Raphaela's Gift (2 page)

"Fine.” With one word he accepted the course of events he knew would follow: court dates, visitation orders, and lonely nights. Confusion for Raphaela.

Clearly trying to redirect the conversation toward safer territory, she said, "I think Ella should stay with you. I know it's best, and you can hire a nanny specifically trained to care for autistic children. Tom said they have different needs than other learning disabled children."

"What an idea. I never would have thought of that myself. Thanks, Marian," he said, so angry and frustrated he could scream.

"I do care, you know."

"Bullshit. If you cared for Ella, you'd come home. Quit pretending to be the world's most devoted, loving mother. There's no one here to impress with your theatrics."

"And about school," Marian added, obviously ignoring his last jab. "Tom said the public school system would provide an excellent education. She'll qualify right away for special education, though she's only three."

Turning away, Garret ended the meeting. He'd heard enough. Special education. Trained nannies. No cure. No reconciliation. "Gotcha. Special Ed. I'll go to the school office tomorrow and enroll her. She'll
love
it."

He hurried across the office to the door, turning back to glare at his wife before stepping into the corridor. "What's the point in talking anymore? You're not going to address the real issues here."

"No, Garret. You're the one who's avoiding issues. You're so afraid to admit what you feel about Ella and her condition that you'd rather blow up at me. You're being unreasonable, and I'm not going to stand here and take it."

He shook his head. "That's the most convoluted logic I've heard."

"Convoluted? Well who's running now, Garret? You or me?"

He stepped back into the room and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not running. I'm ending a pointless conversation."

"Our daughter is profoundly autistic. Face it. Deal with it, or you'll never be able to help her."

"That's enough, damn it! I know exactly how…exactly what…" He stopped. Why was he wasting time with this jejune battle? "See you next week in court. Oh, and best wishes to you and Michael."

Fire in her eyes, she returned his glare until he turned his back to her.

Damn wife-stealing Michael. All he wants is a stand-in mother for his kids. And damn Marian for going with him! How can she abandon our daughter to play mommy to another man's kids? Damn them both to hell!

Garret avoided looking at the receptionist as he walked down the corridor to his own office. He didn't want to see sympathy on anyone's face. Maybe he'd made a mistake by going to Tom with this problem. Too close to home. Everyone in the office would know his personal business before lunch.

Before he'd opened the blinds and taken a seat in his chair, Tom was at the door. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I told you. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine.” Tom walked across the room and slid into the chair in front of the desk. "Can't say I blame you. Thought you might like to talk about things--without Marian around.” He leaned back in the chair and waited for Garret to speak.

"What do I say?" Garret lifted the cover of his laptop and punched the power button. Peering over the screen at Tom, he added, "My life's a mess. My wife's dumped me for another man, is abandoning Ella because it's too inconvenient to be a mother to her right now…and Ella…" He stopped, rage building, his heart racing. He wanted to smash something, throw something, and scream. He stared at the framed picture sitting next to his computer, a photograph of Marian, Raphaela, and him taken at Disney World, their last vacation. An infant Raphaela, sandwiched between her parents' beaming, sunburned faces, smiled at the camera. "Damn it! Ella doesn't deserve this! She needs her mother, but Marian won't listen. How can I do this alone?"

Tom shook his head. "I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I'm here for you. I'll do anything I can to help."

"Marian said I'm avoiding dealing with Ella's condition. She couldn't be more wrong! The only thing that matters is Ella. She's everything…she's all I have left."

"That's it. Forget about Marian. Focus on Raphaela now--"

"I'll never forgive Marian for doing this to her. Never." Garret interrupted, slamming his palms on the desk. "Regardless what she feels about me, she should have a shred of regret for turning her back on our daughter. Her own flesh and blood, for God's sake! I'll never do that to Ella. Never."

"You're a good guy."

His stomach knotted. He turned his chair around and faced the window behind his desk. Why couldn't Marian see what a good guy he was? Hell, she'd lived with him long enough. After eight years of marriage, she should know him, should give him at least some credit. But all she'd done was set out to make him look like a demon, and herself Raphaela's guardian angel.

A damn act! All of it.

But his problems with Marian simply didn't matter anymore, he reminded himself. The only thing that mattered was his daughter. He was all she had now. She needed him. She would have him. Every waking moment he could spare.

"No matter what Marian said to you, I know Raphaela couldn't have a better father," Tom added when Garret didn't speak.

A splash of sunlight warmed Garret's face. He closed his eyes. "Thanks, Tom.” He turned the chair, frustration displacing the anger he'd fought to control a moment ago. "I wish I could cure her, you know?"

Tom nodded, "I know. But you're ignoring the obvious. You can give her what's most important, yourself. Let her in. You never know what might happen.” He stood and headed toward the door.

"Sure," he said after Tom left. Could he do that? Would she let him? How would he rescue his little girl, free her from that dark and confusing world she was locked in?

Where would he find the key?

Summer, 2001

This is a mistake. A gigantic--no, a colossal mistake. Why did I let Marian talk me into this?

Garret struggled to keep his Ford Explorer's wheels on the narrow washboard road, his efforts hindered by his slight, but strong, six-year-old daughter, who sat next to him, violently rocking back and forth. The combined effect of her motion and the rough road made the truck sway like a hammock in a hurricane, and after one extraordinarily strong lurch, he glanced at her.

She isn't going to last the week. She's a mess.
Raphaela's eyes always snapped from one position to another when she was nervous. And they did that now, darting around the truck's interior, seeking reassuring familiarity. Her hands flapped in front of her face.

Two weeks. Fourteen days in the woods of Kentucky, surrounded by autistic kids and enthusiastic camp counselors--undergraduate psychology majors on summer internships. Leading the pack, a handful of self-proclaimed autism specialists.
Wonderful.

