What No One Else Can Hear (32 page)

“Hey, buddy,” Drew asked, “can we give that to Fireman Mike? He wanted a self-portrait of you.”

Stevie shook his head. “You can give him the next one.” He looked at me and handed me the drawing. This was the first time he had given one of his portraits to someone in particular when it didn’t seem to have anything to do with his empathy. “This one is for you, Bear.”

Everyone at the table was silent for so long, I was afraid Stevie would think we didn’t like it. I smiled and tousled his hair. “Thanks, buddy. It’s fantastic.”

“Hey,” he said with mock indignation, “not the hair, Bear.”

And he reached up and tousled mine right back.

L
OTS
OF
things had changed in the year and a half since I’d arrived at the center. Stevie was doing so much better with controlling the emotional onslaught of everyone around him. He even seemed able to zero in on one person’s emotions when he wanted to or picked up nontypical emotions and could pinpoint where they were coming from. He wasn’t above using it to his advantage either. He’d wait until he could tell a staff member was in a particularly good mood before asking for something he usually wouldn’t get, for example. But he used it for good too. He knew who was feeling down and could use a hug or just some company, and now, instead of needing to protect himself from their emotions, he could go to them and give his attention.

Drew had long since noticed that Stevie didn’t seem able to project emotions, but being near him cheered people up, just because he was a special kid.

He was catching up academically by leaps and bounds now that he could pay more attention in class. He was also able to come home with me more often. I could foresee a day in the not too distant future where he could leave the center altogether. He would always have special needs, and he still had rough patches, but the time was coming when he’d perhaps go to public school and would certainly live with me full time.

Toward that end, I’d started looking for houses to rent or buy that would be in my meager price range.

Mrs. Johnson, Dottie’s next-door neighbor, had proved to be a godsend in that regard. She was selling her gorgeous old house and moving to a retirement community. Her husband had passed away years before, and even with Drew and me and other neighbors helping with the upkeep, she felt it was becoming too daunting a task to keep up with. When she heard Stevie and I were looking for a home, she jumped at the chance to “keep it in the family.” She practically gave it away. It needed work, but it would be worth it.

It was right beside Dottie’s, so Stevie and I would still be able to see her as often as we wanted, and it was close to the center. It seemed perfect, but it brought up some confusion that I hadn’t thought to address.

“So we can turn the third bedroom into a movie room or something, and you can unpack all those millions of DVDs you have boxed up under your bed in Dottie’s guest room,” I told Drew one evening when we were cuddling on my couch.

He was silent for too long, so I squirmed away enough to look him in the eye.

He finally responded. “You want me to move in with you?”

“Aren’t you already moved in with me? We’re just changing addresses.”

“Um….” His hesitation surprised me. “I thought I’d just take over your apartment. You know, keep the rent coming in for Dottie.”

I was puzzled. “You don’t pay rent right now. You’re willing to start paying more money just so you don’t have to live with me?”

“No, it’s not—” He stopped and started over. “So far we’ve been able to get away with having the same address without people thinking we’re together, because people know Dottie has a guest room and an apartment, but if I move into your house….”

“Well—” I was a little hesitant now. “—I was hoping it would be our house. And if you wanted our relationship to be a secret, I think that ship sailed a long time ago.”

“No, not secret, just….” I waited him out. “Here, I could always go to the guest room if you changed your mind, Jess. If you decided you didn’t…. Shit, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“Well, if you don’t even know, I sure as hell don’t.” I sat up straighter and pulled him up with me, then made sure he was paying attention. “Maybe I haven’t said this enough, but I love you, Drew, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just assumed you’d move into the house with Stevie and me. And yes, I know what happens when you assume, and I guess I did that. I never did ask you, did I?” I took both his hands in mine and made sure he was looking me in the eye. “Drew, would you move in with me and Stevie? Would you be another dad to Stevie and a partner to me? Would you grow old with me and pick up my underwear from the bedroom floor, till death us do part?”

