Marriage Seasons 03 - Falling for You Again (11 page)

She had agreed to see a movie with the man, but now she was doubting the wisdom of that decision. As she waited for her tea to steep, Patsy hummed along with the words to one of her favorite songs by the local trio.
The Potter has us on His potter’s wheel,
the chorus went,
molding, stretching, shaping us to His will
.

The idea of being prodded and pressed and spun around like a lump of clay had never sat well with Patsy, even though she knew the message in the song was taken straight out of the Bible. All her life, Patsy had needed to be strong and independent, forging her way toward a station in life that would make her proud. But pride was exactly the opposite of what God wanted from her. He demanded submission and surrender. How did Pete Roberts fit into God’s plan? Was she supposed to let him near … or run away before she got fried in her own grease?

“How about a Thanksgiving parade in Deepwater Cove?” Esther was suggesting as Patsy made her way back to the table. For some reason, the woman seemed to think parades were essential to every holiday.

When no one responded, Opal Jones proposed a day trip around the lake to look at fall foliage. A committee formed to check into it, and then Miranda Finley once again pleaded for help with Ashley’s business. This time a round of hands went up to volunteer for bead duty. Next, someone mentioned Halloween, and that brought up a discussion about whether or not trick-or-treating was a sin.

Still dwelling on what to do about Pete Roberts, Patsy paid scant attention when Miranda stood to give a short history lesson on the origins of the holiday. Pagans, druids, Celts, Romans, and one saint or another all seemed to have contributed to the controversial event.

Patsy herself had never celebrated Halloween. When she was young, her family had been too poor to buy or make costumes or to use up gas driving from one neighborhood to another so Patsy could collect candy. Nowadays, she decorated the salon for autumn with hay bales and pumpkins outside the front door and a few garlands of colorful leaves inside. She left the witches, ghosts, and spiderwebs for folks who liked that kind of thing.

The moment Miranda finished her speech, Jennifer Hansen rose to offer her own opinion. “The question I have about Halloween,” she said, “is whether it’s beneficial in any way.”

“It’s beneficial to the kiddos, honey,” one of the widows piped up. “They come home with all that candy to eat. Besides, I enjoy making popcorn balls every year, and the little ones are so cute when they traipse around the neighborhood as fairies or pirates. To my way of thinking, there’s nothing evil or wicked about it.”

“Whether or not Halloween has satanic influences,” Jennifer replied, “we have to ask ourselves if it glorifies God. If an activity isn’t beneficial to us and it doesn’t exalt the name of the Lord, then I don’t think it belongs in our lives.”

“You brush your teeth, don’t you, Jennifer?” Miranda asked, her voice tinged with a faint hint of derision. “How does that activity ‘exalt the name of the Lord’?”

The retort provoked another hubbub of discussion among the TLC members. As Patsy nibbled on a homemade chocolate-chip cookie, she decided that the outspoken young Jennifer was going to make an excellent missionary—if she could keep from getting herself into a knock-down-drag-out with Miranda Finley first.

“All right, ladies … and gentleman,” Esther called before things got out of hand. “If that’s all, we’ll close this week’s meeting of the Tea Lovers’ Club.”

At that, Jennifer sat down and so did Miranda—thankfully at separate tables. Patsy let out a breath. She liked both women. Jennifer was especially dear to her, but lambasting folks in the name of the Lord just wasn’t Patsy’s way. She knew God could use all kinds of people on His side, though. Bold or shy, dumb or smart, fat or skinny, it didn’t matter at all as long as a person was willing to do what He asked. Patsy had no trouble imagining Jennifer as a messenger for the Lord—hacking through jungles to pour out the Word of God on some unsuspecting tribe.

“I don’t know what Halloween is, but I do know that Satan is bad.” Cody addressed the women at the table. “I remember what the Bible says. ‘Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts, ye double minded.’ James 4 :7 -8 .
Nigh
means near, so that verse tells us to stay near God if we want Him to be close to us and keep the devil away.”

The moment of stunned silence that always followed one of Cody’s scriptural recitations was broken by Jennifer. “That’s exactly right,” she said. “Whether we believe it or not, we’re in the midst of a battle between good and evil. We all need to wear our spiritual armor and be ready to fight for God.”

