Chapter 4

 

Sunday

 

The next morning Abby was in the kitchen trying to find enough ingredients to make anything resembling breakfast—the grocery shopping hadn’t quite happened the day before, because other things had intervened—when the landline rang. Ned was still sleeping, thanks to his heroic efforts at clearing out the basement, so Abby picked up quickly. She was pleased to hear Ned’s mother’s voice.

“Abby, it’s Sarah. I won’t keep you long, but I wondered if you and Ned would like to join us for Thanksgiving dinner?”

Abby laughed. “We’d love to. We were talking about it yesterday, and I felt bad that our place is such a mess and not anywhere near ready for entertaining. Maybe by next year.”

“Don’t worry about it—we love to fill our house with lots of people, but only once or twice a year. Oh, and if your parents would like to come, they’d be welcome too.”

“Thank you! I haven’t even talked to my parents yet about the holiday. How’ve you been?”

“Good. It always surprises me how easy it is to fill the time I have. I thought being retired would be more leisurely. Word of wisdom for you: don’t start volunteering for things. Once people know you’re available, they’ll descend on you like a flock of vultures.”

Abby laughed. “Good to know. Maybe next year, once this place is more or less finished.” She hesitated a moment. “Sarah, can we have lunch this week, maybe? I’ve got an idea I’d like to discuss with you, and right now I can use all the input I can get.”

“Is this something Ned knows about?”

“Of course. It’s not hush-hush. But he has a different perspective, as a man, and as a professional scientist. I’d like your perspective as a long-time resident of the area. Oh, and as an intelligent, educated woman.”

“Sounds intriguing. Tomorrow?”

“That works for me. Here? Or Concord?”

“Let’s do Concord. And maybe after lunch we can stop by the bookstore.”

“I can’t remember the last time I actually finished reading a book. Sounds like heaven!”

Sarah agreed to pick her up the next morning. Ned stumbled into the kitchen just as Abby was hanging up. “Who was that?” he asked, reaching for the coffee carafe.

“Your mother. She just invited us to Thanksgiving dinner. And she and I are having lunch tomorrow.”

Ned dropped into a chair. “Problem solved. After clearing out the basement, I realize I haven’t been getting nearly enough physical exercise. I can feel every muscle complaining.”

“Wimp! Wait until snow season starts and you have to shovel.”

“I thought we were partners—aren’t you doing half of it?”

“Is there a snow blower?”

“Yes. If it still runs. In the past I’ve shoveled a path from the back door to the car, and a path from the car to the street, period. Poor machine hasn’t had much of a workout.”

“Let’s make sure it’s working before it snows. Uh, breakfast pickings are pretty pathetic.”

“Right, we never shopped. How about we go hit up Dunkin’ Donuts and then head for the market after?”

“Brilliant idea. Don’t forget we’re doing a serious walk-through of the house and putting together our project list today.”

“I was hoping you’d forgotten. Is there a timeframe for completing the tasks on the list?”

“Let’s aim for a year. Some are weather-sensitive, so they’ll have to wait. Some we can hire people to do, like painting the outside. But we should put everything on the list.”

“You are an ambitious woman, Abigail.”

“No, just well organized. I like to plan. I thought scientists did that too?”

“Only for experiments. We let the rest of our lives just stumble along.”

“That explains a lot. So, let’s go!”

Two hours later they were fed and the refrigerator and pantry were restocked. Abby was seated at the dining room table, with a fresh lined pad and a pen, and was itching to begin the inventory of tasks that awaited them. Ned appeared somewhat less enthusiastic, and he pulled out a chair for himself. “Is this another one of your distractions?” he asked.

“From my Big Idea? Yes and no. I’ve been thinking about what needs doing here, and what parts I can do on my own, ever since I moved in. But not in any organized way—mostly I wake up in the middle of the night and stew about it. I just want to set down all the parts. It will probably look less daunting when we see it in black and white, on paper, and I’ll be able to focus my energies better. Where do you want to start?”

“This floor, I guess. That’s what most people see. Upstairs is less urgent, and you’ve already taken care of Ellie’s room.”

“True. Let’s do this!”

They ambled around the ground floor, noting both structural and cosmetic concerns. Abby didn’t pretend she could handle carpentry or wiring—they’d probably need professionals for anything involving those—but she was comfortable with painting, papering, making curtains, and also with choosing rugs or carpets, furniture and pictures. Oh, and lamps—she hated sitting in the dark. Unfortunately electrical outlets in most of the rooms were rather sparse, so somebody professional would have to address that problem. And check the wiring for the chandeliers, while they were in the house.

The whole walk-through took less than an hour, and Abby emerged with three pages of notes.

“Are we done yet?” Ned asked.

“For now. We can prioritize later. Do you need a nap after your exertions?”

“You’re making fun of me,” he grumbled.

“Just a little.” Abby grinned at him. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. We can afford to hire people for some of these things, right?”

“I guess.” He didn’t sound happy.

“Well, why don’t you go do something fun, and I’ll do a bit more online research.”

He brightened up quickly. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t. You go right ahead.”

“I think I need some stuff from the hardware store,” he said.

A man’s favorite escape, Abby thought fondly. “Go!” She gave him a small shove, and he disappeared quickly.

Abby shook her head, more amused than dismayed. The man had bought a handsome historic house that was begging for a little TLC and then ignored it. The house deserved better, and she wanted to see that what needed doing did get done, and done right. In the spare time left over from this theoretical project she was planning. Reluctantly she thought about her ex, Brad. Brad had been anything but handy with household repairs, but he’d had very definite ideas about what he wanted—and most of them cost a lot of money. Okay, he was earning the money, but he had never asked her what she wanted. Was Ned’s attitude better? He really didn’t give much thought to his surroundings. Whether he would agree to what she decided she wanted remained to be seen.

