As Tears Go By

  She couldn’t move if she tried. “I live here.”

  “Still. I’m not done with you.”

  She turned his face and kissed his beautiful mouth. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

  When he slid out of her, she was bereft. She gaped as he sauntered into her bathroom. His body was lean and muscled, an amazing display of male exquisiteness.

  He returned a few minutes later and her face heated as he unabashedly gave her a full view of his front. Wow. His abs glistened under a sheen of perspiration. A tiny dewdrop traveled slowly down the deep-set slope of his hip. Dark golden curls nestled around his arousal, which hung heavy between his strong thighs. She’d never seen a man built so well. As much as she was enjoying the show, her hand twitched to cover her own body in the face of such perfection.

  He lifted her and she wasn’t sure what he was doing until he drew back the covers and climbed in beside her. The moment he pulled her body close to his and covered her with his thigh, she sighed. She loved being held and Braydon apparently had no issue holding her.

  Chapter Six

  Braydon awoke to the scent of bacon. Turning in bed, he found the rumpled covers short one beautiful Becca. As his ears adjusted to his surroundings, he picked up traces of her voice, harmonically carrying up the stairs. Well, not harmonically, but she was singing.

  His body stretched as he brushed the shadow of his jaw with his palm. She was making him breakfast. Didn’t that just spell awesome? However, rolling into her softness and greeting the morning with sex would have been nice too, but he was a man of many appetites and knowing she was cooking for him touched him on a personal level.

  Jumping out of bed, he went to her bathroom and washed up. He didn’t have anything other than the clothes he came in, so he found his wrinkled slacks and slipped into them.

  As he snuck downstairs her hummed words became clearer. She was singing the song they’d danced to last night, but no music played in the background.

  Creeping into the kitchen, he took a moment to simply watch her bare legs sway and her undulating hips move, as she stood in front of the stove, the rest of her luscious body concealed by a long T-shirt.

  He stepped close and wrapped his arms around her from behind and she screamed. Loud. He chuckled and placed a kiss at the side of her neck. “Good morning, angel.”

  “You scared me.” She wiggled in his arms, but didn’t try to escape. “Breakfast will be done in a few minutes. There’s coffee on the counter.”

  He sighed contently, needing a little Becca before he had his coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I slept like a rock.”

  His gaze went to the clock. It was just before eight. Once again he noticed the many labels and signs tacked to the walls. Stepping back, he approached a chart and looked at the pictures. Each laminated image was attached with a strip of Velcro.

  “That’s for Hunter. It’s part of his plan.”

  “Did you make all these?” He detached a picture of hands being washed.

  “They’re PECS. It’s a picture exchange system. They’re pretty universal.”

  “How does it work?”

  Becca removed the last strip of bacon and placed it on a paper towel. “Well, in the beginning he’d just have to touch the image of what he wanted.” She carried over a board with a sort of menu on it. There were images of fruit, cereal, beverages, sandwiches, and so on.

  The board was divided into quadrants. She pulled off a picture of milk and juice. “I’d give him options and ask him if he wanted milk or juice.” As she did this, she took his hand and touched it to each picture as she said what it was. “He’d choose. As he got older he’d have to hand the card to me. The more he learned the more I’d require of him. If he wanted the milk, he’d have to hand it to me and make the mmm sound. Eventually, he learned to say the word.”

  “They should do that with all kids. It seems like a great way to teach speech.”

  “You have no idea what it’s like to have a non-vocal child. It’s frustrating for everyone, but mostly for the child. Communication’s so important and I’m very lucky Hunter speaks now. Sometimes he struggles to find his words,” she said quietly as if to herself.

  “Do you ever wonder if they just have too much going on, too many words to choose from?”

