"I spooned another helping of the marvelously creamy and undoubtedly fattening frozen custard into my mouth. "Have you tried it yet, Darcy?"
"I-I-"
"Try it, Darcy."
"But, today is Thursday, and on Thursday, I-"
"Yes, I know. You have Praline Lovers' Delight on Tuesdays and Vanilla Toffee on Wednesdays and Strawberry Mash on Thursday, unless there's a new flavor, in which case you substitute the new flavor for whichever flavor on your list has the most letters in its name. If there's a tie, you cross out whichever one comes last alphabetically, unless the Thursday falls on the last day of the month, in which case you reverse the alphabetical order and…I forget the rest."
"So you will understand why-"
"The Peppermint Pop is a seasonal special, Darcy. It won't be here next week, and it's delicious. So even though Praline Lovers' Delight has more letters in its name, you need to try it today."
"But-"
"Darcy." I looked at him, not harshly, but firmly.
And to my happy surprise, he took a bite.
It may seem like a small thing, but it reminded me just how far Darcy had come in the relatively short time since I met him. Darcy was diagnosed at age three as an autistic savant, but his father-Police Chief O'Bannon-had undertaken constant therapy and consultation with behavioral intervention experts at the Lovass Center in L.A. and had worked wonders. Slowly but surely he'd left his autistic world and entered our own. In time, his compulsive obsessions began to fade, though they were never extinguished, and he developed relatively normal speech ability. His inflection was askew, unless he was imitating someone, which he could do flawlessly, and he often didn't understand what people were saying, particularly if they spoke euphemistically or idiomatically or sarcastically, but he was still light-years ahead of most autistics, even other savants. His problems with language were understandable; he didn't understand why one word should have multiple meanings and had difficulty gathering which one to apply in context. Metaphors were beyond him; tell him that the sun was a glistening incandescent orb and he would politely tell you that the sun was a thermo-nuclear reactor processing helium and hydrogen. Jokes-especially word-play-similarly escaped him.
His appearance was perfectly normal; autistic kids are renowned for their angelic appearance. He was sweet as a baby and kind and incurably gentle. He hated to see people in pain. He had a genuinely sympathetic nature and cared for others. But you didn't have to be around him long to know there was something different about him. Part of it was his reaction-or lack of reaction-to what went on in his environment. He never made eye contact, couldn't read facial expressions or take cues from them. Non-verbal language was a form of expression he would never master. Some theorists believe autistic persons don't really see faces at all, which would explain why Darcy was often confused about whether he had met someone before, unless he was able to pick up on some other clue-the sound of their voice, a scent, even the familiar squeaking of a shoe. He didn't understand people, their motivations, what made them do the things they did. But that was okay. Because I did.
After his father was shot-and my niece, Rachel, was taken into a foster home-we began to spend time together. He enjoyed the company, I think-you can never really be sure of anything with Darcy. He had profound tactile defensiveness; he didn't like to be touched and shunned signs of affection. Even though you suspected he wanted them, something inside just wouldn't let it happen.
"I think that actually this is kinda good," Darcy said, as he gobbled the custard down.
"Five stars?"
He stopped eating and reflected a moment. "Two point seven five."
"And that makes it…"
"Number seventeen on my list. Just beneath Rocky Road Almond with Skittles. But that is still very good."
"I'd say so. Especially since your list includes…how many flavors?"
"Two hundred and seventy-four. Would you like me to list them all for you in order?"
"Thanks, I'll pass."
On the other hand, his savant gifts were astounding. He remembered virtually everything he had ever read-sometimes he could even tell you what page he'd read it on. Probably because he saw the world from such a different viewpoint, he had a penchant for noticing things everyone else missed. He'd come up with telling pieces of information all the crime tech and forensic experts had missed. I couldn't begin to measure his mathematical abilities, since I personally can't even balance my checkbook. He could solve puzzles, cryptograms, codes, almost instantaneously. His brain was an overcrowded hodgepodge of information that made it difficult for him to focus, but I tried to teach him to sift through all the concurrent and conflicting thoughts and stay on task. Every day he took another baby step out of his obsessive autistic prison. It may not seem like getting him to try a different flavor of custard on the wrong day was a major triumph. But it was.
"So tell me-how are you and your father getting along?"
His face always changed whenever we talked about his father, or whenever his father was around. It wasn't that Darcy didn't like him. I knew perfectly well they both loved each other. But Darcy was his only child and…well, obviously not what O'Bannon had expected. His wife died when Darcy was seven, and raising him alone had been an incredible burden.
"My dad is fine. He walks much better now. With his cane, he gets around almost as well as he did before the Bad-you know."
I did know. Before the Bad Man shot him. Which Darcy didn't like to talk about.
"You're not answering my question, Darcy. How are you and your father getting along?"
He shrugged lopsidedly, then flapped his hands together. "My dad never lets me do anything, not unless you are with me. He thinks I cannot do anything."
"He just wants to make sure you're safe, Darcy. That's what parents do. It's like their job description."
"But I am not a baby anymore. I can do lots of stuff."
"He knows that."
"He does not know that! He will never let me do anything. I-I-" Darcy looked up at me, as if wondering if I could be trusted. "I am thinking about running away from home."