He laughed and drew me in for a hug. “I will.” He kissed me quickly, then added. “All except the underwear thing.”

D
REW
AND
I and several people from the center worked tirelessly on the house to get the house ready to move into before Stevie’s upcoming birthday. We did all the painting, roof work, and general maintenance, but then Drew and Dottie basically told me to stay out of my own house. We kept Wolf in the backyard of the new house since Dottie’s yard wasn’t fenced, so I was allowed in the kitchen to get her food. Other than that, the house was off limits. Dottie and Drew said it had something to do with Stevie’s birthday party.

Stevie’s twelfth birthday was quickly approaching, and everyone wanted to do something special. Drew said this was the first year Stevie could really enjoy an elaborate party, and Drew felt he had a right to be spoiled rotten on his birthday. I thought the kid was spoiled rotten every day, but I agreed about the birthday party.

Drew was spearheading the whole movement. I felt I should contribute
something
since I was officially the parent of the birthday boy, but Drew told me in no uncertain terms that I should just sit back and stay out of the way. He said he and Dottie had wanted to do this for Stevie the entire time they had known him.

Most of the other kids on the hall had parents or grandparents who made some attempt at doing something special for their birthday. Now that Stevie could finally appreciate Dottie’s and Drew’s efforts, nothing short of divine intervention could have stopped them, so I heeded Drew’s advice and made myself scarce.

“But why do I need to stay out of the house?” I asked him as we cuddled in bed one evening.

“Not the whole house, just the top floor.”

“Well, that’s different, then,” I mocked. “Drew, that’s not an answer. What does Stevie’s party have to do with my not being able to go into parts of my own home?”

He hugged me closer. “We want it to be a surprise for you too.”

I left it at that.

S
O
AFTER
two weeks of being kept out of most of my new house, the day of Stevie’s party finally arrived. His birthday happened to be on a Saturday, so it worked out that his party was actually on his birthday. Even if it hadn’t been, Drew would have planned the party for Saturday so that folks who worked during the week could come. Ryan’s mom and dad accompanied Ryan and brought food for the “covered dish” dinner and presents for the birthday boy. Mike worked as weird a schedule as everyone at the center but had asked in advance for the day off. I found out Stevie had become something of a mascot at the fire department, so Mike showed up with a carload of presents. Everyone had wanted to send something to “Mike’s flying squirrel.” Linda, Mike’s wife, came with him.

Both Dottie and Drew had asked to be scheduled off so they could be there. Sara Marshall, the center director, went them one better and got substitutes for the last hour of day shift so any staff who wanted to could make it to the party at six thirty.

Hank, Stacey, and Molly attended.

We had decided to keep the party a surprise for Stevie as much as we could. It wasn’t a difficult task for me since I didn’t have a lot of the details anyway. Stevie’s teacher had had a small celebration in her classroom so the other children could take part. She had started a tradition that the class had cupcakes on or near someone’s birthday, so Stevie knew, intellectually, that it was his birthday and that people celebrated the day. The idea of a large surprise party, though, was completely foreign to him, so he would never suspect one. I had told him he was staying with me that weekend and that we would be staying in our new house for the first time. He became a little sad at that and said Dottie would be lonely. I promised him she would visit.

What we hadn’t taken into account, though, was that it was practically really impossible to surprise an empath. Drew had forbidden anyone to yell “Surprise!” because he didn’t want to overwhelm Stevie, but he had asked them to park around the block so it wasn’t immediately noticeable that so many people were there. However, as soon as I pulled into the driveway with Stevie, he started wiggling in his seat.

“Why is everyone so happy?”

“Huh?” I asked him articulately.

“Lots of people. In the house.” He pointed. “They’re all happy.”

Well, if there was ever any doubt that Stevie could pick up on emotions of people around him and pinpoint where they were coming from, there wasn’t now.

“Is it too much, bud? You okay? You need a bigger wall or anything?”

