Words Get In the Way (23 page)

“There,” she said softly, “I did it, Mom ... and I didn’t even cry.”

Henry wandered into the kitchen with his empty bowl, and Callie said, “You are just the man I wanted to see. It’s bedtime!” This news was met with some resistance, but no more than any little boy would give.

57

L
inden fell asleep on the couch watching Jay Leno and woke up with a kink in his neck. He leaned forward, rubbing it. “How come we didn’t go to bed two hours ago?” he mumbled to the dogs sprawled in front of the fireplace. At the sound of his voice they opened their eyes and thumped their tails. “Do you two need to go out?” he asked. They both got up sleepily, stretched, and wandered over to the door. Linden let them out and stood on the porch, shivering. “Make it quick!”

Ten minutes later he was lying in bed, wide awake.
Maybe I should just skip the race tomorrow,
he thought. But then he remembered that he’d told his dad he wasn’t coming for dinner because he was running in a race, so he rolled over, set his alarm, and pulled the quilt up to his chin. He’d been trying to get by without turning on the furnace. Last year, he’d made it all the way to Thanksgiving Day, but he’d heard it was going to warm up over the weekend, so maybe he could break his old record.

He had just begun to doze off when Springer, who was lying against the bed, began snoring loudly and Linden reached over to shake him. The hapless yellow Lab snorted, stretched, and rolled onto his back with all four legs straight up in the air. “Forget it,” Linden grumbled. “It’s too late for a belly rub.” But Springer kept his position and began snoring so loudly that Linden had to pull his pillow over his head.

Callie stayed up late watching
The Tonight Show
while she waited for the pie to bake, so she was surprised when she woke up early on Thanksgiving morning. She sighed, pushed off her quilt, reached for her flannel robe, peeked in on Henry, and slipped quietly to the kitchen to make coffee. While she waited for it to brew, she looked at the pie and could almost hear her mom’s voice
It looks like a picture!
She’d thought about making a pumpkin pie too, but then decided there was no way she and Henry could eat two pies. Maybe she’d make one next week, when this one was gone. In the meantime, she still had dinner to think about. Her heart really wasn’t in making a big dinner, but she’d already bought a small turkey, stuffing, dried apricots, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, and vegetables. She had no idea when, or if, she’d have time to make everything, but she wanted Henry to know the fun of Thanksgiving traditions, even if it was just the two of them.

Callie poured steaming coffee into her dad’s mug, took a sip, and went down the hall to take a quick shower. The first thing she wanted to do after breakfast was visit the cemetery.

Linden slept fitfully and woke up several times during the night. Finally, he gave up, pulled on his faded Levis and flannel shirt, and shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. While it brewed cheerfully, he let the dogs out, switched on the radio, and looked out the kitchen window at the cold gray river. WGBH happened to be coming in and the program host was introducing the next song.

“The original composition, ‘Simple Gifts,’ was written by Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848 while he was at a Shaker community in Alfred, Maine. It’s often called a hymn or a work song, but these descriptions are inaccurate, as it is really a dance. The recording I’m going to play is by the New York Philharmonic with Leonard Bernstein conducting. I know we are well into autumn, so I hope you will forgive me; here now is
Appalachian Spring
.”

Linden listened to the familiar recording of the beautiful suite and wondered if his parents were listening too. His mother, he imagined, had her apron on and was probably “dressing the bird,” as his father called it. “A twenty-pounder,” he’d exclaimed, trying to convince Linden to make the trip, but Linden had declined. He had no interest in discussing politics or religion, and he definitely didn’t want to listen to his mother ask him when he was going to get a real job.

He poured steaming coffee into his faded lighthouse mug, took a sip, let the dogs in, fed them, and then pulled on his boots and barn coat and took his coffee out to the barn to feed the rest of the animals. The Turkey Trot was at nine, so if he was going, he’d better get his chores out of the way.

After the breakfast dishes were cleaned up, Callie bundled Henry into his new jacket. Two weeks earlier, she’d helped him into the old blue one he’d worn last year and his wrists had stuck out two inches past the end of the sleeves. “Wow, Henry, I guess you grew!” she’d exclaimed in surprise. She zipped up his new jacket, and he marched over to the door. When they stepped outside, though, she couldn’t believe how mild it was and she wondered if he needed a jacket at all. She went back in the house and grabbed his sweatshirt too.

