Bill planted his elbows on the counter across from me, and his eyes—an identical blue to Ryker’s—met me dead on. “Are you okay?”
“I am. I was shaken up a little because he jumped out of bed, like, while he was still asleep. He was holding onto my hand so he yanked me up a little, but I’m physically okay. I guess by the look on his face, he was more scared than I was . . .” I closed my eyes briefly and wondered how Bill knew I drank my coffee black.
He nodded and took a long sip before sighing. That was his only response. I don’t know if he didn’t know what to say, or if he knew I wouldn’t like what he was going to say, but we sat in caffeinated silence for a while. Several minutes later, Bill’s eyes shot to the front door as it opened, producing a shirtless and sweaty Ryker, home from his run. I felt queasy as he headed toward me, wondering if I should have come at all.
“Hey.” Ryker was still breathing heavy as he leaned in and gave me a sweaty kiss before getting a glass of water.
“Hey.” I grinned behind my coffee mug. Bill caught me, and smiled back. My smile faded, though, when Ryker turned around; that dead look was still in his eyes.
He walked right past me. Stopping abruptly when he got to the entryway, he turned on his heels to face me. “I’ll be down in a few, gotta shower.”
I nodded and smiled as he ran up the stairs. Turning my attention back to my coffee, I traced my thumb along the rim of the mug.
Bill walked around the bar and rubbed my back. “Hang in there, Kid. Stick with him.”
“I will.”
*
“Okay, Mrs. . . .” The teacher scans her eyes between my boys’ last names and mine.
“Collins,” I save her. “Their father and I are married and cohabitating, I just kept my maiden name.” I don’t know what’s more shocking to her; that I kept my last name, or that we’re actually two married people raising children. “But,” I continue, “Natalie’s fine.”
She smiles the perfect circle-time smile. “The boys did great, they’re right where we like kids to start for the beginning of the year. Max even seems a little ahead in letter and word recognition.”
“And Oliver?” I smile at my boys’ natural intellect.
Something Eric and I got right.
“Oliver did well, also. I’m curious, though, has he ever had his hearing tested?”
Dizziness flashes through me for a second, the way it does before you know something inevitably negative will come next. “No, why?” I clear my throat.
“Well, when the room was quiet, there were times he had a delayed or no response to my voice. When his back was turned, there was one time I had to walk around him and get his attention. It looked like I startled him.”
My eyebrows knit together as I replay the same scenarios I’ve had with Ollie over the last several weeks. “I’ve noticed that too, actually. I honestly thought it was an attention thing . . .”
“It could be, or an auditory processing issue. Sometimes, when there’s lots of background noise, it’s difficult for some children to decipher what they need to be tuned in to. If you take him to an Audiologist, they’ll perform lots of diagnostic tests using different frequencies, volumes . . .” the teacher lists off the possibilities in what I think is a very reassuring tone, but I’m scanning every potential risk factor in their short lives. I carried them to full term, they never had oxygen therapy, and have never had a fever over whatever threshold the AAP says is dangerous, but I swallow hard while studying the look in her eyes.
Something’s wrong with one of my sons. And I’m scared.
Chapter 17
Like any parent of the internet generation, I spend the twins’ nap time Googling causes of hearing loss in pediatrics. The most common—and most rational—explanation is fluid build up in the inner ear. The least likely, of course, is a rare brain tumor. Everything in between sends my head spinning. The teacher did mention auditory processing issues, which does seem to be in line with Oliver’s overall behavior lately. When there’s a lot going on around him, he can’t seem to focus on the voice he should.
I’m so wrapped up in WebMD, that it’s not until Eric’s number pops up on my cell phone that it registers he was a no-show for the screening today.
“Yeah?” I answer in a bored tone.
“How’d the screening go, Babe?” He sounds awfully upbeat for someone who didn’t bother to show up.
“Everything went fine. They suggested we get Oliver’s hearing tested, though.”
“Really, why?”
“Because when his back is turned he’s not as responsive as he should be. Sometimes not responsive at all. Haven’t you ever noticed that?”
Eric pauses for a long time. “I guess, but . . . isn’t he just being a kid?”
“I don’t know, Eric. Jesus, I’m not the Audiologist. When will you be home?” I’ve grown tired of the conversation.
He hesitates. “Late.”