It took some effort, but I managed to suppress my smile. It's not often you hear a twenty-six-year-old talk about running away from home. "But Darcy-how could you support yourself? You don't make enough working part-time at the day care center to even afford a crummy apartment, much less food and transportation and-"
"I know. I know." He finished the custard, then licked the spoon. "I-I was-was w-wondering…Do you think maybe…you and me…would it be possible?…"
"Spit it out, Darcy."
"Would you adopt me?"
I bit down on my lip, hard. "What?"
"I would be good. I promise I would. And I would help you with your police work, just like I do sometimes now. You said I was helpful, right?"
"You're always helpful. But I can't-"
"And then maybe we could share money. And we would share your apartment, since you adopted me."
"Darcy." I laid my hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched, but let it stay. "You are very dear to me, and I love being with you. But I can't adopt you. And frankly, half what I make wouldn't be enough to get you a bus ticket to Caesar's Palace. I can barely pay my own rent."
His head fell. "You don't want to live with me."
"Darcy, it's not-" I stopped short. What exactly were we talking about here?
Fortunately, my cell phone vibrated, saving me from having to do any deeper thinking. "Pulaski."
"This is Chief O'Bannon. I've got a case for you. Are you available?"
"You know I am. What is it?"
"It's…I don't want to talk about it on the phone."
"Homicide?"
"Definitely. Looks like it's right up your alley."
Meaning not just your average, everyday run-of-the-mill murders. Something weird. Something that called for a consultant in aberrant psychology.
"Just come out to the Burger Bliss on Fremont and 125th, okay? Granger will fill you in. And Susan?"
"I'm still here."
"Don't bring Darcy."
"Are you sure? He's with me now."
"Drop him off."
"But-why? He's proven-"
"Are you listening to me, Susan? Don't bring Darcy." He paused a moment. "You'll understand when you get here."
He rang off and I snapped my pocket cell closed. "Looks like I've got a case."
Darcy's eyes brightened. "Are we going to catch another crook?"
I sighed heavily. This wasn't going to be pretty. "I'm afraid there's no we this time, Darcy. You can't come."
"But-But-" He ran his fingers through his hair. "You said that I was helpful. And-And-that casino man who took the money. No one else knew how tall he was. And the lady who lost her wedding ring-"
"I know, Darcy. I know. I'm not saying I don't want you along." I paused, considered, then atypically opted to just tell the truth. Sort of. "They, uh, say I can't bring you with me."
Darcy lowered his voice to a whisper. "Then we will not tell them."
"Sorry, Darcy. I'll have to drop you off at home."
I knew he wasn't happy about it, but he was too nice to argue, too sweet-hearted to cause me any grief. He threw away his empty custard cup and headed toward my beat-up Chevy.
"I just hope I can manage," I said, trying to bolster his spirits. "It's been a long time since I went out on a job without you by my side. I probably won't know what to do."
"It will go very well. You will be very wonderful," he said, sliding into the passenger seat. His eyes looked as if they were brimming with tears.
"And how can you know that?"
"Because we had custard together today," he replied, beaming that goofy, beatific smile. "And any day we have custard together is a Very Excellent Day. It's a rule."
It took me four months to stop stuttering and not be nervous and ask Susan to adopt me and then when I did she said no and she laughed at me I mean she did not really laugh at me but her voice did I could hear it because it was just like when I ask my dad if I could be a policeman or when the ladies at the day care watch me change a diaper and why would anyone laugh because no one wants to change a diaper I remember when my mother was alive and she used to Stop. Susan says I have to learn to stop and slow down and focus and put more periods in my thinking and I like Susan so I am going to try. To do. What she says. It is hard when there are so many ideas going on inside my brain all at once I wish I could block some of them out but I cannot they just keep coming and I have a hard time remembering what I am supposed to do because my head is like a computer trying to do too many things at once and then the CPU gets blocked and it crashes and I don't remember to stop and Reboot. Windows is loading. One thought at a time.
Being with Susan is always interesting. I like being with Susan but she would not let me be with her today and it is my dad's fault it is always his fault he never never never wants to let me do anything he does not think I can do anything he just scowls at me and acts all disappointed and I wish I did not look so much like my mother I think it would be better if I did not look so much like my mother because then maybe my dad Stop. Blinking hourglass symbol. One thought at a time.
I am disappointed that my dad would not let me go. With Susan. Because I love Susan and I want to be with her always. I knew she would never marry me because I am so stupid and weird but I thought that maybe if she adopted me then we could live together and we would not have to be married. I do not care if we do sex because I do not know how and I think it has a lot of touching so I probably would not like it and probably would not be any good at it anyway. I do not care about anything except that I want to be with Susan and I love her. I like babies and babies usually like me and if we had babies that would be very nice I think. Babies are easier to understand than big people.
I still see the Bad Man sometimes at night when I am sleeping or just before I am sleeping. Susan says I should not let him scare me because he cannot hurt me now but he does he does he hurts me and I don't know what to do about it. I think that if Susan would adopt me then the Bad Man would go away forever just like my mother did but she said no so now I am alone with my father and I am not happy and he is not happy and what is the point of everyone not being happy?
I wish that I were with Susan. I hope that she does not meet another Bad Man.