  She smiled, but the expression seemed sad. “Their entire existence is sensory overload. Sometimes they need the sensory, but sometimes it hurts. Many children with autism don’t develop speech until after age three, but that doesn’t necessarily affect their intelligence. Sometimes the world just isn’t concrete enough for them. Albert Einstein didn’t talk until after he was three. He was dyslexic, but nowadays he’d definitely be considered on the spectrum.” She grinned. “He was a pretty smart guy.”

  Braydon eyes softened as he turned to her. “Yeah. He did all right.”

  They sat at the table and made up their plates of pancakes and bacon. He contemplated the bruises he’d seen on her. Hunter was a child, but Becca was small. His eyes caught on the broken chair tucked in the corner and the cracked tile on the wall. “Did it cause a lot of trouble for you when I stopped by a few weeks ago?”

  Her eyes moved as though she were thinking. “Actually, no. He isn’t used to surprise visitors, but you weren’t here long enough to throw off his entire day. We had a snack and then I gave him some down time to stim.”

  He didn’t want to use the wrong words and offend her. “That’s self-stimulating, right?”

  She nodded as she took a bite. “Yeah. It’s important he not get carried away. I try to limit it at the breakfast table and when he should be focused on a task. It takes constant prompting and redirecting, but sometimes he needs to let off steam. I usually give him at least an hour to get it all out. He’ll pace and flap and jump and when he’s done he seems more centered.”

  “Why do they do it?”

  She shrugged. “Why do people fidget? I mean, sometimes he can’t help it, but if I ever want to see him integrated into society on some level, he has to make an effort to control it.”

  “For the sake of others?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. People judge what they don’t understand and there’s still a lot of ignorance out there regarding autism. Hunter does a lot of flicking by his eyes. That’s because his visual sensory’s a mess. Light overwhelms him. Where we see a florescent light, he sees the steady stream of strobes coming from the bulb. It’s distracting and annoying to him, sort of like what Chinese water torture would be to us.”

  “Does he wear glasses?”

  She shook her head. “His vision seems to be fine, though it’s very difficult to get an accurate reading with Hunter. It isn’t a vision problem with his eyes. It’s a perception issue with his brain. All his sensory endings fire off so rapidly you’ll see him flinch his eyes shut over and over again. He can’t help it. There’s no way to shut it off.”

  After reading a lot about various children, his curiosity became centered on Becca’s. “Is there medicine that helps?”

  She groaned. “The drugs out there are endless. The problem is, pharmaceutical companies want to make money. What worked great in the nineties might be generically available now, so they aren’t promoting it and doctors are suggesting the next hot thing, which may be crap. No drug comes without side effects. I’ve read so much on medication. Mostly, Hunter’s taken things for anxiety, but I have to be very careful with his dosage. He’s only eight. But as far as his sensory issues… No, there really isn’t much out there that’s worked for him.”

  “That surprises me, with the numbers what they are.”

  She sipped her coffee. “Yeah. Maybe someone will invent something someday that actually helps.” She laughed. “Whoever it is will probably be on the spectrum. We wouldn’t have half the advancement we do today if it wasn’t for abstract thinkers. Look at NASA. I bet those scientists are loaded with Asperger’s tendencies. People see them for the innovators they are and suddenly their social aw
kwardness becomes excusable.”

  He loved her way of thinking and she was probably right. He’d read about savants and professors, artists, authors, and even Pulitzer Prize winners all touched with ASD. “Maybe someday people will recognize the advantages as much as the challenges.”

  Such passion showed in her eyes as she smiled. “For some reason, our society puts too much emphasis on socialization and behavior. They’re more concerned with a kid distracting others by flapping and shouting than they are with the actual functions of the brain. I guarantee you, if they found a way to quiet autism the research would decline, sadly. It’s incredibly frustrating, as a mother, to have a son who can do things most ‘intelligent’ people can’t, yet get castigated for not always walking in a straight line or sitting quietly.”

  “Do people make fun of him?” he asked quietly.

