Once in a Lifetime (8 page)

"But will it ever accept him?"

"Yes." There was absolute certainty in the director's voice. "It will. He'll always be different. But with the right tools there will be almost nothing he can't tackle in time." She smiled gently at Daphne in the breeze. "One day he'il thank you." But what about me? She suddenly wanted to ask ... what happens to me now? What do I do without him? It was as though the older woman had read her thoughts. "Have you thought about what you'll do when you go back to New York?" For a woman alone, like Daphne, Andrew's absence would create an enormous void, and she already knew that Daphne hadn't worked since she was pregnant almost five years before. At least most of the parents had each other, other children, jobs, activities to fill their lives in the absence of these special children. But it was obvious that Daphne didn't. "Will you go back to work now?"

"I don't know ..." Daphne's voice trailed off as she stared out at the hills. How empty it would all be without him. She almost hurt more now than she had when she first left him. The reality of it was finally sinking in. Her life would never be the same again ... never. ... "I don't know." She pulled her eyes back from the hills and looked at Mrs. Curtis. "It's been so long. I doubt if they'd even want me." She smiled and the passage of time showed in her eyes. The years had taught her lessons filled with pain.

"Have you thought of sharing with others what you've learned with Andrew?"

"How?" Daphne looked surprised. The thought had never occurred to her.

"There aren't enough good books on this subject. You mentioned that you were a journalism major in college, and you worked at Collins. Why not write a book or a series of articles? Think of how something like that would have helped you when you first found out about Andrew." Daphne remembered the terrible feelings of being alone, of no one in the world seeming to share her problem.

"It's a thought." She nodded slowly, and watched Andrew hug a little girl, and then chase a big red ball across the playground.

"Maybe you're just the one to do it."

But the only thing she seemed to write now was her journal, night after night. She had nothing but time on her hands now, and she was no longer exhausted at night, as she had been for years since she had Andrew. He was just like any other small child, constantly busy, but he needed even more attention than most, to be sure that he didn't run into danger from something he couldn't hear, and there was always his frustration to deal with, at not being able to communicate with others.

When she closed her journal that night, she lay in the dark and thought again of Mrs. Curtis's suggestion. It was a good idea, and yet, she didn't want to write about Andrew. Somehow it seemed a violation of him as a person, and she didn't feel ready to share her own fears and pain. It was all too fresh, just as Jeff's and Aimee's deaths had been for so long. She had never written about that either. And yet she knew that it was all bottled up inside, waiting to come out, along with feelings that she hadn't faced in years. Those of being still young, and a woman. For four years now, her only close contact had been with her son. There had been no men in her life, and few friends. She didn't have time for them. She didn't want pity. And going out with another man would have seemed a betrayal of Jeffrey, and all that they had shared. Instead, she had submerged all of her feelings, locked all of those doors, and gone on year after year taking care of Andrew. And now there was no excuse left. He would live at the school, and she would be alone in their apartment. It made her never want to go back to New York. She wanted to hide in the cabin in New Hampshire forever.

In the mornings she went for long walks, and once in a while she stopped at the little Austrian Inn for breakfast. The couple who ran it were well matched--both rotund and kind, and the wife always asked about her son. She knew why Daphne was there from Mrs. Curtis. As in every small country town, people knew who belonged and who did not, why they were there, when they had arrived, and when they were leaving. People like Daphne weren't so rare here, there were other parents who came to town to visit their children. Most stayed at the inn, and a few did what Daphne was doing, usually in the summer. They rented cottages and small houses, brought their other children with them, and generally made it a festive occasion. But Mrs. Obermeier sensed that Daphne was different. There was something much quieter, much more withdrawn, about this tiny, delicate, almost childlike woman. It was only when you looked into her eyes that you realized she was wise well beyond her twenty-eight years, and that life had not always been kind to her.

"Why do you think she's alone like that?" Mrs. Obermeier asked her husband one day as she put sweet rolls in a basket and slid a tray of cookies into the oven. The cakes and pies she prepared made everyone's mouth water.