“I fight for God,” Cody told her.

Jennifer looked at him. “I know you do. You’re one of His best soldiers.”

“I can say lots of Scriptures.”

“Your father was wise to help you memorize all those verses.”

Cody’s face sobered. “My daddy used to read the Bible out loud a lot. He called it the Good Book. He said I was a great rememberizer. And I am. Also, I can read and write whatever I want to now that Brenda taught me how. I can paint good too. And I work hard all the time doing chores for people. But I can’t do numbers. My daddy tried to explain them to me, and finally he said, ‘Cody, you are a hopeless case.’ He was sure right about that.”

“We’re still working on math,” Brenda Hansen told the others. “I’m not giving up and neither should Cody.”

“Oh, I’ve figured him out!” Jessica gasped. The younger of the two daughters leaned forward across the table, glancing from woman to woman. “I just figured Cody out! We’re learning about people like him in the Abnormal Psychology class I’m taking this semester.”

“Abnormal?” Jennifer frowned at her sister. “Cody’s not abnormal.”

“I know! But he is different—and that’s because he’s autistic!” Jessica beamed as if she had just laid a home-baked, flaky-crusted, meringue-topped chocolate pie on the table.

Autistic?
Patsy looked at Cody, who was grinning and nodding his head.

“Jessica’s right,” he said. “If you turn around, everyone, you’ll see my paintings right over there on Patsy’s wall. Seven ladies with pretty hairdos. Seven
beautiful
ladies.”

He focused those sapphire blue eyes on Jennifer Hansen, whose lovely face—framed with different colors and styles of hair—was clearly the subject of every single portrait in the wall mural Cody had painted that summer. With a slight smirk, he shrugged.

“I never knew I was artistic until Patsy bought me a sketchbook and some pencils. But once I got to drawing and painting, nobody could stop talking about my talent. Mrs. Moore said I am an artistic genius, and she knows because she has a friend who makes illustrations for magazines in New York City. I guess God fixes people exactly the way He wants them to be. There’s not a thing I like to do better than paint, paint, paint. If you looked in my room in the back of the salon, you would see what I mean. It’s full to the brim of pictures. Whenever I have spare time, all I do is be artistic. I’m glad you figured it out, Jessica, and if you want, I would be happy to paint a picture of you in your wedding dress.”

Once again, Cody had managed to silence the entire table. Patsy considered excusing herself and getting back to work, but she had a feeling she ought to stay. Something was hovering over the table—something unpredictable and worrisome.

“Autistic,”
Jessica said. Reaching out, she laid her hand on Cody’s. “
Autistic
is different from
artistic
.”

“Uh-oh.” Cody glanced at Brenda. “Did I do bad social skills?”

She shook her head, then turned to her daughter. “Jessica, I think you should save your theory for another place and time.”

“But there’s nothing shameful about being autistic, Mom. That’s the whole problem with disabilities. In class, we learned that back in the olden days, people with physical or mental disabilities were hidden away, even locked in cages.”

“Cages?” Cody stiffened. “I’m not going to live in a cage. I am not an animal.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say. These days we make all kinds of accommodations for people with
physical
disabilities. We have handicapped parking spaces, wheelchair-size toilet stalls, ramps, elevators, you name it. But those with mental, social, or developmental disabilities are still misunderstood and mistreated. It’s as though we think they have something to be ashamed of—but they don’t!”

“I am not an animal,” Cody repeated. “I am not a dog. I am not a bear. I am not a fish. I am not—”

“Stop.” Jennifer slipped her arm around Cody’s shoulders for a brief hug. “No one is going to put you into a cage. I promise.”

Cody gazed at her, his blue eyes deepening. “I love you, Jennifer Hansen.”

“I know,” she whispered. “You’re a wonderful guy … and I love you, too.”

Patsy nearly choked on the last crumb of her chocolate-chip cookie. Oh, boy. This was not a good thing. Autism. Cages. Love. What next?

“Everyone in Deepwater Cove loves you,” Jennifer went on. “Everyone. That’s because you’re kind and good-hearted and smart.” “Not to mention handsome as all get-out,” Patsy put in. She couldn’t refrain from drawing attention to Cody’s good looks—at least some of which were due to her own efforts.

