on his hands put a stop to hand flapping. Longer still since he’d bobbed his head once he figured out that touching his chin to his chest controlled the urge. Yet there he sat, doing both, and it seemed he’d forgotten how to stop himself. Her heart ached, knowing she’d caused it with her ill-timed question.
Then an idea sparked, and she went with it. “What is the boy’s name?”
When Drew looked up, his expression said, How did you know it was a boy?
“It’s okay,” she said, scooting her chair closer. “What’s the boy’s name?”
“His name is Joseph. Joseph is his name. Joseph is the new kid.”
Proceed with caution, Bianca thought. Putting ideas in his head to get the information she needed wouldn’t help Drew in the long run.
“What can you tell me about Joseph the new kid?”
“I don’t like Joseph.” Drew sat on his hands but continued shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, sitting taller, “he butts in line and pushes people down and takes other kids’ stuff.” Drew paused, then pursed his lips. “Joseph kicks. And hits. And uses potty words all the time.” Frowning, he rested his chin on his chest. “Mrs. Peterson never sees Joseph do any of that. She only sees me get mad when he does it.”
Her maternal instinct was strong, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him tight and promise she’d put a stop to Joseph’s bullying. But her desire to help Drew was stronger.
“And you know what else?”
“What else, sweetie?”
“Joseph calls me Flappity Weirdster Weirdo,” Drew grumbled. Eyes narrowed, his little hands formed tight fists. “And you know what else?”
“What...”
“He bites. Hard.”
Bianca gently rolled up his shirt sleeves and stifled a gasp as she saw half a dozen crescent-shaped bruises on each slender forearm.
She wanted to slap Joseph silly. Slap the teacher, too, for allowing this to happen to her sweet boy. Heart pounding, she grit her teeth. Oh, you are going to get such a piece of my mind, Mrs. Peterson!
The poignant music of a Save the Animals commercial wafted from the television, drawing Drew’s attention, and it seemed to Bianca that the abused dogs’ and cats’ forlorn expressions mirrored her son’s mood. She tried to comfort him with a hug, but he stiffened and pulled away.
“Wish I had a daddy who loved me,” he said.
Did he yearn for a superhero-type dad who’d storm the school, demanding protection for his little boy? Or simply someone to tell him that he hadn’t invited—and certainly didn’t deserve—Joseph’s malicious treatment?
Drew stared at the TV as a new commercial appeared on the screen, and in this one, Logan Murray’s friendly face smiled out at them.
“Autism Service Dogs of America,” he said, “was founded to improve the lives of kids who need a little help....”
She’d heard of the organization and had looked in to getting a dog for Drew. When she had learned that it could cost in the neighborhood of twenty thousand dollars, she’d closed the book on that area of autism research. Not that the dogs weren’t worth the price—for the right families—but Bianca wasn’t the type to organize a fund-raiser, appealing to friends, family, neighbors and coworkers to help defray the cost.
She’d read Logan’s bio cover to cover and knew that it contained a long and varied list of charities. When had he become affiliated with ASDA?
Drew pointed. “Why couldn’t I have a dad like that?”
She hoped he wouldn’t repeat his rendition of Daddy Didn’t Love Me. If she hadn’t figured out why some parents—fathers, mostly—couldn’t cope with autism, how could she explain it to her little boy?
Now Logan squatted and draped an arm around a happy-faced labradoodle. “Isn’t that right, Poe?”
When the dog answered with a breathy woof, Drew’s entire demeanor changed.
“Look, Mom! That dog is smiling!”
The only smile Bianca noticed was Drew’s.
“Can I have a dog, Mom? That man said it would be good for a kid like me.”
A kid like him. She grinned at his ability to make the connection. “We’ve talked about this before, remember? We can’t have a dog because Grandmom is allergic to them.”
His shoulders slumped. “I forgot.” But he perked up when the curly-haired mutt walked off-screen. “But—but—but—but Mrs. Peterson has a dog like that. I saw the picture on her desk.” He paused. “And she’s allergic.”
His grandmother’s sensitivity to fur and dander had almost been a blessing in disguise, giving Bianca a good excuse to avoid housebreaking and training a dog and cleaning up after it. Still, if she could find one like the curly-haired mutt grinning into the camera now, she might think about it.
She didn’t dare admit such a thing, of course, because in Drew’s mind, anything but a flat-out no was a bona fide commitment, one he’d obsess about until something else came along to take the place of his desire for a dog. Bianca decided to divert his attention before mild curiosity turned into fixation.
“Did Mrs. Peterson give you any other homework?”
“She said ‘Study for a spelling quiz tomorrow, boys and girls!’” He started reading his list of words as Logan recited the charity’s contact information. The camera zoomed in on his face. “The kids need you. Tell ’em, Poe.” And right on cue, the tail-wagging dog barked.
“Mom, can we at least think about getting a dog?”
She picked up the spelling list. “How about you finish your homework, and maybe then we can talk about thinking about it.”
“Great. More ‘Grandmom is allergic’ talk.” Drew sighed heavily. “Sometimes,” he said, “that mother of yours is so exasperating.”
“Exasperating,” she echoed, mussing his hair. “Do you know what it means?”
“Frustrating, annoying, maddening...”
No wonder every specialist called him The Little Professor, she thought as he assigned a new synonym to each of his fingertips.
Grinning, Bianca started Drew’s favorite supper. She grabbed mac and cheese and tomato soup from the pantry and thought about how, in nursery school and pre-K, the county had assigned him to class settings designed specifically for children on the autism spectrum. Almost immediately Drew had sensed that his learning deficiencies weren’t as severe as most of his classmates. In typical Drew fashion, he began gathering data, and one day, halfway through his kindergarten year, he put his self-assessment into words: “I can do lots of things those other kids can’t do, and I know stuff they don’t know.” He’d stopped flapping and crossed both arms over his chest to add, “And I control myself way, way better, too.” Chin up, he met her eyes. “I think it’s time for me to go to regular school.”
So Bianca met with his pediatrician, his teacher and the school principal and guidance counselor. Thanks to a school board member whose granddaughter was on the spectrum, the team decided to give Drew a chance. His academic performance and personal conduct would be closely monitored. If it was determined that his behavior distracted fellow students, or that he couldn’t keep up with curriculum, back to special sessions he’d go. She gave him a lot of credit because he’d held his own...until Joseph was introduced to the mix.
Bianca watched him, eyes squinted in concentration as he whispered “Mother. M-O-T-H-E-R.” He repeated the process with all twelve words on his list.
“Hey,