Unlocked

They were about to see their son.

  Manny smiled despite his trembling hands. He could hardly wait to see the reaction of his drama students, to sit in the wings and watch them play to a full house. He found his voice, but only long enough to thank them for coming.

  “And now …” Manny waved his arm toward the curtain, “I present to you Disney’s Beauty and the Beast”

  Thirty-One

  THE SHOCK OF PLAYING TO AN OVERFLOW AUDIENCE DIDN’T wear off through the entire performance. Ella had chills up and down her arms through every scene, every song, every line. The cast and the band members delivered each moment like the rarest gift, a show of thanks to the people who had decided on this night to come together. In the name of Michael Schwartz or the name of Fulton High or in the name of God, who maybe meant more to them now.

  But whatever their reason, they were here for Holden Harris —the one student who loved everyone.

  She caught LaShante’s eyes early in the first scene, and the two shared a smile. Maybe Michael had a window somehow, a way to see how the song had gone on, how his love of music had spread to a girl who might otherwise never have discovered her gift. They were well into the second act when she began praying for Holden between scenes. He was sitting in the wings, in a chair by himself, and when the music wasn’t playing, he was rocking. Rocking the way he’d done when she first met him.

  Please, God … not tonight. Don’t let him slip away.

  She needed to get a message to LaShante. If the flute players could start “Tale as Old as Time” earlier than usual, during the transformation, then Holden would be okay. She wasn’t needed on stage for a couple minutes, so she raced back to the classroom and scribbled a note for her friend. Then she found one of the tech guys. “Here … get this to LaShante … the black girl in the front row playing the flute.”

  The kid didn’t ask questions. He was gone before she made her way back to the wings. Holden was still sitting there, alone in the darkness. “Just a few minutes, Holden. Your big song.”

  He kept his eyes on the stage, on the Gaston scene playing out.

  “Are you ready?” She crouched down beside him, her yellow dress flounced out around her ankles.

  This time he looked at her. “Tale as old as time.”

  “That’s right.” She didn’t have long. She took his hand for a few seconds and then gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll see you out there.”

  He smiled. “Beauty and the Beast.”

  Ella knew her part well enough to keep delivering her lines, giving her best performance ever. But she was keenly aware that the scene with Holden was drawing near. Please God … let LaShante get the message. Time seemed to move into a speed warp, and suddenly the moment was upon them. Gaston appeared to stab the beast, and then fall to his death. The Beast lay on the floor, gasping for breath.

  “No,” Ella cried out. “Don’t leave me … please.” She breathed hard and fast as she fell to her knees. Her body heaved as she grieved the loss of her friend. “You can’t leave.” She sat up, her attention completely on the face of the Beast. “I … I love you.”

  With that the haunting sounds of transformation began. A curtain shrouded in fog came around them and made the moment magical. The Beast slid behind the curtain and lumbered into the wings. It was Holden’s moment. His time to join her on the stage. But he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Holden,” she called out quietly into the foggy darkness. “Where are you?”

  At that same instant the lilting sound of the entire flute section kicked into gear. The music was “Tale as Old as Time” —Holden’s favorite song. And there in the fog, before she could waste another second panicking over what might go wrong, Holden appeared before her.

  He smiled, his eyes intent on hers. “I’m here,” he whispered.

  “Good.” She kept her voice low. The lights were coming up, the transformation complete.

  Holden looked stunning, standing inches from her in his white and gold costume, his shoulders back, strength and kindness emanating from his eyes, his expression. Never in all the times they’d rehearsed this number had Holden recited the actual line, the one the script called for. But the miracles God was working tonight were still playing out. Holden touched her shoulder. “It’s me, Belle … Can’t you see? This is who I’ve been … all along.”

  Ella’s lips parted, and for a long moment she wasn’t sure if she could recite her name, let alone her lines. It was like Holden was no longer playing a role, but rather telling her something about himself. That this—and not the boy she’d met last fall—was who he really was. She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress and tried to remember her words. All the while the music played. LaShante and the tech guy had done what she asked and now … now the music was giving Holden a chance to shine.