"They have the cure," Marian had said three months ago, when she'd thrust an envelope at him. Inside, a colorful brochure filled with photographs of smiling children and a confirmation letter. She'd enrolled all three of them. "For Ella's sake."

When she'd said the words, "For Ella's sake," he'd nearly lost control. Who'd been with Raphaela day and night for the past three years? Who'd helped her adjust to the divorce? Tried to hold her after she'd skinned her knee or bumped her head? Comforted her when she woke screaming from nightmares?

Not Marian.

Now she was thinking about Raphaela?

Even so, he wouldn't have wanted things any other way. Raphaela, despite her aversion to being touched, lack of eye contact, and continual silence, filled his heart with sweet, pure love.

He didn't need Marian signing him up for some useless camp. He was doing fine. Sure, things were tough at home, but that didn't mean he needed intervention. He was tired, that's all. Who wouldn't be? He rarely got a break. Every night, he drove straight home from work and spent every remaining moment with Raphaela. She needed no less. Deserved no less.

Complicating matters, Missy, the nanny, who'd been a lifesaver for the past three years, gave him notice before they left. She was marrying a captain in the Navy and moving to Florida. No emergency, he kept telling himself, merely an inconvenience. He'd find another nanny after they returned.

The front tire skidded in the loose gravel on the side of the road. Garret dragged his thoughts back to driving. The road was notably narrower, giant oaks crowding both sides, forming a lush canopy overhead. The quiet, cool blue of the sky, green of the leaves, lack of traffic and city noise all lent the area serenity. He shut off the air conditioning and opened the window a tiny bit, indulging in the sweet smell of clean air.

Hoping the draft hadn't upset Raphaela more, he glanced her way. No change, but at least he hadn't made things worse. The sight of her so distraught sliced his heart into pieces and sent the bits into his throat. What the hell was he doing?

The truth was, if her behavior hadn't grown progressively worse the past few months, and if her demands hadn't left him so overwhelmed, he never would have agreed to the camp.

He shook his head. He'd never seen himself like this before, no more than a jumble of conflicting emotions: regret for dragging Raphaela to the camp, guilt for feeling so burdened, uncertainty about the camp itself.

Without thinking, he reached for her. His fingertips brushed her hand. She jerked away, screeching like a wild animal and flailing her arms and legs. That was a mistake, he told himself, frustrated at his stupidity. He should have been more careful. If anytime, now was not the time to touch her. It was risky enough at home where she was secure. Still, he couldn't just sit next to her and do nothing.

He edged the SUV off the road and studied the map in his Mountain Rise welcome packet while waiting for her to calm down. The spells were becoming more frequent and more difficult to handle, but he tried to hold to his belief-- let her work her way through them on her own.

"Okay now, sweetie?" he asked after she'd settled into her previous rhythm. Battling the temptation to turn around and drive home, he pulled onto the road and continued south. The camp was only a mile away. No sense in leaving. If Raphaela became too upset, he'd take her home tomorrow.

As he drove the truck through the camp's arched wooden gate, his stomach twisted. Was it a twinge of apprehension? Dread because he'd have to deal with Marian for more than a handful of stress-clogged minutes?

He parked in front of the rustic-looking log building. "This is the place, kiddo. We're here." A sign stretched across the front, under the eaves: "Mountain Rise, Welcome Campers!"

"You're in for a big adventure. Let's have some fun." He peered at her.

She squinted out the window for a moment, and then recoiling, resumed her head shaking and rocking. If nothing else, the activity would leave her exhausted by nightfall.

After shutting off the engine and setting the parking brake, he opened his door and stood on the gravel drive. The pebbles popped under his loafers as he walked around to the SUV's back and opened the rear door.

When he pulled out their suitcases, two teen boys, dressed in shorts and t-shirts emblazoned with "Mountain Rise," ran to him.

"Welcome to Mountain Rise, Doctor Damiani," said one, taking a suitcase from Garret. "I'm Jeffrey and this is Dan," he said, motioning toward the other boy. "You can step inside and check in. Would you like some help with your daughter?"

"Wow, thanks. Sure," he said, impressed Jeffrey knew his name.

Dan, who'd been standing silent but displaying an eager grin, nodded and dashed into the lodge, returning moments later to proclaim, "Miss LeFeuvre will be here in a minute."

Nodding, Garret handed the other suitcases to Dan. "What does Miss LeFeuvre do here?" he asked, making small talk. He didn't like standing around waiting, especially with a stranger.

"She's an art therapist--been told she's the best. She's new here, but everyone likes her so far."

He ducked into the back of the truck and reached for Raphaela's favorite blanket, which he'd brought to help her settle down at night. She'd never stayed in a strange place overnight. He had no idea what to expect. "Art therapist? Who ever heard of an
art
therapist?"

"You haven't heard of an art therapist?" A woman asked, her voice not the gritty, post-pubescent one that had spoken moments ago.

Jerking back, he clunked his head on the truck's rear hatch. Gritting his teeth at the throbbing pain, he resisted the temptation to throw his hand on his head and howl. After drawing in a slow, deep breath, he turned to face the woman he assumed was Miss LeFeuvre, the art therapist. It was always his luck--make a stupid comment about someone, and they end up behind him.

Immediately his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. She wasn't anything like he'd imagined. Her title had elicited images of a young kid, mid twenties, with a pierced nose or spiky black hair. The artsy type.

Instead, she was a beautiful woman with silky blond hair, and round, blue eyes leveled at him in silent censure.

"You were about to say?" Her voice was sharp and yet he sensed she was neither as angry, nor as insulted, as she sounded.