"She's probably divorced. You know, children like that can destroy a marriage. Maybe she paid too much attention to the boy and her husband couldn't take it."

"She seems so alone."

Her husband smiled. His wife always worried about everybody. "She probably just misses the boy. I think Mrs. Curtis said he was very young, and he's her only child. You looked like that too when Gretchen went to college."

"That wasn't the same." Hilda Obermeier looked at him, knowing that there was something he wasn't seeing. "Have you looked into her eyes?"

"Yes," he admitted with a grin and a flush of his full jowls, "they're very pretty." He patted his wife's behind then and went outside to bring in some more firewood. They had a house full of guests at the inn that weekend. In the dead of winter there were always those who went cross-country skiing. And in the fall, people came from Boston and New York to see the changing of the leaves. But the brilliant orange and magenta leaves were almost gone now. It was November.

On Thanksgiving Day, Daphne went to the school and shared turkey dinner with Andrew and the other children. They played games afterward, and she was stunned when he grew angry at her and signed to her, "You don't know anything, Mom." The rage in his eyes cut her to the quick, and she felt a separation from him she had never felt before. She suddenly resented the school for taking him from her. He wasn't hers anymore, he was theirs, and she hated them for it. But instead she found herself taking it out on Andrew, and signing angrily at him. Mrs. Curtis saw the exchange and spoke to her about it later, explaining that what they were both feeling was normal. Things were changing very quickly now for Andrew, and consequently for Daphne. She couldn't sign as quickly as he, she made mistakes and felt clumsy and stupid. But Mrs. Curtis assured her that in time they would have a better relationship than the one they'd had before and it would all be worth it.

And at dinnertime she and Andrew had made friends again, and they had gone to the table hand in hand, and when he signed the prayer at the start of the meal, she was so proud she thought she would burst, and afterward he grinned at her. After dinner he played with his friends again, but as he wore down he came to sit on her lap and cuddle, as he had in years past, and she smiled happily as he fell asleep in her arms. He purred softly in his sleep, and she held him, wishing she could turn the clock back. She carried him to his room, changed his clothes, and slipped him gently into bed as one of the counselors watched. And then, with a last look at the sleeping blond child, she walked softly out of the room and went back downstairs to the other parents. But she didn't want to be with them tonight. Once Andrew was in bed, she was anxious to get back to her cabin. She had grown used to her solitude and her own thoughts, and the comfort of spilling her soul into her journal.

She drove home by a familiar back road and gave a startled gasp as she heard something snap and the car suddenly sank forward and stopped. She had broken an axle. She was shaken but not hurt, and instantly realized how lucky she had been that it hadn't happened sometime when she was on the highway. But this was a mixed blessing too. She was alone on a deserted road and about seven miles from her cabin. The only light was that of the moon and she could see her way clearly, but it was bitter cold and it would be a long walk home in the sharp wind. She pulled her collar tightly around her, wishing that she had worn a hat and gloves and more sensible shoes, but she had worn high heels and a skirt for Thanksgiving dinner. Her eyes watered in the cold, and her cheeks tingled and her hands grew rapidly numb, even in her pockets, but she buried her chin in her coat, and with no other choice she kept walking.

It was almost an hour later when she saw headlights coming toward her on the road, and she was suddenly engulfed in panic. Even in this sleepy town something unpleasant could happen. She was a woman alone on a dark country road and if something happened to her, there would be no one to hear her screams, or come to help her. Like a frightened rabbit, she suddenly stopped in the road as she watched the headlights come toward her. And then, instinctively, she ran behind a tree, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it as she hid there. She wondered if the driver had seen her flight. He had still been a good distance away when she ran from the road. And as the vehicle approached she saw that it was a truck. For a moment it looked as though it would drive past her, and then it ground to a sudden halt as she held her breath, terrified, waiting.

