“Kyle, would you rather go play?”

“He’s not,” he said again, frowning now, his tone dropping an octave. Denise knew exactly what that meant-it was one of the ways he showed frustration at his inability to communicate. It was also the first step toward what often led to a genuine, knock-down, drag-out screamfest. And boy oh boy, could Kyle scream.

Of course, all children threw tantrums now and then, and Denise didn’t expect Kyle to be perfect. But for Kyle, tantrums sometimes arose because he couldn’t get his point across well enough to be understood. He’d get mad at Denise for not understanding, Denise would get angry because he couldn’t say what he meant, and the whole thing would spiral downward from there.

Even worse, though, were the feelings that those incidents triggered. Whenever it happened, it always reminded Denise point-blank that her son still had a serious problem, and despite the fact she knew it wasn’t his fault, despite the fact she knew it was wrong, if the tantrum went on long enough, she sometimes found herself screaming at her son in the same irrational way he was screaming at her. How hard is it to just run a few simple words together? Why can’t you do that? Why can’t you be like every other kid? Why can’t you be normal, for God’s sake?

Afterward, once things had calmed down, she’d feel terrible. How on earth, if she loved him so much, could she say those things to him? How could she even think them? Never able to sleep afterward, she would stare at the ceiling for hours, honestly believing herself to be the most mean-spirited mother on the planet.

More than anything, she didn’t want to have that happen here. She steadied herself, vowing not to raise her voice.

Okay, start with what you know . . . take your time . . . he’s trying his best . . .

“He’s not,” Denise said, repeating after Kyle.

“Yes.”

She held his arm gently, in anticipation of what would come. She wanted to keep his attention focused.

“Kyle, he’s not what?”

“No . . .” The word came out with a whine, and Kyle made a low growling sound in his throat. He tried to pull away.

Definitely on the verge of a screamfest.

She tried again with things she knew he understood.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Kyle-”

“No!” he said, shaking his head and cutting her off. He was angry now, his cheeks turning red.

“He’s not what?” she asked with as much patience as possible.

“He’s not . . .”

“He’s not, what?” Denise repeated.

Kyle shook his head in frustration, groping for the words.

“He’s not . . . Kye,” he finally said.

Denise was completely lost now.

“You’re not Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not Kyle,” she repeated, this time as a statement. Repetition, she’d learned, was important. It was something she did to find out whether or not they were both on the same wavelength.

“Yes.”

Huh?

Denise thought about it, trying to figure it all out, before focusing on him again.

“What’s your name? Is it Kyle?”

Kyle shook his head. “He’s not Kye. He’s linno man.”

She ran through it again, making sure she understood what he was saying.

“Little man?” she asked.

Kyle nodded triumphantly and smiled, his anger suddenly receding as quickly as it had come.

“Eez linno man,” he said again, and all Denise could do was stare at him.

Little man.

Oh Lord, how long was this going to last?

At that moment Taylor approached them, his gear bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Hey, Denise, how are you?” He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

Denise turned her attention to him, still flummoxed. “I’m not exactly sure,” she answered honestly.

The three of them began walking across the park together, and Denise recounted her exchange with Kyle. When she was finished Taylor patted Kyle on the back.

“Little man, huh?”

“Yes. Eez linno man,” Kyle said proudly in response.

“Don’t encourage him,” Denise said with a rueful shake of the head.

Taylor seemed to find the whole thing extremely humorous and didn’t bother trying to hide it. Kyle, on the other hand, was gazing at Taylor as though he were one of the seven wonders of the world.

“But he is a little man,” Taylor said in Kyle’s defense. “Aren’t you?”

Kyle nodded, pleased to have someone on his side. Taylor unzipped his gear bag and dug around inside before pulling out an old baseball. He handed it to Kyle.

“Do you like baseball?” he asked.

“It’s a ball,” Kyle answered. (Ess a baw)

“It’s not just a ball. It’s a baseball,” he said seriously.

Kyle considered it.

“Yes,” he whispered. “It’s a baseball.” (Yes . . . Ess a bessbaw)

He held the ball tightly in his small hand and seemed to study it, as if looking for a secret that only he could understand. Then, glancing up, he spotted a children’s slide in the distance. All of a sudden that took priority over everything else.

“He wants to run,” Kyle said, looking expectantly at his mother, “over there.” He pointed to where he wanted to go. (Ee wanta wun . . . O’er dare)

“Say, ‘I want to run.’ ”

“I want to run,” he said softly. (I wanta wun)

“Okay, go ahead,” she said. “Just don’t go too far.”

Kyle dashed toward the kids’ play area, a bundle of unharnessed energy. Luckily it was right next to the tables where they would be sitting-Judy had chosen the spot for just that reason, since nearly everyone involved in the game brought their children with them. Both Denise and Taylor watched Kyle as he ran.

“That’s one cute kid,” Taylor offered with a grin.

“Thanks. He’s a good boy.”

“That little man thing isn’t really a problem, is it?”

“It shouldn’t be . . . he went through a phase where he pretended to be Godzilla a couple of months ago. He wouldn’t answer to anything else.”

“Godzilla?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty funny when you think back on it. But at the time, oh my. I remember we were at the store once and Kyle slipped away. I was walking through the aisles calling for Godzilla, and you wouldn’t believe the looks that people were giving me. When Kyle finally came back, there was this one lady-she stared at me like I was an alien. I knew she was wondering what kind of mother names her kid Godzilla.”

Taylor laughed. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, well . . .” She rolled her eyes, communicating a mixture of contentment and exasperation. As she glanced at him, her eyes caught his and lingered just an instant too long before each of them turned away. They walked on in silence, looking exactly like one of the other young couples in the park.

From the corner of his eye, however, Taylor still watched her.

She was radiant in the warm June sunlight. Her eyes, he noticed, were the color of jade, exotic and mysterious. She was shorter than he was-maybe five six, he guessed-and she moved with the easy grace of people who were confident of their place in the world. More than that, he sensed her intelligence in the patient way she dealt with her son and, most of all, how much she loved him. To Taylor those were the things that really mattered.

Melissa, he knew, had been right after all.

“You played a good game,” Denise finally said, interrupting his thoughts.

“We didn’t win, though.”

“But you played well. That counts for something.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t win.”

“That’s such a man thing to say. I hope Kyle doesn’t turn out that way.”

“He will, though. He won’t be able to help it. It’s in our genes.”

Denise laughed, and they took a few steps in silence.

“So why did you get involved with the fire department?” she asked him.

The question brought his father’s image to mind. Taylor swallowed, forcing the thought away.

“It’s just something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid,” he answered.