Chapter 15

 

Sunday

 

Abby watched Christine hurry down the front walk to her car. Christine waved as she pulled away, then Abby returned the wave and shut the door before turning to Ned, standing behind her. “Wow.”

“Exactly.” He smiled. “She’s a smart woman, and she’s found a good niche for herself.”

“And here I’ve been running around like a headless chicken,” Abby said ruefully.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” Ned told her.

“Why not?” Abby asked, actually curious.

“You have been trying out ideas. You’ve been kind of circling around what you really want to do, and Christine figured out what it was. That’s what friends are for. Or at least, someone looking at it from the outside.”

“I want to work with children,” Abby said, almost to herself. She looked up at Ned. “I used to know that—that’s where I started out, in college, and after I graduated. But I kind of lost sight of it. I guess I was trying too hard to please Brad, and he didn’t deserve it.”

“I think you’re right, but I’m kind of biased. You’re great with Ellie, though. You don’t talk down to her, but you don’t assume she’s an adult either. That’s not easy for any parent to manage.”

Abby waved a dismissive hand toward him. “That’s easy—Ellie is an old soul, wise beyond her years. And you and I are going to have to talk about how we can have a serious talk with Leslie, before things get too much more complicated. Starting with the fact that you’re Ellie’s father.”

“I’ve been letting Leslie make that decision. That’s what we agreed on at the beginning, although things are certainly more complicated now. There are things we never expected.”

“I recognize that, and I haven’t tried to interfere,” Abby told him. “But that arrangement won’t last much longer. Kids grow up fast these days.”

“Do you think Ellie already knows? Or senses it?”

“She hasn’t said anything that would lead me to think so, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Or maybe she senses it on an intuitive level but hasn’t put it into words yet. I know you don’t hang out with a lot of children or high school kids, but I can tell you that Ellie’s group of girls knows more than I did at twice her age, I’d bet.”

A sudden thought struck her. “Ned, say you’re an infant, or a child who isn’t yet using language. In most households there’s usually a television or a computer on, showing cartoons or a movie—something with people speaking, at least. How does a very young child perceive that?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Abby.”

“I mean, at what point does a child learn to differentiate between what he or she ‘sees’ on a screen and the real people around him? Which is real? Which do you pay attention to? But more to the point, what if they’re seeing the same kind of film or video in their heads?”

“You mean, channeling someone, or a piece of history, kind of the way we do?”

“Exactly.”

“Hold on—” Ned protested when Abby began to go on. “You’re saying a child may be seeing three films in their head? The real people one—his parents, for a start, maybe siblings, and others; plus whatever’s on the screen, whether it’s a television or a computer; and, if he has the ability, the film he generates in his head? The ones that you and I see?”

Abby nodded vigorously. “Something like that. Except we see them in front of us, not only in our heads. Look, I don’t mean to downplay imagination. I’d bet most children make up fantasies and visualize them in some detail. So maybe I actually mean four levels: two physical image streams coming from the outside, real and on-screen, and two internally generated—imagination and psychic.”

Ned shook his head. “Abigail, if any of this is true, it’s a wonder children’s heads don’t explode in their first year.”

Abby smiled at his comment. “Well, maybe that’s why the psychic channel gets shut down early, purely to cut down the visual noise in the child’s head. Or it’s the weakest one and can’t compete with all the other noise.”

“This is definitely worth thinking about, but I think I need a glass of wine to help. Coming?”

“Definitely. We’re not finished here.”

The move to the kitchen, finding the wine and uncorking it, and filling two glasses provided a convenient break, and Abby wasn’t really sure where she wanted to go with their original discussion. Ned chose for her.

“Abby? I see what you’re saying, and I think you’ve got some valid ideas, but like Christine said, you’re all over the place. I know we don’t have a timetable or a specific goal, but I think you need to choose one area to investigate and really dig into that. It doesn’t have to be a permanent choice, but you need to figure out your own process and how you can direct your energies.”

Abby sighed. “I know. I do like the excitement of exploring new ideas, but if we want anything like a better understanding of psychic phenomena, we have to go deep rather than broad. Does that make sense?”

“It does. That’s what I was trying to say.”

“So how about this: we look into local schools for autistic children and see what their approach to teaching is, and see if there’s some kind of niche I could fit into?”

“Tricky, if you don’t reveal your real purpose, but if it’s an independent school, that gives you some leeway, and you do have the credentials to at least get in the door. I’m assuming you wouldn’t walk in and announce you’re a psychic consultant?”

Abby smiled. “I think I’d be walking out about a minute later. All right, I’ll do some online research about the kind of place Christine mentioned. I haven’t lived here long enough to know anyone with a child in one of these places, or any of the teachers. But Christine knows someone who works at an independent school, and I’m hoping she can make an introduction.”

“That sounds like a plan. But only if you want to, Abby,” Ned said with concern in his voice. “I don’t want to push you in any direction, and this may not be the way to go for you. We’re not in any hurry.”

“But that’s not exactly true!” Abby said. “You’ve lived with this ability most of your life, and at the same time you’ve managed to ignore it much of the time. For me, this is still new, and every time I turn around I run into another example, and so far I’ve got a growing pile of unrelated information that I don’t begin to understand. I want—need to make sense of it, if only for myself. Maybe that will be enough. Or maybe I’ll find some way to use it to help other people. Right now I don’t know, but I need to keep working on it. Christine was right: I need to have more facts about how these children are taught and with what results. And I’d welcome the chance to talk to her friends, even if nothing comes of it. But I don’t want to spend big chunks of time doing research—I want to be helping people.”