  Focus, Ella … come on. “It’s … it’s really you! I can’t believe it.” She reached out and took Holden’s hands.

  And with that he began to sing. “Tale as old as time …”

  It was her turn to sing, but before she could begin, something happened in the audience—something none of them had planned for or rehearsed. Those in attendance were clapping, louder and louder. The band seemed to understand that Ella needed time, so they played the same eight bars of music again.

  But what about Holden? How would he respond to the thunderous applause. She searched his eyes, but he only moved closer to her, so close she almost wondered if he was going to kiss her. But at the last moment, he brushed his cheek against hers and spoke near her ear. “It’s okay, Ella. Wait for the music.”

  Up until this moment, Ella couldn’t tell the difference between what was acting for Holden, and what was real. But now she knew. This wasn’t acting … this was Holden as real as he could be. The Holden he might someday become even without the music. Gradually the applause faded, and the band picked up by repeating where they had left off. Ella stood straighter, breathing deep before she began to sing. She smiled into Holden’s eyes as he began twirling her in graceful circles.

  The other cast members joined in, Cogsworth and Lumierre and Babette dancing in sweeping arcs around Ella and Holden at the center of the stage. “… Beauty and the Beast.” Holden finished the song in a moment Ella knew she’d remember forever.

  Ella wondered if everyone in the audience was crying the way she was, if they were processing the message Holden was singing. At the beginning of the year they’d been wrong—all of them. Wrong about Michael Schwartz and wrong about Holden. It had been tough to look past Holden’s strange exterior, past his quirky behaviors and non-communicative nature. But now …

  Now everyone in the building was witnessing the miracle of Holden Harris. The music had always been inside him, only now they’d found the right song. Holden’s song. And on this night they could all see the truth. Holden Harris wasn’t merely a boy who struggled with autism. He was a friend to everyone at Fulton, and more than that—he really was a prince.

  Ella would believe that as long as she lived.

  SUZANNE COULDN’T STOP CRYING. SHE WASN’T SURE IF THE flood of emotion that had come over her was because of the very real transformation taking place on stage or because her husband had arrived at intermission and was sitting beside her. Whatever had brought him, she didn’t care. Tonight she felt something she hadn’t felt in years.

  She felt hope.

  And it was because of Holden Harris. Because of the impact he’d made on their family. As the play wound down, as Holden and the cast received a standing ovation that went on for nearly five minutes, Suzanne refused to think about all they’d lost by backing out of the friendship with the Harris family years ago. Yes, Holden suffered from a handicap. A disability.

  But didn’t everyone in some way or another?

  What lessons might they have learned if they’d stayed connected with Tracy and Dan and Holden? Maybe the guys would’ve kept up their Bible study, and Randy wouldn’t have drifted from their family. Maybe she wouldn’t work so hard to keep up her
outer appearance. Being around Holden made it painfully clear that the most breathtaking beauty came from inside.

  When the play was over, after Mr. Hawkins thanked them again for coming, and as the cast members spilled into the audience for hugs and congratulations, Suzanne wanted to find just one person.

  Her daughter, Ella.

  She spotted her across the room and she touched Randy’s arm. “I’ll be back.” She had to talk loud above the sound of the crowd. He nodded, and before she turned to make her way to the other side of the auditorium, she saw Dan Harris come up and give her husband a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Randy … it’s been too long.”

  It was another miracle—the idea that Dan would find Randy before he ducked out the back door, that the two of them might talk tonight after the emotional performance they’d all witnessed.

  Suzanne clutched a long-stemmed red rose as she made her way through the crowd. Ella was surrounded by well-wishers, and standing next to her, still looking every bit the prince, was Holden. The expression in his eyes had changed, and he wasn’t making eye contact with everyone pressed in near him. But he still held his head high, a protective figure at Ella’s side.

