Down the Rabbit Hole

“He is now, but that’s only been recently. In the beginning, we were all going to support groups. We went to the parents’ group, of course, but there was a special one for siblings that Cody went to. He always said he liked it, that he was learning a lot, that he thought it helped—he said everything he thought I wanted to hear. Then last fall he turned out for middle school football. We couldn’t believe it; he’d never shown any interest in it before. Lucas was the athlete, and school was easy for him. Cody struggled with his dyslexia to be a good student. He was the laid-back one, the daydreamer who loved to draw the most amazing pictures—his attention to detail is startling . . .” She hesitated, then sighed. “Last year he ran cross-country. It seemed like the perfect sport for him—running alone with just his thoughts, competing against his own best times. He loved it. Football, though, that should have been another red flag.”


“He didn’t like it.”

Liz shrugged her bewilderment. “He never said he didn’t. He went to practice. He sat on the bench during most of the games, and when they did play him, he spent most of his time facedown on the ground. He’d come home at night scraped and bruised and forcing an enthusiasm he clearly didn’t have. His father tried to help him, give him a few tips, but he had no aptitude for it. And again, I missed it. I missed seeing that he was trying to be both himself and Lucas for us. I only saw him failing at things that had been so easy for Lucas, without a clue as to why he’d bothered to try them in the first place.”

Molly reached across the table to cover her friend’s hand with hers.

“The recording.” Liz shook her head. “The dyslexia is so frustrating for him. The tutor has helped, but he still needs some special ed at school. Kids tease him. I wanted to do something just for him. Something important. I wanted to show him that I love him; that I love everything about him—his talents and his limitations—and I wanted to do it in a big way. I wanted . . .” Her voice trailed away in defeat. “Well, let’s just say Elise wasn’t the only person who walked by looking like I was trying to sell vials of Ebola.”

“Oh no, I’m sure—”

“Oh yes. I could see it all over her face. So could Cody.”

From the wings, a horrified gasp escaped Elise, and she closed her eyes in deep and sincere regret.

Liz went on. “But to be fair, he was embarrassed to begin with. He said it was a bad idea. He said that he didn’t want me to go to so much trouble. He said, in every polite way possible, that he didn’t want me to do it. But did I listen? Did I hear him?

“The reactions I got at the mall were only the last straw for him. He finally broke down and told us everything. How he felt, what he was trying to do for us . . . why.” Her soft chuckle was ironic. “Maybe I should thank Elise after all.”

“Listen. I love my sister-in-law to death, I really do. But she can be very cynical sometimes. I was there that day. I knew what you were doing . . . Not that you’d made the recording, but I knew it was for Cody. I didn’t think to mention it to her, but if I had I know she . . . well, she probably wouldn’t have bought a recording, I’ll be honest with you, but I do know she’d have donated money. She has a soft heart, but she’s skeptical, and so intolerant of things she doesn’t understand.”

This time Liz’s chuckle was amused. “Wait until she hears that I accidentally spam-invited everyone I’ve friended on Facebook to Tom’s birthday party.”





CHAPTER FOUR




As the picture cleared, the growling and grumbling noise came again. The sound seemed to roil around inside her like leaves in a tea cup, but Elise barely noticed. She sighed and lowered her gaze to the floor.

She was intolerant. She knew it. Mockery was another defect she’d allowed to take up residence in her life.

She knew, too, that she could wither a stone with a single stare when called for. She used to practice in the mirror to look not frightened, not helpless, less caring—for protection, to defend herself. The downside was that the same expression could come across as fearsome, aggressive or unfeeling.

She never meant to hurt anyone, but she knew she could. She’d seen furtive glances before—fleeting looks that were about her, but not meant for her to see. They hurt. Terribly. Then they made her angry.

“I’m sorry about the boy—and his brother. I didn’t know,” she said, her voice thick in her throat. “I never meant to hurt him.”