Linden laced up his trainers and looked around. There was a pretty good turnout for Thanksgiving morning. Most of the runners were enjoying the Indian summer weather and had donned shorts and T-shirts for the event. Linden pinned his number to his faded Dartmouth singlet. They lined up for the start and, although Linden harbored no hopes of winning, he lined up near a group of shirtless high school boys who looked like they might be part of the local cross-country team.
This could be fun,
he thought as he stretched.

A moment later, the horn sounded, and they were off. The group of boys seemed determined to lead, so Linden let them go, but when they hit the first hill he began picking them off one by one.
Not bad for an old guy!
They crested the hill, and Linden picked up his pace. He was surprised at how strong he felt. They passed the first mile mark, and he glanced at his watch:
5:25
.
You can do better than that!
Up a long incline, he passed two more hotshots, and then he began to wonder how many runners were actually ahead of him. He thought there was at least one, but he couldn’t see anyone. Finally, when he topped the last hill, he spotted the lead runner two hundred meters ahead.
This one’s for you, Cal!
He focused on the boy’s back and picked up his pace, hoping his young competitor wouldn’t look back. Steadily, he began closing the gap
and
began to feel like he was back in high school. One hundred meters, fifty meters, thirty meters.
Step lightly or he’ll hear you!
With twenty meters to go and the finish line in sight, the boy finally glanced over his shoulder and realized he had company. Meanwhile, the sleepy crowd woke up and realized there was a race going on! An explosion of cheering erupted along both sides of the road. Linden’s muscles burned but, with fifteen meters to go, he was right behind him, and at ten they were neck and neck! When they were side by side, Linden began to wonder if his lungs might explode. But finally, with three meters to go, the boy dug deep and pulled a step ahead.

“Good race!” he said, coming back breathlessly to shake Linden’s hand.

Linden straightened up from trying to catch his breath, shook the boy’s outstretched hand. “Yes, good race!”

“Did you go to Dartmouth?” the boy asked, nodding to Linden’s singlet.

“A long time ago,” Linden said, wiping his face with it.

“Well, good race! I win the turkey, but your prize is better... . You win the pumpkin pie!” Linden nodded and smiled. He hadn’t known there were prizes.

58

C
allie turned into the cemetery and parked near the road. She helped Henry climb out and he stopped to gaze at the rows of headstones. He remembered this place. He remembered these white and gray stones sticking out of the ground, and he remembered leaving a small smooth rock on top of one of them.

Callie followed Henry through the maze of old graves and was surprised when he remembered the way. They came to the familiar shady knoll, protected by pine trees, and Henry frowned: There were two stones now! He walked over to the new one and stood in front of it. Then he ran his hand over the top and lightly traced the letters:

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN WYETH
JANUARY 22, 1947–JULY 9, 1999
DEAR HUSBAND ~ BELOVED FATHER & GRANDFATHER
HONORED VETERAN ~ FAITHFUL FRIEND

Callie fought back her tears.
Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t they be here to share the holidays with us? Why weren’t they given lives that included knowing their grandson and watching him grow up?
She knelt down on the soft bed of pine needles that surrounded the graves and suddenly caught her breath. Two beautiful white lilies were growing up between the headstones.
This isn’t the time of year for lilies,
she thought.
How in the world have they survived the cold?
She watched as Henry searched the ground for a second suitable stone. When he found it, he turned and carefully placed it on top of her dad’s headstone, and then something caught his eye and he looked up the hill behind her. “Who cooks for you?” he said softly.

Callie stood, turned to follow his gaze, and saw Linden walking toward them.

“Hey,” he said, drawing closer.

“Hey,” she said, brushing away her tears and smiling.

“I was driving by and I saw that old Nova parked near the road.” He paused. “I hope it’s okay that I stopped.”

She nodded. “Of course! What are you doing up this way?” “I was running in the Turkey Trot in.”

She smiled. “Did you win?”