He smiled. “No. The tingles feel good this time.” He was out of his seat belt and was all but dancing in his seat. “Can we go in?”

I laughed. “Yeah. But you’re not supposed to know anyone is in there.”

“How come?”

I decided not to get into it. “Never mind. Let’s just go in.”

Stevie hopped out, grabbed my hand, and dragged me to the door. He was so excited.

When we got inside, everyone said happy birthday in their own way, and Drew looked at Stevie carefully, trying to gauge his reaction to the cacophony.

Stevie was all smiles.

“All for me, Bear?” he asked as he turned to me with the widest eyes I’d ever seen.

Drew must have bought out a party store. Balloons of just about every conceivable color adorned the ceiling, with their brightly colored tails hanging down all over the living room. A huge colorful sign announced “Stevie’s 12th Birthday.” Streamers exploded from every surface and doorjamb. It was beautiful, but the first thought in my head was
who the hell is cleaning all
this
up
?

“Yep,” I answered. “All for you, big guy.”

“But I’ve already had my cupcake.”

He was honestly confused.

Dottie addressed that one. “Sometimes people get more than a cupcake for their birthday… especially if they’ve never had a birthday party before.”

Stevie smiled. “Cool!”

Drew beamed from ear to ear. “This is only the start, buddy. Come out back.”

As we exited the rear of the house into the backyard, another explosion of color greeted us. Stevie’s eyes went immediately to the heavily laden food table. An enormous cake sporting an airbrushed copy of the self-portrait Stevie had given Mike filled its center. My attention was drawn to Wolf, who was running through the yard with brightly colored bows tied around her collar. She made her way to Stevie, seemingly oblivious to how ridiculous she looked. Once she was beside him, he reached down and patted her gently, his gaze never once leaving the food table.

Drew warned Stevie before they started singing so he wouldn’t be startled, but Stevie still beamed the brilliant smile that hadn’t left his face. After that, he blew out the two candles, one shaped like a
1
and another like a
2
.

Dottie announced that the grilled hot dogs were ready, and after convincing Stevie that “
No
, he may
not
have cake first, even on his birthday,” she handed him a specially selected hot dog, one with no black grill marks on it.

Stevie wouldn’t eat the ones with black marks. He called it “burnt-stuck” and said it “tasted funny.” My son definitely had his own ideas about what he would eat and what he wouldn’t.

He took the plate with the hot dog—no bun—and added to that large helpings of mashed potatoes, french fries, and mac ’n’ cheese. Why that boy didn’t weigh 200 pounds with all the carbs he ate was beyond me. He covered the mac ’n’ cheese and mashed potatoes liberally with ketchup and filled the entire center of his plate with even more ketchup for dipping the fries and hot dog, then found a spot to sit on the grass in the middle of the yard, even though a large number of chairs were set up.

Figuring we’d been officially dismissed, everyone started filing through the food line. As I loaded my plate, I noticed that both Stevie
and
Wolf were making short work of the food on Stevie’s plate. I knew that telling Stevie not to share with the dog would have absolutely no effect—I’d tried numerous times before—so I just saved my breath. When he held out his ketchup-covered hot dog for the dog to take a bite and then proceeded to dip it back in the ketchup and bite off it himself, I decided I couldn’t watch anymore and busied myself again with filling my own plate.

After everyone had eaten their fill, we moved Stevie to the gift table that looked about ready to succumb from all the extra weight. He briefly examined each wrapped gift, hefting it and even smelling some of them. Then he gleefully tore into first one present then the next, tossing the current present onto the ever-growing pile of previously opened gifts. I noticed as they zoomed by that quite a few of the guests had brought art supplies—the obvious choice, and always appreciated, no matter how many he already had. There were several firefighter helmets, toy axes, and water hoses, toy fire engines, and the like. Those had come from the men at Mike’s station.

Many other guests brought blocks, Legos, and other building supplies. Several had purchased building sets that required tools, and I couldn’t wait to see what Stevie would think about those.