  Suzanne was only a few feet away, but still Ella hadn’t seen her. And for a few seconds, she was grateful for the fact. Watching Ella and Holden was like seeing a vision, a figment of her imagination from back when they were three years old. Wasn’t this what she and Tracy had always dreamed —that Ella and Holden would be the most lovely couple, that they would support each other and encourage each other, and be a magnet for everyone around them?

  And here —against everything —it was happening almost like they’d hoped. She studied Holden, the kindness in his expression. He might never be completely out of his world of autism, and most likely the two of them would never date. But Suzanne knew as she looked at her daughter that Ella loved the friend she’d found in Holden.

  She would love him as long as she lived.

  A little further through the crowd and Suzanne was at her daughter’s elbow. “Honey …”

  Ella turned, and with only the slightest hesitation she flew into her mother’s arms. “Wasn’t it amazing? Holden’s miracle? Did you see what happened?” Ella barely paused long enough to take a breath. “Holden was … he was completely with me up there.”

  “I saw it.” Tears stung at Suzanne’s eyes. She handed her daughter the rose and kissed her cheek. “I’m proud of you, Ella. It was like … You were a real-life Belle. Your love and the music … I think God used it to give Holden a miracle.”

  Ella beamed at the young man beside her. He seemed oblivious to the crowd, his eyes stuck on some quiet place in the far distance. But as Ella touched his arm, he met her eyes. The only person in the room he wanted to connect with. “You remember my mom, Holden?”

  His eyes shifted to Suzanne and after a few seconds, the corners of his mouth lifted. “Yes.” He had to raise his voice to be heard about the noise of the crowd still filling the theater. “You were sitting on the swing with Ella.”

  Suzanne was stunned, and she realized one more bit of truth. Holden hadn’t missed anything. Never mind that he had gone away to live in a silent world inside himself. He still heard and saw and remembered. “That’s right.” She smiled at him. “We’ll talk more later, okay?”

  “Later.” He looked back toward the far wall again, still standing shoulder to shoulder with Ella.

  “Mom …” The enthusiasm in Ella’s voice fell away. “I’m sorry. For not making time to talk. Maybe … maybe we can start again.”

  “I would like that.” Suzanne felt a single tear roll down her cheek. “I love you, Ella. I’m sorry about how much I missed. I want to change. I want you to see the real me.”

  Ella smiled, and the light returned to her eyes. She glanced at Holden, and then back at her mother. “I guess that’s true for a lot of us.”

  More admirers wanted a few words with Ella, a chance to take her picture or congratulate her. So Suzanne moved back through the people to the place where her husband was still talking to Dan. Tracy was standing nearby, and as she walked up the two women hugged. “Holden was amazing.”

  “I never could’ve imagined … It was like a dream.”

  “It was a miracle.”

  “Yes,” Tracy looked at their husbands and then back at her friend. “God’s not finished yet.”

  With that they turned their conversation back to the play, to the packed house and the level of emotion the final number held for all of them. This was not the place to talk about her marriage to Randy, or whether they would get counseling and try to work things out. It was enough that Tracy was right. God had worked a miracle here tonight, and He wasn’t done yet. Not with Holden …

  And not with her, either.

  HOLDEN LIKED HIS VIEW. HE COULD SEE EVERYONE, ALL THE people from school and the parents and teachers, and he knew God had heard his prayers. He knew so much that he’d been praying ever since the performance ended. Sometimes he was talking to Ella, but right now he was praying.

  Dear Jesus, look at all the happy hearts in this room. It’s exactly what I prayed for. One thousand, fifty-three seats. Only tonight there were more than one thousand, fifty-three people. Because two hundred and eleven people were standing. And that meant one thousand, two hundred, sixty-four people were happy. Every single one. The music began to play again, sweeping him away to the happiest of places.

  I know, God, that You were with me tonight, and that You’ll stay with me after this, too. Because You gave me my friend, Ella. And that’s where my heart is. Up on stage and back in the drama classroom and there on my couch watching our movie. With Ella. And now maybe everyone will have their heart in the right place.