Okay, she’d told Ned that she was going to do more research, so she should do just that, with the hours of daylight that remained—the dining room where her computer was got dark and gloomy pretty quickly in the late afternoons at this time of year. She settled herself at the table, turned on the computer, and thought. What did she want to know? She and Ned had talked about creating a school for autistic students, but that idea kind of scared her. First, it would be large, relatively—most likely there would have to be a critical mass of students to make a place work well, and that would require multiple staff members. Second, there must be a lot of regulatory hoops to jump through, and going through those would take time and work and still might not be successful—and she had to admit she was impatient. Third, she wasn’t sure she had the necessary skills to be involved in a meaningful way in setting this up. The idea was nice, but the execution would be difficult. No, she decided, that idea was not going to work. Maybe she should start smaller?

Her thoughts drifted to Ellie, and what they could do together on “their” Thursday this week. That was when the lightbulb in her head went on: what about an after-school center? Smaller, simpler to operate. It might be a little odd to specialize in autistic kids, or at least include a number of them, but at least they would already have been tested and were used to being around other people. What were the requirements for day care? She clicked on a link to the state regulations and breathed a sigh of relief. The criteria were simple and could be implemented quickly. Her previous experience working with small children would be a plus and would be recognized as long as she could provide documentation. The site didn’t have to be large, and if Ned was contributing the start-up funding, it would be smaller and less expensive than a school, and quicker to set up. She’d call that a “maybe.”

Would it serve the needs she had already identified? She wanted to understand how the mind of an autistic child worked, and how it was different from other children’s—and more important, she wanted to know if she could “reach” them with her unusual gift, and if she learned anything, whether that could be applied to help them. For that she needed contact with autistic children, maybe with a range of difficulties, on an ongoing basis. She needed to spend time with them, to get to know them—and to be able to touch them, casually. A day-care setting would work. Abby started printing out the state regulations, including the section on “differently abled” children.

It seemed only a short time later when she looked up and realized darkness had fallen outside. She heard Ned clomping down the stairs, and then he poked his head in. “What are we planning for dinner?” he asked.

“I hadn’t thought that far—I got caught up in something here. You feel like cooking, or you want me to do it?”

“I’ll give it a shot. I’ve been fantasizing about a seafood pizza recipe and I think we have all the ingredients.”

“Sounds wonderful. I’ll come cheer you on after I wrap up what I’m doing.”

“You know where to find me.” Ned disappeared into the kitchen and began banging pans around.

By six o’clock they were sitting at the kitchen table admiring Ned’s efforts. “Did we have puff pastry?” Abby asked.

“Frozen. I think it got lost in the freezer.”

“And those are shrimp?”

“Also from the freezer. I did add some fresh herbs and sliced veggies.”

“Are we just going to stare at it, or are we going to eat it?”

“Dig in,” Ned told her.

Abby grabbed a slice and slid it onto a plate. After giving it a moment to cool, she picked it up and took a good-sized bite. Then another. She shut her eyes and chewed blissfully. After she swallowed, she said, “This is incredible. You are a genius. Did you write down the recipe?”

“Not yet, but I will if you want it.”

“I want it! How come you know how to throw something like this together?”

Ned smiled. “Part of it is science, actually. If you know your ingredients and the flavors you’re looking for, you can create a protocol—you know, what has to go in first, what should be cooked before adding it to the mix, what simply won’t work. Plus, my mother taught me the basics.”

“Interesting. I’d never thought about applying scientific principles to cooking, but it makes sense. And I’ll be sure to thank your mother when I see her.”

They’d each finished two sizeable slices when Abby sat back and said, “Can I run something by you?”

“Is this about the Abby Project?”

“Yes, kind of. And it’s just preliminary. You know we were talking earlier about creating a school? The more I looked into that, the more overwhelmed I felt. But what about an after-school program, one for what the state labels children with special needs?”

“Specifically autistic children? Tell me more.”

Abby outlined what she had learned in a few hours of research. Ned listened attentively, without interrupting. When Abby finished, she said, “What do you think? Is it worth following up?”

“I see your point about trying to start a school—lots more time and work and expense. But from what you’ve told me, the regulations for after-care are much less restrictive, and your center can be smaller. How would you define the place? And find students?”

“I haven’t gotten that far. But surely there’s a need? And if I stuck with school-age children, who have already shown they can get along with others reasonably well, I think with an aide or two I could handle maybe ten children? Look, this is all very new to me, but I wanted to get some feedback before I get too invested in it.”

“I like it, and I would recommend you dig into the research some more. Maybe talk to people who have done things like this—you don’t want to butt heads with any person or group who’s already established. Find out what the competition would be, and if they’re already operating at capacity. And check what full-time schools around here deal with autism, what they offer and what they don’t. Are you going to run this by my mother?”

“I plan to. Not because she has any specific knowledge or expertise in this area, but because she’s been part of the local community for a long time, and she knows the people and the resources around here.”

“One last question: how would you handle the psychic component, with the students?”

Abby looked at him squarely. “Ned, I have no idea—yet. But they’re more than just test subjects, and if I can reach them through whatever this is, maybe I can help. Maybe I won’t find any kids who connect, but even one could make a difference to my understanding of the problems they face.”

“Fair enough. Let me know what I can do to help.”

“Don’t worry—I will.”