She moved closer to Ned and laid her hands on his chest. “But thank you. For keeping me on track, and for trusting me when I do go off track. And I’m grateful to your mother, and Christine, and I feel privileged to know Ellie and to have the chance to help her if I can.”

Ned laid his hands over hers, and Abby felt the surge of electricity between them. “And I’m with you all the way,” he said and leaned in for a kiss.

Abby pulled back only long enough to say, “I can still do over the powder room and laundry, though, can’t I?”

“Of course. And the Maguires are useful additions to our small circle, even if they don’t know it.”

 

• • •

 

After cleaning up from lunch, Ned went off to do whatever chores he was working on, and Abby sat down at the dining room table and opened up her laptop. When it booted up, she called up her résumé and stared at it. Solid degree, and two years experience with young children. That was good. Then there was a year working at a nonprofit agency in Pennsylvania—Brad’s idea—which had ended abruptly when he got a better job in Boston and dragged her along with him. She had barely gotten oriented in her new place when she’d booted Brad out the door, into the waiting arms of his shapely blonde coworker. Luckily Ned was already on the scene, and he’d put her in touch with Leslie, who had, as it happened, needed a museum tour docent slash teacher ASAP. Which had been great as long as it lasted, until Ned and Abby had discovered their shared psychic trait and Ned had passed it on to Ellie and Abby had recognized it in the child and the whole thing had blown up. And next to none of the past two years belonged on a résumé, but a lot of blanks didn’t help her case. She wasn’t going to lie to any prospective employer, but she’d have some fancy explaining to do to fill in the gaps so she didn’t sound undependable.

Having patched together what she could with the résumé, she turned to looking at autism research, and what the current topics and buzzwords were. Abigail, pretend you’re a normal, non-psychic person—what do you need to know?

After two hours of meandering through websites about early-childhood education and regulations about disabled children in schools, then moving on to what independent schools offered, she was depressed. And the sun had gone down. Ned finally emerged from his workspace and said plaintively, “Dinner?”

“Sure, if you’re making it,” Abby told him.

“No problem,” he said. “You want the light on? It’s kind of dark in here. Have you been sitting here since I went downstairs?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t sound happy,” he commented.

“I’m not. It’s a mess.”

“You want to talk about it while I cook?”

“Might as well. I’ve got to make some sort of order out of all this information, because nobody else seems to have done it.”

“What kind of food are you in the mood for?”

“Anything you feel like cooking.”

Abby followed him into the kitchen, where Ned started opening and shutting cabinets and poking around. “I think we’ve got all the fixings for Thai, if I can find any protein,” he said.

“I think there’s a leftover chicken breast lurking in the back of the fridge—I was kind of saving it for lunch, but you’re welcome to it.”

“Found it!” he crowed. “We’re good to go. Want a glass of wine?”

“Definitely. Do you mind working and talking at the same time? It might involve thinking, too.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it.” He filled two glasses with pinot grigio, then went back to collecting ingredients. When he had all the components neatly lined up, he said, “What’s the problem? Were you looking at job listings?”

“I thought I’d start at the beginning, like finding out what the current definition of autism is.”

“And?” he said, opening cans of water chestnuts and bamboo shoots.

“Problem number one: there is no single definition of autism. There are some consistent characteristics, which we all probably know. Or maybe I should get used to saying ‘autism spectrum disorder,’ which is more current. But after that it gets really murky. Here’s what I’ve learned so far. The big three characteristics seem to be different kinds of trouble with social interactions. One, autistic people often lack empathy for the feelings of others, have trouble making friends, and so on. Two, they have trouble with verbal communication, both speaking and hearing meanings. And three, they may have narrow, often intense interests and a reliance on rigid routines. None of these makes it easy for them to find friends. It’s much more frequent in boys than in girls, and it usually starts between ages two and three. Which kind of corresponds to when young children start using language, doesn’t it? Something to think about later.”

“Sounds like you’ve made a good start there. What comes next?”

“Based on what I’ve had time to read, which certainly is limited, I think a lot of schools for children with special needs focus on training them on how to behave, if you believe their websites. I think that strategy misses what’s really going on in the children’s heads. I’ll admit that’s a lot harder to alter.”

Ned put down the knife he was using and turned to face her, leaning against the counter. “But you believe there’s more going on in those children, and you think you have a chance to reach that, at least some of the time, and maybe make things better all around?”

“I’d like to hope so, but I haven’t a clue how.”

The landline rang, and Abby picked it up quickly. “It’s Christine,” she mouthed to Ned. “Hey, what’s up?”

On the phone, Christine said, “I talked to my friend, and she’d be glad to meet you tomorrow after school lets out—say, four o’clock?”

“That’s great! Will you be there?”

“If I can. You know my job can be unpredictable.”

“Got it. Just tell me where to meet her and I’ll be there. If things don’t work out, so be it—at least I’ll have had some practice talking the talk, after so long. Christine, I really appreciate your help. So, give me the info.”

Abby grabbed a pencil and a pad and scribbled the name, location and phone number. “If you’re not there, I’ll report after—or you can call me, if you’re busy. Thanks again!”

Abby hung up and turned back to Ned. “Do you ever get the feeling that things are meant to be? Or that they happen for a reason?”

“Now and then, usually when I stumble over another ancestor in a cemetery and didn’t even know he was there.”

“Yes, exactly. I had a brainstorm today that I’d like to have lunch with Christine, and she was free, and now I’ve got an appointment to meet with a friend of hers tomorrow, and I can begin asking questions about the very things I need to know. See? The universe is in alignment.”