  Her expression was pained but accepting. “We’re taught to be compassionate. It’s expected in this day and age. But parents don’t always teach their children early enough. People stare. I ignore the looks and try not to hear the comments, but sometimes it’s hard. At this point, Hunter isn’t really bothered by other’s opinions, but over time that’ll change. Eventually he’ll know he’s different and he won’t be able to choose to be the same like most adolescents. He has feelings just like every boy. Maybe sheltering him isn’t the right thing to do, but it protects him. We do go out, but probably not as often as we should.”

  “He sounds like a sweet kid.”

  Pride sparked in her eyes. “He is. I cry a lot, but I also laugh. You have to when this is your reality.”

  They’d finished eating and Becca looked tired from talking. “What would you like to do today?”

  She seemed startled by the question. “I don’t know. I assumed you’d have things to do.”

  “I do. I have a beautiful woman to entertain. I don’t think anyone’s done anything for her in quite some time, so it’s really important that I get started on that.”

  Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her lashes. “You don’t have to—”

  He took her hand. “I want to. Tell me something you’d like to do. Something you haven’t done in a long time.”

  It wasn’t a complicated question, but she seemed to really struggle with the answer. “I miss…all of it.” Her shoulders slumped. “There’s so much I miss. I miss grabbing a cup of coffee or a bite to eat simply because someone invites me along. I miss peace and quiet, moving at a slow pace, having a chance to breathe it all in. I miss…my health.”

  Jesus. It became imperative to improve her outlook, which, strangely, excited him and made him fondly recall the simple things life often got in the way of. “Let’s get dressed and go out. We’ll take a quiet walk, maybe see a movie, and when that’s done, we’ll grab a bite to eat.”

  Her expression became contemplative. “It’s so strange not having him here. I have this constant paranoia I’m forgetting something.”

  “Maybe this is good. Everyone needs a break from their day to day life now and then.”

  “It probably is, but it doesn’t feel that way. I know our custody arrangement’s wearing on Hunter, all this switching back and forth. I just wish he could tell me if it’s unpleasant or excruciating. I can’t seem to shut off the worry, even when I know he’s with his dad.”

  The amount of stress she coped with on a minute-to-minute basis was immeasurable. Her love for her child was apparent, her worry beyond that of a typical parent’s concerns. A walk wasn’t the solution, but it was a start.

  “Come on. Let’s get dressed. I need to stop by my place to grab clothes and then we’ll go have a relaxing day together.”

  Becca showered and he cleaned up from breakfast, lost in thought about what she’d shared. When they reached his place he bathed and quickly threw on jeans and a T-shirt. “What’s O’Malley’s pub?” she asked, reading his shirt.

  “My family’s bar back home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Center County. About three hours east of here.”

  “Do you miss it or do you prefer the city?”

  Her curiosity triggered a sense of happiness inside of him. He liked talking to her about the personal stuff most conversations grazed over. It was…intimate. “I miss my family. I’d like to someday be able to run my own company, bid out jobs and travel site to site, but I need to get a bit more experience under my belt first. Relocating’s a definite possibility though.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment flashed in her eyes, but she quickly covered it. “This Apricot deal should help your portfolio.”

  “Definitely. I’m the frontrunner on the project. If all goes well, I may be able to break away from Bradford Corp in a year or two.” Being away from his relatives was torture.

  “Will you go back to Center County?”

  He shrugged, not wanting to add another check in the complication column of their relationship. He wasn’t in a rush, but returning home was definitely in the plan. “I guess it all depends on where I am at that point. Hard to say.”

  They drove to the park and Becca’s expression turned serene the moment they set foot on the path. “This is nice.”

  It was. Fleecy clouds coated the autumn sky, giving the changing trees a picturesque backdrop. “Do you ever bring Hunter here?”

  “Sometimes, but only when I have someone else with me. He runs and I can’t always do it by myself. Most days we play in the yard because it’s safe and contained. I never get to stroll like this. It’s funny, I almost forgot all the pretty sounds of nature. I’m usually too distracted to pay attention.”

