Sybil nodded. “Freaking out is as good a description as any, Mr. Campbell-Hayes—”

“Riley, please.”

“Can I ask you a question, Riley?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you like reading?”

“I do. Not fiction so much as environmental reports, that kind of thing.”

“And when you’re reading these reports, when you get so deep into it that you’re losing yourself in the pages, what happens when you get interrupted?”

“In what way?”

“Talk me through how you feel. I mean really feel.”

Riley frowned and glanced at Jack, who nodded imperceptibly in the best encouraging way he could. A person interrupted Riley at the peril of Riley’s patented irritable grumpy face.

“I get irritable, annoyed even, because I lose track.”

“Do you ever roll on the ground and scream and shout when this happens?”

“No,” Riley said. He added a little laugh, but Jack put two and two together and realized where Sybil was going with this.

Sybil perched on the edge of the desk. “Imagine all those thoughts that are going on in your head. The way you consider the contents of what you are reading. Imagine all those thoughts like tendrils coming from your head. They become complicated and twisted and there are so many of them. Now imagine someone interrupts you, and all those thoughts have to be pulled back in quickly. You’ll lose some of them, and they might hurt to lose. Not only that, but you have new thoughts that you have to process as you are still handling the old ones. Imagine the chaos in your head. This is what causes the irritability, but it’s okay, you can handle it. You’re a grown man with the capacity to switch thoughts. You can rationalize your irritability and get over it quickly. Now think about your son, Max, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Max.”

“Imagine the tendrils hurt to withdraw, that his brain actually identifies switching thoughts as pain, and he has to deal with that. Then he has to handle clearing down what he was thinking about to begin to concentrate on the new sensory input. No wonder he’s suddenly in the middle of a meltdown.”

Riley sat back in his chair, and Jack knew he had understood exactly, as Jack had. From the chatting in the room, it seemed like Sybil’s explanation had hit a chord with the rest as well.

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t interrupt him? But that’s not practical, is it?”

Sybil shook her head. “Goodness me, no, but use schedules to encourage him to understand when you want him to do a chore, or warn him in a quiet time. You may find you can forestall some of the drama.”

“Okay.”

“Drawing a social story of sorts will help. This is all covered in the pack. Use simple images to explain things that will be happening.” She turned to the large whiteboard and drew a very simple plate, a toothbrush and a moon. “Give times when you will do things.” She pointed to the plate. “Like the times you eat, and how you eat. By that, I mean you reinforce your rules, like sitting in the seat and staying on task. Once you have a story to explain what you want to happen, and a time planned to stick to, then you may find your child will feel more at ease. It’s important to underline the routine in any child with autism.”

“Writing it down is like we’re making a deal with Rebecca,” one of the other parents said. “We have to stick to the timings rigidly. But if something goes wrong, like the event we are going to is canceled or something like that, it makes everything so hard.”

Riley nodded his agreement. “Max is inflexible.” He felt guilty, as if he was badmouthing their son. “I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he added, and saw a lot of parents looking at him and smiling. They all got it. They knew what it was like.

“Inflexibility, stubbornness. These are parts of autism. Imagine it as a kind of extreme OCD.”

They talked for a long time about the stubbornness, to the point where Riley could see parts of himself in the words.

Sybil opened the floor again. “Does anyone else have a question?”

The group discussed the cycle of temper and the social aspects of living with autism. Sybil covered so much that Jack wished he’d taken notes.

They broke for refreshments, and Jack went to find paper and a pen, stopping to talk to Sybil by the table as Riley got them coffee.

“I heard good things about the riding center, Mr. Campbell-Hayes,” she said as they shook hands.

“Jack, please.”

“I’ve written out a referral for a young man with complex needs. Are you set up for children in wheelchairs?”

“We’ve had all the training, and we have special saddles.”

“Then I will pass on the referral. Unfortunately the family doesn’t qualify for funding, but maybe we could talk about that?”

“We have bursaries,” Jack offered. He’d more or less made that up on the spot. “Send over the referral, and I’ll cover it.”

Sybil nodded. “Thank you.”

By the time the break was done, Jack had made new friends, exchanged phone numbers, and joined some kind of online group. Well, when he said “joined,” he told Riley about it, and Riley would join for them. They agreed to barbecues and play dates at the ranch, and one couple had a daughter in Hayley’s school just a few years below her.

Jack realized one thing. He and Riley were not alone, and so they sat for the rest of the afternoon, learned strategies and techniques for ensuring that Max had a better life, and that they would do the best for him. It was the first day of what Jack knew would be many; there was so much to learn, but he and Riley could be the parents that Max needed in every way.

When they got home, Jack sat with Max in the sensory room, with Riley on the other side of Max, and they played quietly with Thomas the Tank. They used a couple of new strategies they’d learned today in communication, a few social stories, and Max was quiet but pleased to see them in his own way.

Only when they were in bed did it all hit Jack in one push of sadness and resignation. Autism is such a big word, and Jack felt helpless under the weight of it all. It was only because Riley held him and they were in this together that he pulled himself out of it.

He was Max’s pappa, and he was going to be a damn good one.

He and Riley, both.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The day of the Valentine’s dance was chaos in the Campbell-Hayes household.

Eden smiled as she exited Hayley’s bedroom. Jack had hovered outside ever since Eden had walked past them in the kitchen, gone out to her car, and come back in, looking very focused. Riley had laughed at his expression, but Jack was taking this seriously. Eden had come over to help Hayley get ready for the dance and the two had been locked away in Hayley’s room for going on two hours.

“Is everything okay?” Jack asked worriedly.

“Wonderful,” Eden said. She grasped him by the elbow and encouraged him back into the kitchen, where Riley was playing peekaboo with Lexie. She pulled the door shut behind her and released her hold of Jack.

“I’m a little worried,” she began.

Jack’s head filled with scenarios of why Hayley was causing worry. Had she confided something in Eden? “What?”

Riley looked up from Lexie with a similar expression. “Is everything okay?”

“Two things. One, I had to take her dress in a little, and the other thing, she’s beautiful, and she’ll walk out in a minute, and I need you to be really grown-up about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you dare comment about her dress, or her makeup, or her hair.”

“Makeup?” Riley said a little weakly.

“Lip gloss,” Eden reassured.

“And taking the dress in, was that a problem?” Jack recalled it had seemed to fit well enough two weeks back.

“She’s got Riley’s genes, all right. She’s getting tall so quick, and that isn’t an easy thing, okay. She’s self-conscious, about her height, the dress, her hair. So be nice.” This last she said to both of them, although she was looking at Jack.