Chapter 12
Magical Night
Arielle Nygard
Iwatch Austin as he sits quietly in a yellow plastic kiddies’ chair facing a make-shift stage in a playroom at the hospital. There are a dozen other kids, most on the Autism spectrum, waiting to watch the magic show that has been scheduled for today. I’m not entirely certain if Austin will like or understand anything he will be shown, but I know that he enjoys coming to this play group at the hospital’s child psychology center. It’s become part of his routine, and there will be hell to pay if he misses it.
A minute later, the magician steps ‘on stage’ - it’s basically just a small square of cleared floor space. He’s wearing a cape and a top hat, and waving a magic wand. He doesn’t raise his voice to address the kids, but it carries easily to the back of the room where I’m standing with the other parents.
“Hi kids, my name is Atticus Colt. Are you ready to see some magic tricks?” He swirls his cape and produces a bunch of flowers. That single action takes me back over twenty years as a memory wells up to the forefront of my mind. I was nine years old, on a family vacation to Las Vegas and a young street magician pulled a bouquet of pink roses from behind my head. Then he turned those flowers into a white dove that flew away. I was mesmerized. I see the same expression on my son’s face now.
Austin is intrigued by the objects that appear out of nowhere. He ‘stims’ – rubs the thumb of his right hand against his pointer and middle fingers – to show his pleasure, and it makes my heart swell to see him so happy. And I know, in this moment, that there is nothing I won’t do to make sure his world remains stable and familiar. Whatever it takes, we’re not moving. I’m not going to pull him out of school. Not going to cut back, or cut out, his therapy sessions. Iwillfind a way to make enough money to support us.
The show gets more and more elaborate as the kids become comfortable with Atticus Colt. He even pulls a quarter from behind the ear of curly-haired boy, who claps his hands in delight. I can tell that Atticus is completely absorbed by his work, his audience. His long fingers move deftly, palming cards and plucking rainbow-colored scarves from his sleeves. His face is relaxed and animated, and beautiful. He is either expertly tanned or owes his light brown complexion to fabulous genes. His strong jawline is sprinkled with the start of a five o’ clock shadow and for the single second that our eyes meet, I feel like I’m the only person in the room. Steve’s been gone for two years and I haven’t thought of another man romantically, or sexually, in all that time. But today—
“Careful honey, you’re starting to drool.” The warning comes with a friendly elbow in my ribs. Anna Fairbridge is smiling broadly at me. Her daughter Jaime attends the same group as Austin. “Can’t say I blame you. I can see whyPeopleMagazine named him the Sexiest Man Alive last year.”
“And he’s so good with the kids,” I say, trying to keep my dignity.
“Good with the kids? That’s all you can say? Come on honey, you’re widowed, not dead. You’re allowed to appreciate a good-looking man when he’s standing right in front of you.”
Iblush slightly. “Okay, you’re right. He is kinda good-looking.”
“Yes, he is,” she agrees.
Austin is transfixed with the performance. His eyes follow the playing cards as Atticus makes them practically fly around him. When the show is over, my boy is almost a different person. He’s animated and mimics Atticus’s movements as he performs with a deck of imaginary cards. Getting him dressed in his coat is tough, since he can’t seem to stand still – a first for him.
“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you, buddy?” I say as I make a grab for his arm and shove it quickly into the coat sleeve before he objects. Everyone in the room knows how easy it is for an autistic child to spiral into a tantrum – with few other ways to communicate, they become easily frustrated. I know that no one would bat an eye, but I still hate having other people be witness to them.
Austin reaches his hand out behind me. I turn my head to see what got his attention and see the magician walking towards the door. Anna has fixed an eye on him and is heading over to him.
“Atticus Colt, you put on a fantastic show,” my friend says, coyly tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. I notice that she’s also unbuttoned her sweater and is showing an impressive amount of cleavage. “How do you do it?”
“Practice,” Atticus replies brusquely. He tries to side-step around Anna to get to the door, but she moves with him, refusing to be dismissed so quickly.
“Maybe you could show me how you made that stuffed rabbit disappear sometime?” she offers.
Atticus blows out an irritated breath. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he tells her, his tone strangely harsh. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this. I have to go.”
Anna is so stunned at being shot down that she doesn’t move as Atticus steps around her and practically flees the room. I watch her shake off the rejection and collect her daughter. Austin and I wait for her and Jaime and we walk to our cars together.
“Did you see how rude the magician was when I tried to talk to him?” she asked me.
“Youwerecoming on a bit strong,” I say.
She blushes at this comment. “Maybe I was, but most guys don’t get it unless you hit them over the head with an offer.” Anna’s been divorced for five years and has half a dozen ex-boyfriends under her belt, so if anyone knows what snag a man, it’s her. “I still think he was rude.”
“He was a bit short with you,” I acknowledge. “But you’ll have plenty of opportunity to find a guy at the bar.’
Anna brightens. “Definitely. I need to get Jamie fed and settled at home, but I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”
I nod and tell her I’ll be taking Austin home to wait for Tim.
“Don’t ditch me now, okay?” she says firmly. “You haven’t celebrated your birthday since...” she lets the sentence peter out.
Since Steve.
I know she wants to say it. Steve had been the birthday king. Every year he’d surprise me with something amazing.
I smile at her gently. I know how awkward people feel around the topic of loss…even though it’s my pain they fear mose. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
She squeezes my arm and we turn and leave together.
Tim arrives as I’m finishing up my preparations. A few minutes later, I squat down in front of Austin. “So, Tim’s going to hang out with you. Mommy has to meet some friends for a drink, but I’ll be home soon.” I’m never quite sure how much he understands, but I like to think my son cares about where I am and what’s going on.
“Thanks for doing this,” I say to Tim, trying to fight back my guilt.
“No problem, birthday girl, you deserve some party time,” he says and then bends down to Austin’s level. “You ready to have dinner with your Uncle Tim?”