  He slid his hand into hers and interlaced their fingers. They walked in silence, pointing out various hidden glimpses of wildlife among the clustered trees. Squirrels chased one another over fallen leaves. Birds chirped and pecked in the saplings. It was a lovely day, but none of the beautiful sights topped Becca’s expression.

  “So you like The Stones?”

  “I love The Stones.”

  “They’re all right,” he teased.

  She swatted his arm. “All right? Aside from The Beatles they’re one of the most influential bands in music history and it just so happens my son was born on Mick Jagger’s birthday.”

  “No kidding?”

  “It’s true. Got him out in the last few minutes.”

  He laughed. “That’s a dedicated fan.”

  “That I am.”

  “Do you like being a mom?”

  She took a moment to answer. “Yes. I think I’m good at it. Some people say it’s a thankless job, but I think it’s one of the most rewarding jobs there is.”

  “When did you know Hunter was different?”

  “I had my instincts. A mother’s very attuned to her child’s development. But I wasn’t certain we were dealing with something big until he was over a year. Hunter didn’t make eye contact the way other babies his age did. I had his hearing tested, because he wouldn’t always look when I called his name. His hearing was fine.”

  “My nephew, Lachlan, wears a hearing aid—something about when he was in the womb with his twin, Declan. I remember my brother getting scared when they went through all the tests.”

  She nodded with understanding. “Having your child tested is always scary. But when you know something isn’t right, you have to be courageous. The hardest thing was the cuddling. Hunter’s never responded to physical contact the way other children usually do. When I touch him, it’s either for therapeutic pressure or because he needs direction. My son doesn’t need to be held.” Her lashes flickered and her mouth tightened. “That’s hard, because sometimes a mother really needs to just hold her child.”

  He stilled on the trail and faced her. Those violet blue eyes blinked in question. He didn’t want to explain his motive, only wanted to give her something she’d been missing.

  Reaching for her shoulders, he pulled her into the shelter of his body and wrapped his arms around her frame, hugging her tight. She stiffened, then sighed and me
lted into his hold. McCulloughs were great huggers and his angel was starved for contact. It was a win-win, because even platonic contact with Becca was special.

  They stood there for a long time, simply hugging, his arms holding her tight. When they finally started walking again, he kept his fingers entwined with hers. He was an affectionate person and her need for contact suited him well.

  “Does he get upset when someone touches him?”

  She took a deep breath and seemed to collect herself. “It depends. Pressure helps calm him, so there are varying ways he’ll tolerate touch. When he has a meltdown, I sometimes have to put him on his beanbag chair and lay on top of him with another beanbag. He favors that sort of deep pressure. Cloth swings help too. But he hates soft touches. It’s too much for his skin to tolerate. A lot of his learning requires hand over hand direction.” She gripped his forearm. “I’ll hold him here, use my fingers to turn his chin, and sometimes place a hand on his shoulder to let him know I’m waiting.”

  The more she opened up the more he became interested. There was nothing simplistic about this woman, yet simplicity seemed to be the goal she strived for in everyday life. With every detail she shared, it became imperative he not complicate her life. It would, indeed, be strange to go into a relationship trying to avoid the sought after excitement most people craved, but the slow, compatible pace they’d adopted surprisingly suited him more than he’d expected.

  * * * *

  After their morning at the park, they visited the Cineplex. “What kind of movies do you like?” he asked.

  “Something easy. Nothing violent or too intense.”

  They settled on a chick flick, which Braydon actually enjoyed for the most part. The movie itself was cheesy as hell, but the scent of her hair, the nervous way she squirmed each time their fingers brushed together over the popcorn, the way her features became animated as she watched the screen, that was truly entertaining.

  After they left the theater he suffered that strange confusion one gets when exiting a matinée and realizing it’s still fairly early in the day. “Are you hungry?”