The door to the truck opened and a man stepped out. "Hello? Anyone there?" He stood looking around for a few minutes and all she could see was that he was very tall, and she felt suddenly very foolish hiding there. As her feet and legs ached with the cold, she wanted to come out from behind the tree and ask for a ride, but how would she explain that she was hiding? It had been a stupid reaction, and now she had to stay there. He walked slowly around the truck, shrugged, hopped back into his truck, and kept going. And then he was gone, and Daphne walked slowly out from behind the tree with a foolish grin, talking to herself.

"You dummy. Now you'll freeze your ass off all the way home. Serves you right." She began to hum then, amused by her own stupidity, and knowing that she had lived in cities for too long. There was no reason that she should have felt threatened, except that she had noticed that feeling more and more in the past few years. It was as though she had grown fearful, from her lack of contact with people. And she always felt so totally responsible for Andrew that she was suddenly desperately afraid something might happen to her.

She walked on down the road for another mile, and suddenly she was startled to hear a car behind her in the distance. Once again she thought of running off the road, and this time she shook her head, saying softly to herself, "There's nothing to be afraid of." She felt even more foolish for the spoken words, but she stood her ground as she moved to the side of the road and watched the same truck she had seen before come toward her. The truck stopped again and this time she could see the man as the light went on when he opened the door.

He had a rugged face, gray hair, and broad shoulders and he was wearing a heavy sheepskin coat that he pulled close around him.

"Is that your car back there?"

She nodded and nervously smiled, noticing that his hands were large and rough as he took them out of his pockets. The same shiver of fear ran through her that she had felt before, but she forced herself not to run from him. If he was a decent man, he would think she was crazy. And if he wasn't, it was too late to hide from him now. She would have to deal with whatever happened in whatever way she could. She smiled, but her eyes were wary. "Yes, it is."

"Did I pass you awhile back?" He looked confused about it as he looked down at her. "I thought I saw someone on the road, but when I stopped I didn't see a soul. When I saw your car back there, I figured I'd missed you." His eyes seemed to understand something she didn't want him to know, and his voice was deep and husky and gentle. "Broke your axle, I see. Can I give you a ride? It's an awful cold night to be walking." They stood there like that for a long moment as she searched his eyes, and then nodded.

"I'd like that very much. Thank you." She hoped he thought the tremor in her voice was from the cold, and by now even she wasn't sure. She was frozen to the bone, and she could barely manage the door handle with her numb fingers. He opened it for her and she slipped inside, and then a moment later he came around to his side and slipped behind the wheel, with scarcely a glance at her.

"You were lucky you weren't on the main road going fifty. Did it give you any warning at all?"

"No, it just snapped and the front end collapsed and that was it." She felt better now and the inside of the little truck was wonderfully warm. Her fingers ached as they thawed out and she blew on them. He handed her a pair of thick sheepskin-lined gloves without further comment and she slipped them on as they drove toward her cabin.

It was almost five minutes later when he turned to her again, with that same gentle husky voice. Everything about him suggested the rugged strength of the mountains. "Did you get hurt?"

She shook her head. "No. Just cold. It would have taken me a couple of hours to get home." She remembered to tell him where she lived then.

"That's the old Lancaster cabin, isn't it?" He seemed surprised.

"I'm not sure. I think so. I rented it from a woman named Dorsey, but we never met. I did it all by mail."

He nodded. "That's her daughter. Old Mrs. Lancaster died last year. I don't think her daughter's been back in twenty years. She lives in Boston. Married to some social lawyer." It was all so wonderfully small-town, the details that everyone knew so well. It made Daphne smile at the memory of her terror of being attacked. All this man wanted to do was tell her the local gossip. "You from Boston too?"

"No. New York."

"Came up for a rest?" It was idle chitchat as they drove along, but Daphne sighed softly. She wasn't really sure she wanted to tell him, and it was as though he instantly understood. He held up a hand, smiled at her apologetically, and then turned his eyes back to the road. "Never mind. You don't have to answer. I've been here for so long, I forget my manners. Everyone in town asks questions like that, but it's none of my business what you're doing here. I'm sorry I asked."