“He’s wonderful … and he’s autistic, Jen,” Jessica said. “I’m sure of it. I just turned in a term paper about that disability. There’s a spectrum of different kinds of autism from mild to severe. I think Cody fits a type called Asperger’s syndrome.”

“What’s an Asperger?” Cody asked. “It sounds like one of the vegetables my aunt kept feeding me. Asp … asp … asparagus.”

“Cody, most people with Asperger’s syndrome have special interests, even giftedness in certain areas. They can be very intelligent and skilled, especially in their main areas of curiosity—like you are about painting or memorizing Scripture or learning to read and write.”

Jessica looked around at the women. “Who would have thought that someone who didn’t know a single letter of the alphabet would be reading in a few short months?”

“I can read anything,” Cody boasted. “I learned my letters and words from Brenda, and now I’ve read all the books about painting in the Camdenton library. That’s because I have asparagus syndrome.”

“
Asperger’s
syndrome. See how Cody keeps mentioning his painting? People with Asperger’s usually will lead the conversation right back to their topic of interest no matter what else you may have been discussing. They struggle a bit with social skills—like understanding body language or knowing how to keep from getting into other people’s space.”

“Oh, boy.” Cody put his hand on his forehead. “That’s true. My social skills are nearly as bad as my numbers.”

“No, they’re not,” Jennifer argued. “You have better social skills than a lot of people I know. Especially those who discuss others’ difficulties in public.”

The two golden-haired sisters glared at each other for a moment. But Jessica wasn’t about to be silenced by her older sibling. “She’s right, Cody. You have a lot of social skills. But still, it’s not always easy to figure out the right thing to do. Also, I know you like to follow a schedule, and that’s another characteristic of Asperger’s syndrome. Plus, people who have it can sometimes be clumsy in sports like swimming or activities that involve motor skills.”

“I don’t like swimming,” Cody told the group. “I am not a fish.”

By this time, Patsy was growing alarmed. Jessica’s description did fit Cody pretty well. But what was this syndrome, really? And more important, what did it mean for Cody?

“People with Asperger’s are sensitive to sounds,” Jessica continued. “I remember Mom telling us about Cody’s reaction the day Pete Roberts fired up a chain saw next door.”

“I screamed and ran into the woods,” Cody said.

“I know. And I bet you like certain foods more than others.”

“Hot dogs.” Cody nodded. “I like hot dogs a lot.”

“And you always want your chocolate cake cut into …?”

“Squares,”
everyone at the table said in unison.

“I like squares better than triangles,” Cody said firmly.

“There’s nothing wrong with being autistic,” Jessica told the group. “It just makes life a little more challenging. People with Asperger’s syndrome say they have to guess at what ‘normal’ is. Cody always looks at Mom to find out if he’s saying something out of line, because he truly doesn’t know. He has trouble reading facial expressions. It’s hard for him to interpret the world.”

As Jessica finished speaking, she looked at Cody. “There’s nothing wrong with who you are—and don’t let people tell you there is.”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging.

“But what does this syndrome do?” Patsy asked. “Can doctors cure it? The truth is, I wouldn’t want to change a thing about Cody, but can we help him?”

“I don’t need any more help, Patsy.” He smiled at her. “I’m happy because I have work to do and places to live and people who say I’m a genius. A genius is a very good thing to be. I wish everyone could be autistic, but sorry. It’s just for the ones God chooses to give it to. Even if a long time ago some mean men beat me up and called me dumb and stupid, I know that I can say more Scriptures than any of them and paint better pictures and also clean houses.”

By now, Jennifer—clearly upset over her sister’s amateur diagnosis of Cody—was using a napkin to blot the tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks.

The young man glanced at her and then patted her gently on the back. “Don’t worry, Jennifer,” he said in a low voice. “You don’t need to cry. The older Mrs. Finley doesn’t know Scriptures like we do, so that’s why she talked to you in a mean way about Halloween. The Bible says, ‘Why am I evil spoken of for that for which I give thanks? Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.’ First Corinthians 10:3 0-1. That means you were right—everything we do is supposed to glorify God. Even brushing our teeth. Look.”

His lips parted into a wide grin, displaying his set of fine white chompers. At that, Jennifer began to giggle through her tears … which made Jessica laugh, and then Brenda.