CHAPTER SIX

Jack finished his coffee and pushed the mug to one side. Riley had finished his a long while before. He’d almost inhaled his breakfast and was fidgeting in the chair. They’d decided to get breakfast near the venue for this autism early intervention meeting, and had a great vantage point for watching people arrive at the building. Jack had shaved and worn his best jeans and a crisp white shirt; he’d left his Stetson at home. Riley wore a suit, but this was Riley’s armor. He was quiet as well. Add that together and you had a nervous Riley.

“Spill,” Jack instructed.

Riley looked at him with surprise written on his face. “What?”

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Jack leaned across the table and grasped Riley’s hand. “This meeting will be okay. We’ll learn loads, and be better daddies for it.”

Riley smiled. “I know. I’m not thinking about the meeting, actually. Only, y’know, the inevitable questions and shit when people find out who we are. Maybe we should have hired someone to talk to us.”

Jack sighed. This was still the first thing Riley thought of whenever they did something. That his money could protect the family.

“Sometimes we need to get out there and handle everything thrown at us.”

“I know.”

“What are we teaching our kids if we avoid anything that can hurt us?”

Riley squeezed Jack’s hand. “I think I’m nervous,” he admitted.

There it was, the admission Jack had been looking for. “Because we might find out we’re doing everything wrong? That we might come to the realization that we are completely the wrong parents to have adopted a boy with autism?”

Riley’s eyes widened. “You feel the same way?”

Jack shook his head. “No, but I know how your mind works. Let me ask you something. Do you love Max?”

“Of course I do.”

Jack stood from the table. “There you go then. Worries dealt with.”

Riley laid cash on the check along with a healthy tip, and stood. “Sometimes I hate that you’re always right.”

Jack pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “No, you don’t.”

Together they crossed the street to the Hanover Institute, and stopped at reception to gather name badges and paperwork. They were to go to room twenty-three on the fourth floor and took the stairs instead of the crowded elevator. The Hanover Institute was a center of excellence for mental health, and it was a busy place.

Jack hesitated at the door of room twenty-three, then decided that knocking was probably not what he needed to be doing. He pushed the door open and saw plenty of empty chairs. Maybe five or six people were in the room, and Jack nodded at them before taking a seat in the back row. Riley sat next to him. He counted the seats—eighteen—looked at the front to a desk with a projector set up and a pile of scarlet folders. The door opened a few more times, and by ten o’clock there were more couples, singles, and in one case an extended family including a grandmother, who spread themselves out on the chairs.

The leader of the meeting was Sybil Franklin, according to slide one of twenty-nine on the overhead.

Slide one of twenty-nine. Kill me now.

She was short, with steel gray hair and glasses, wearing a sensible suit and sensible shoes, both in a functional shade of dark brown. In fact, she looked like every school principal that Jack had ever had the misfortune to meet, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This time it was Riley who placed a hand on his knee to calm him down. The irony.

“Good morning, my name is Sybil, and welcome to Autism 101.” She paused as she let that sink in. A couple of the people in the room, Riley included, looked confused. “I know you have signed up for an early-intervention seminar, but what that is, under its fancy title, is basically Autism 101, or what I like to call Autism for Beginners.”

Jack nodded as she explained. Okay, that made sense. They’d lived with Max for a while now, and all their knowledge of the A-word was from research on the internet and through books. Oh, and talking to Max’s foster parents, and by the practical, hands-on experience of what worked and what didn’t.

She continued. “I think we’ll get the introductions out of the way first. I’ve worked with ASD for twenty-five years now. My grandson has autism, and so I can speak both professionally and from the heart.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, and bit by bit Jack’s apprehension was disappearing. She wasn’t standing there spouting at them; it seemed like she knew.

“I thought it might be a good idea to get each of you to introduce yourself. Tell us a bit about yourselves and your child, and what you hope to get from today. We’ll start this end.”

She pointed to the other end to Jack, who at first sighed with relief, then realized with a sinking stomach that meant he’d be speaking before Riley. Is it too late to swap seats?

The introductions were pretty straightforward. Jack and Riley were to go last, so they got to hear the full range of answers. Different ages for the children, different backgrounds for the families, one adoption, a couple with siblings who were neurotypical, which was a new word for Jack. He read into the word that the autistic child had siblings who weren’t autistic. Everyone kept things short and it was finally his turn. Without conscious thought, he grasped Riley’s hand.

“Hi everyone,” he began. “My name is Jack. Our son is Max, he’s five, and we adopted him.” He didn’t mention the fact that actually Riley was the official adoptee—no point in adding that into the mix. “He has three siblings: an older sister, and a younger sister and brother who’re twins. They’re one. Oh, and his big sister is a teenager.” His mind went blank. There was other stuff he should be saying, but all eyes were on him, and there was muttering in the room, and Riley was way better than him at things like this. As if Riley knew how Jack was feeling, he took over.

“Hi, I’m Riley Campbell-Hayes. Like my husband said, Max is our son, one of four, and he has autism. We live on a ranch, and he loves horses. His interaction with them is a joy to watch. Jack here also runs a riding school for children with complex needs where they can work with the horses and learn independence and individual awareness.” Riley’s voice dripped with pride, and Jack tried to ignore the whispers to the left of them from the family with the conviction their son would be healed through prayer. He sensed this wasn’t going to go down well with them. “We adopted Max and our primary concerns are managing his emotions and knowing how to handle his meltdowns. We are very lucky, Max has a sensory room where he has his own space, but as the twins get older, we need to know how to connect with Max in a useful positive way so that he’s happy.”

Riley stopped talking and sat back in his seat. Jack couldn’t have been prouder of him in the way he’d explained so precisely what they wanted out of this. Give Jack a room of people wanting to talk horses, and he’d be able to talk for Texas, but anything else and his usually well-hidden shy part pushed to the front. Jack called it not wanting to look stupid; Riley called it cute.

“Okay, so, thank you everyone for that,” Sybil said with a smile. She started the presentation and began to talk.

“Can someone tell me any of the trigger points that cause a meltdown?”

This was the first question to the audience, and Jack waited for someone to speak. No one did at first, everyone probably nervous to be the first person to talk, waiting for someone else to go first, but not Riley. Nope, he was clearly happy to fill the space with the first answer.

“We find Max has meltdowns when we ask him to do something. We’re trying to encourage him to put his dish in the sink after breakfast, or to brush his teeth before bed. He’s stubborn and he’ll be playing or something, and he freaks out. I can’t think of another word for what it’s like, sorry.”