  He was still praying when his cousin Kate walked up and tugged on his sleeve. “Kate … you’re a pretty princess tonight.” He said the words, and she must’ve heard him because she giggled and her smile filled her whole face.

  “You’re the best prince, Holden. The very best.”

  “And you’re the best cousin.”

  “I can hear you, Holden.” Kate hugged him around his waist. “Even when no one else hears you, I hear you.” She bounced off to find Holden’s mother. And then she came back and his mom and dad were with her.

  “I’m proud of you, son. You were perfect up there.” His dad patted his arm. It was a lot to take in, but Holden held his ground. This was his father. Home from fishing. “Thank you, Dad. Thank you for being here.”

  His mom didn’t say very much because she was crying. But Holden wasn’t sad for her. The tears on her face were happy tears. Holden knew the difference. When they left to wait for him at the back of the theater, Holden finished his prayer.

  And so, Jesus, thank You for this night. Because I’ve prayed for this all my life. I know You hear me, because You were right in the front row and in the back and on stage and everywhere tonight. He thought for a minute. Can You tell Michael we missed him? I know You love me. Your friend, Holden Harris.

  There was just one last thing to do, the thing he’d wanted to do since Ella asked him before the play. Less people stood around them now, so he looked at her. “Ella?”

  She turned his direction. “Yes, Holden?”

  “Can I give you a hug?”

  Her smile turned into a pretty laugh. “Yes … yes, of course.”

  Then, without any drums in the background, he pulled Ella into his arms and he hugged her. The music played, sweet and melodic, filling the room. Only now there was a difference, because Ella was swaying with him and that could only mean one thing. The thing he had known all along.

  Ella could hear the music too.

  READER LETTER

  Dear Reader Friends,

  Three years ago, my kids were taking part in a Christian Youth Theater (CYT) musical when at rehearsal one day I noticed a boy sitting in the back of the room, rocking quietly and utterly withdrawn from the other kids. We’ll call him Samuel—to protect his
identity. Samuel’s mom sat not far from him, and later that hour she told me that her son had autism.

  “He’s noncommunicative,” she told me. “His sister’s in the play, so we’ll be here at every rehearsal.” She paused. “We pray for him every day, that something will unlock him.”

  Samuel was ten years old at the time, and over the next eight weeks all of us noticed something change with the boy. He stopped sitting in the corner, stopped rocking, stopped passing the time locked in his own world. Instead he kept his head up and he began creeping a little closer to the kids. When they would work on a song, Samuel would nod along—, clearly mesmerized by the music.

  The next session with CYT, Samuel was a different boy. He was able to take direction and communicate on a basic level —so much that he was allowed to be on the backstage crew.

  “We can’t believe this,” his mother told me. “Every day he comes out of his private world a little more. It’s the music. It has to be.”

  A year later, after a long break from CYT, our kids took part in another show. It was Christmastime, and the production was Scrooge —the musical. I’d been busy with writing, so I hadn’t been to as many rehearsals, but as I took my seat on opening night, I could not believe what I saw. As the townspeople filed onto the stage in old English costumes, singing and interacting with each other—there was Samuel.

  The boy who hadn’t been able to talk was performing on stage.

  At intermission I found his mother, and we both had tears in our eyes. “It’s a miracle,” she told me. “God used the music to give us back our boy.”

  I knew from that point on that I would write a novel about an autistic boy who was brought out of his private world because of the power of a song. That’s how it was for Samuel… and so that’s how it was for Holden Harris.

  It was with great care and a tender heart that I ventured into writing about an eighteen-year-old boy on the autistic spectrum. I learned quickly that autism is called a spectrum disorder because no two cases are exactly the same. Some people are more highly functioning—as is the case with Asperger’s Syndrome. Others—like Holden in Unlocked —are noncommunicative and sometimes never find their way out of the private world they live in.