brought independence to this great nation. As for my own character, I can only tell you that all my life I have been honest. Well, comparatively honest, I could never use money I had not made honestly—I could only lend it.”
Amid laughter and applause, Crockett bowed to the crowd, stepped down from his makeshift perch on the BBQ, and promptly gave Anna an appreciative hug. It was over. He had done his job and Anna hers. Slowly, the crowd began dispersing, some coming forward to shake his hand and take photos, while others picked up their blankets and coolers and pointed themselves down the hill toward the fairgrounds. Anna barked a few instructions to the cleanup crew and disappeared inside.
Minutes later, Crockett sat alone in the kitchen with a small smile on his face as he rehashed his afternoon. Except for the unexpected appointment Anna had unilaterally added to his schedule, his day was going exactly as planned. He had a feeling that was about to change.
Chapter 23
July 4, 1992
Angels Camp, CA
While the man across his kitchen table didn’t look young, Crockett guessed him to be only a few years his junior. “Let me get this straight,” he bellowed. “You came all the way from Minnesota because you heard I was in DC when you were there? I don’t get it!”
Dr. Jeremiah Trent picked up his glass and took another sip of beer. Physically, Crockett could only marvel at the man. Trent looked like what he perceived would be every motion picture director’s dream of what a true cowboy should be. He was tall and lean with squinty sun-hardened eyes and a weather-beaten face. His grayish hair was long, combed straight back with locks that hung nearly three inches below his neckline and sported a mustache that looked as if it required trimming with hedge clippers. Taking down a grizzly with his bare hands also was a distinct possibility. If the motion picture academy had such an award, Crockett would give Trent an Oscar just because of how he looked. He was that unique.
A slow smile appeared on Trent’s face as he sat his glass back on the table. “Not because you were in DC, but why you were there,” he responded, emphasizing each word as if it had an importance of its own.
Crockett stared straight in to Trent’s eyes. “Why was I there?”
Trent’s voice was deep, gruff. “You have a grandson that was recently diagnosed with autism. I was told you were there trying to get more information on the subject.”
Shaking his head, Crockett did not get the connection. “I can see that my grandson might be news in Angels Camp because ours is a small town and news travels fast. What puzzles me is how it is that you came by that news. I certainly haven’t made any public statements about it.”
“A friend at the FDA told me you had been there a few days before I was there.”
“I was only there for an hour!”
“When someone of your stature shares lunch with the director of the Food and Drug Administration and does it in the FDA cafeteria, word gets around. Apparently, after you left, there were some calls made from the Director’s office to some of the internal divisions asking for some reports. My friend in the Research Center was on the receiving end of one of those calls. Since I was asking him some of the same questions, he told me about your visit. He just thought it was odd. Autism is not exactly a common household word.”
“So, why would my interest in autism concern you?”
“Simple! You passed the first test. You a have an interest in a subject most people shy away from because they don’t understand it. When I heard about you, it gave me an idea. You were in DC searching for a cure, and I was there researching cause. The thought occurred to me we might be able to work together, and I was coming to San Francisco for another matter anyway, so I made the call. It was worth a shot. Anna did the rest.”
Crockett decided to quit dancing around and get to the point. “Exactly, what is it you want Dr. Trent?”
Trent raised his palm in a halting manner. “Please, call me Jeremiah. Being an old farm boy from Minnesota, I find the term doctor a bit impersonal. In all my years, I’ve never gotten used to it.”
Crockett felt Trent’s demeanor a breath of fresh air. His trip to DC had just reinforced his opinion that people back there were mostly politicking for reelection or trying not to piss off anybody enough to lose their jobs. He decided to play along. “Alright, I’ll ask again. Please, tell me what you have in mind.”
Trent was quick. “First of all, I have no clue how to cure autism. To my knowledge, there isn’t one. However, I do have some theories about what may be contributing to the increases, and I emphasize the word theories. With a little more research, pieces of the puzzle may start falling into place. That’s where you come in.”
“How so?”
“You would never have taken the trip east if you didn’t want answers about your grandson. It became obvious to me when I was in DC that nobody back there is even thinking about autism. Ask about it and all you get are blank stares. Autism is beginning to run rampant throughout the U.S. and nobody back there seems to care. Since the beginning of time, over a billion people have been born in our God’s world. Historical records have documented countless plagues and diseases dating back centuries but no mention of anything that comes close to resembling what we now call autism. Now why do you suppose that is?”
“I