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“Okay, I give up. How did you do this?” I asked. “I saw him giving you a hug earlier.Ahug.”
Nina grabbed three glasses from the cabinet and lined them up in the counter. “Susie Mae’s grandson is also autistic. Susie taught me how to best approach him, how sensitive he can be to touch, sound, light and other stimuli. I used to babysit Ben. And I got lucky.” She pointed to her shirt. “Ryan loves pink. Whichremindsme…”
She reached over, grabbed something from the desk and pitched it in my direction. I caught the pink Run for the Cure T-shirt I had worn last year for thecharityrace.
“I hope you don’t mind I looked through your drawers.” Nina grabbed the milk from the fridge, poured and returned the carton to its place. “It was the only pink shirt I could find in your closet. I think maybe itcouldhelp…”
I realized that Nina was trying to create a bridge, to recreate the connection she had with Ryan for my benefit. My chest swelled with gratitude. I slid the shirt over my head and put it on top of my black T-shirt.
“Oh, and one other thing…” She picked several napkins from Ryan’s tidy pile and lined them up before me on the granite island. “I was watching Ryan as he doodled. At first, I thought he was just an artistically giftedchild.”
I frowned and stared at the pile of brightly decorated napkins on the counter. “Really?”
“Take a look.” She waved her hand over the napkins. “He’sfabulous.”
I stared at the intricate designs adorning the napkins. Why hadn’t I noticed thisbefore?
Because I was never around him long enough. Because I’d never taken the time to look, really look at what he was doing. Because I’d been too busy fighting his witch of a mother to notice him. It was the ugly truth and I ached as if I’d been kicked inthenuts.
“His tiny drawings are so precise and intricate, they seemed familiar. So…” Nina went to the kitchen desk, grabbed a small loupe from the drawer and handed ittome.
I held the loupe over the napkin and squinted at the miniscule drawings that covered the paper from corner to corner. “What am Ilookingfor?”
“It took me a moment to make the connection.” She leaned over my shoulder, making me dizzy with her heady essence. “Those drawings? They’re not scribbles. They’reglyphs.”
I fixed my stare on Nina. “Glyphs?”
“Yes, glyphs, as in Egyptian hieroglyphs, only these are spinoffs of the rudimentary glyphs that illustrateBattle Swords—the video game Ryan likestoplay.”
For a whole fucking minute, my mind blanked out. “So wait.Theseare…”
“Stories,” she said, blowing up my world. “Ryan has a lot going on inside his head. I pulled up the glyph alphabet fromBattle Swordand tried some quick translations. This story, for example.” She pointed at one of the napkins. “It’s about a boy and a sword, like the legend of King Arthur.” She tapped on another napkin. “I think this one isaboutus.”
“Us?”
“Yes, look at the tiny figures in the cartouche.” She traced the outline with her fingertip. “Three stick figures. The one with extra-sticks hanging from his arms is Tanner. The ones with the wavy squiggles sticking out of his head? Aiden. The larger one with the flame shooting out of his arm,that’syou.”
A flame shooting stick figure. That’s how my son saw me. Another kick tothenuts.
“And this thing?” I circled my finger around the insect-like drawing at thebottom.
“I’m guessing it’s a honeybee.” She grinned. “Get it? Honey. Me. I thinkthat’sme.”
Well, fuck me. It was a lot to take in and for once, I was speechless. I stared from Nina to Ryan, reeling. She’d spent half a day with my son and she’d figured out what Laura and I had never noticedbefore.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” She gave my arm a little squeeze. “The only reason I made the connection is because I’ve played a lot ofBattle Swordsin my time. Your son, with the right guidance, is going to dogreat.”
It was exactly what I’d been craving to hear since Ryan’s diagnosis. That he would be okay. That he could do great. I threw my head back and stared at the sun streaming through the skylight. A huge weight lifted off my chest. For the first time in a while, the air reached the bottom of mylungs.
“Zar?” Nina stared at me, her eyes rounded with concern. “Youokay?”
I reached out and pulled her into my arms. She looked up at me, golden eyes alight, mouth pursed in a perfect, surprised O, eyebrows raised in a question that could only be answered directly by my body. She had no clue she’d just given me the greatest gift one person could giveanother:hope.
I held her gaze for ten seconds that felt like a lifetime, giving her a chance to push me away. When she didn’t, I lowered my lips to hermouth.
The contact launched me out of my senses. One moment I was in the kitchen, the next moment I was totally immersed in the feel of her, caught in a trajectory far removed from my daily reality, a new route scented with her breaths and ruled by the reply of her tonguetomine.
My arms clung to her while I savored her mouth. My cock led my groin as it pressed against her lower belly, reacting to the feral want of her body and mine. Holy fuck. This woman felt like fire in the flesh, like a hellfire on the way. But above all, this woman felt like mine, as if she’d been designed to fit into my arms, to mold exactly against my chest, to fill my empty heart with hersubstance.