Linden shook his head. “I came in second. First place won a turkey, but second place,” he said with a grin, “won a pumpkin pie!”

“You won a pumpkin pie?”

Linden nodded proudly.

“Punkin pie,” Henry whispered from where he was standing near the headstone. Linden smiled and knelt down. “Henry, did you just say
punkin pie?
” Henry nodded, and Linden laughed and put out his hand. “Can you give me five?” Henry walked over shyly and slapped his hand down on Linden’s. “Thanks!” Linden said, ruffling his hair.

Henry nodded and whispered, “Sheriff, this is no time to panic.”

Linden gave Callie a puzzled look, but she just shrugged and shook her head. “I think it’s from a movie... .”

Linden nodded. “It’s really great that he’s talking.” He paused. “How have you been?”

Callie smiled. “I’m managing. Coming here always makes me sad, but that’s okay. How ’bout you?”

“I’m managing too,” he said. “Life’s pretty quiet.”

“How are the animals?”

“They’re fine. That calf is getting big.”

Callie hesitated. “Linden, I’m sure you probably already have plans ...” she began uncertainly.

Linden searched her eyes and slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t have plans.”

“You’re not having turkey?”

He shook his head again. “You can’t really cook a turkey for one person.”

Callie smiled. “I know. You can’t really cook a turkey for one and a half people either, but I was going to try.” She hesitated again. “Listen, if you’re really not doing anything, would you like to have Thanksgiving with us?”

Linden smiled and nodded. “I’d like that.”

Henry slipped his hand into Callie’s and softly whispered Springer’s name, and Linden knelt down in front of him. “Springer likes turkey too. Do you think I should bring him?”

Henry nodded, looking up at Callie for approval, and she knelt down next to him. “Do you think Linden should bring Kat too?”

Henry smiled shyly and nodded again.

As they walked up the hill, Callie whispered something in Henry’s ear, and he looked over at Linden and said, “Don’t forget the punkin pie!”

Linden laughed. “Oh, I won’t! I think that’s why your mom invited me!”

EPILOGUE

C
allie heard the vacuum in the hallway outside her classroom, glanced up at the clock, and realized it was getting late. She lifted Sam’s chair back onto his desk, slipped her books and papers into her canvas bag, pulled on her coat, and walked toward the door. As she reached up to turn off the lights a poster hanging next to the door caught her eye. It had an image of a blue puzzle piece in the center and underneath were printed the words “Autism Speaks... . It’s time to listen.” Callie had walked past the poster hundreds of times, but this time she paused to reflect on how far the world had come in its awareness and understanding of autism. She smiled and thought,
Henry has come a long way too!
Just then, Jim came around the corner with his vacuum and waved. Callie waved back and left the lights on for him.

Ten minutes later, she parked her new Subaru Outback behind the high school, got out, and buttoned her barn coat as she hurried across the parking lot. She couldn’t believe it was November already.
Where has the time gone?
It seemed as if the school year had just started and now Thanksgiving was just around the corner. She reached into her pocket for her fleece hat, pulled it down over her ears, and hoped that Henry had remembered his hat too. She looked across the playing fields at the small crowd gathering under the gray New Hampshire sky. As she hurried to join them, she felt her heart pounding with anticipation and excitement. She slipped through the crowd and discovered that the boys were already lining up. “Good luck, Hen-Ben!” she called. A slender boy wearing a bright orange hat looked over and smiled, and Callie smiled back, her eyes brimming with thankful tears.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Callie turned, and Linden gave her a hello kiss.

“They haven’t started yet?” he asked.

“Nope, you’re just in time.”

“Good! I was sure I was going to miss it.”

An official standing near the starting line held up his air horn and shouted, “All ready?” One breath later, the horn blasted through the New Hampshire countryside and the boys were off, up the hill and into the woods. Callie and Linden watched them go and then hurried with the rest of the parents to the next viewing area. As they stood waiting, straining to see them come out of the woods, the late-day sun dropped below the clouds and stretched bright rays of sunlight across the fields. Callie shielded her eyes and held her breath, praying, and then spotted Henry’s famous orange hat.