I’m impatient to know the diagnosis for my adopted son, but maybe she’s got a point about not speaking openly about it in front of Trip. Somehow, I’ve got a feeling he might be non-verbal, but he understands a lot more than he shows.
Realising I’m hungry, and they must be too, I suggest, “Want to stop off for something to eat?”
“Maybe a drive-thru?” Bronwyn proposes.
Well, yeah. Maybe she’s got a point. Trip’s had a lot of new experiences today for a boy who hadn’t stepped foot outside his family home. Perhaps it would be too overwhelming to eat in a restaurant. Then it hits me, I wasn’t thinking. Bron and Trip have to stay hidden and can’t do anything normal, like eat out.
A drive-thru would be a good compromise and would mean neither of us would have to sort through whatever’s been stocked up in the house and find something to cook.
I stop off at a burger chain and get a kid’s meal for Trip, and burgers for me and Bron. We’re only a few minutes from home, so wait to eat until we get there.
Bronwyn gets Trip out of the car seat and encourages him into the house. I start to extract the food from the bags while Bron gets some plates down.
I’ve got two enormous burgers with all the fixings for myself. Bron had gotten a burger too, though hers is far simpler. Trip’sgot the nuggets his momma suggested, and we set the fries down in the middle of all of us. When I produce a milkshake I’ve acquired for him, Trip’s eyes light up. Bron told me he’d never had one before, so I watch his face as he takes a sip. There’s no hiding the way his eyes open as the strawberry-flavoured milk goes down.
“Good, huh?” I ask him. His eyes come to me, and I swear there’s a slight up and down movement, a nod.
Not making a big deal of him responding to me, I hold the first burger to my mouth and take an enormous bite. It’s junk food, tasty, not gourmet. But it will keep me topped up. Seeing me eating, Trip tries a nugget that’s probably packed with shit, which makes them attractive to kids. Whatever they do to make the flavour kid-friendly works, as the taste makes his eyes light up again.
“Dig in.” I move the fries closer to him. He picks up a handful.
“You eating?” I now turn my attention to my old lady, realising that referring to her as that is starting to feel natural.
“I feel like a failure,” she says softly, then shoots a worried glance toward her son. But he’s discovering fast food for the first time, and that seems to be all that’s on his mind.
“You’re no failure. Fuck, Bron, I admire you. You got Trip away, and are taking a chance with me to keep him safe.”
“Dr. Hancock suggested part of his communication problems are because my parents always punished him for crying or making a sound. She… she thinks just because he doesn’t talk, it doesn’t mean he can’t understand. She thinks we ought to talk to him all the time, and include him in conversations even if he doesn’t respond.”
“Your parents should be sent to hell for what they’ve done,” I growl.
“Dr. Hancock put it another way. If I hadn’t already gotten him out of there and promised her he wouldn’t go back, she’d have gotten social services involved. Oh, and she wants to see him regularly. And…” she sounds nervous. “She wants to see him in his new home, to assess how he’s doing with us.”
I can’t see a problem with that, though this house isn’t the best appointed. But I’ve got my brothers, who I know will offer their assistance to do the place up. I’ll have to get Bron to make a list of shit she and the boy need. I’m about to mention it to her when I notice Trip’s paused in his eating. I lean over and speak into her ear. “We’ll talk more later.” Then to Trip, I ask, “What did you think of the doctor? Was she nice?”
“She played all types of weird games with him,” Bronwyn answers for him. “She showed him a sheet with different animals on it, and when she named one and asked him to point out the correct one, he got it right every time. You did well, didn’t you, Trip?”
“We had a good go at building bricks while you were in there on your own. You’re a budding house designer, aren’t you, Trip?” There it is again, that barely there nod. “Hey, how about I get you your own set of bricks tomorrow? Would you like that?” Now I know I wasn’t imagining it. His head moves more enthusiastically up and down.
“Trip, you want more fries?” Bronwyn asks, pointing to the plate. “Help yourself to as many as you want.”
As he piles more next to his few remaining nuggets, I meet Bron’s eyes and notice her eyebrows are raised just like mine.Kid does understand more than we give him credit for.Silently, I wonder whether he’s becoming more relaxed now that he’s out of the orbit of her parents.
We continue to eat together. By the time Trip’s plate is empty, Bron’s and my burgers have been demolished as well.Trip gives a wide yawn, and looking at him, I see his eyelids look heavy.
“You’ve had a long day,” I tell him. “All the excitement at the clubhouse and then the doctors. You look tired, buddy. Why don’t you let your momma put you to bed?”
“Good idea,” Bron states, leaving her chair and going around the table to him.
When I notice her hovering behind him, I casually mention, “Trip held my hand, earlier.”
Stunned, she glances at me, then gingerly offers him hers. For a couple of seconds, he makes no movement, and I can see how much his rejection hurts. But just when she’s about to give up, he puts his fingers in her outstretched hand. “Come on then.” She helps him up, making no big deal about it, though her face is stretched into a wide smile
While they disappear upstairs, I get on with clearing the detritus the quick meal has left, putting the plates into the ancient dishwasher. It’s then that I realise all the appliances are second-hand. Bron and the kid deserve better. For the first time, I truly consider what it would mean when the therapist visits our home. Would she think it a worthy place to bring up an already challenged kid?
And what would she think of me if she walked in and saw me wearing my cut?
One thing’s for certain, I’ve no doubts she wouldn’t return Trip to his father. Even if Bron hadn’t explained the situation adequately, there’s the evidence, or lack of, which is even more damning, in that his birth was never registered, and he’s got no medical records.
