The story so far:
"Mrs. Nichols, perhaps we should end our session for today. No, no need to worry - I will certainly adjust the bill accordingly."
Anne Marie looked at the therapist gauging whether or not she caught on to the disguised emotions Anne Marie was hiding. Finding no obvious sign, Anne Marie stood and after gathering her purse and light jacket collected Davy from the floor where he had been sitting.
Davy came along willingly, not really looking at his mother, yet apparently aware of where she was in her proximity to him.
They made their way to the door.
The therapist took a moment to squat down below Davy's line of sight and speak to him her good-byes.
"It was nice visiting with you, Davy. Would you like to come back again, soon?"
Her question hung in the air for several moments.
Then after an extended pause Davy answered, "Yes, Helen, but I won't see you anymore, after he kisses you."
With that Davy walked the last few steps to the door, opened it and stepped out of the therapist's office.
Helen stood, a question perched on her lips meant for Anne Marie.
Anne Marie simply turned and walked out after Davy without as much as a word of good-bye.
Helen was well-versed in the usual uniqueness of autistic children. Some could astound you with their musings if you weren't ready or expecting them.
Still, Davy's parting statement nudged Helen in a way she did not expect.
"..When he kisses you...” that was almost funny when Helen thought of it. "Who's gonna kiss me?" she said aloud to the empty office. At forty-two she had little anticipation of who this person Davy mentioned could be. And the fact that she was a lesbian only made the notion that much more amusing to Helen.
An underlying...vibration, for lack of a better word, seemed to thrum through her when she recalled Davy saying what he said. It made her feel queasy.
Helen chose to disguise this unexpected response by busying her thoughts with Davy.
That poor child she thought. His mother all but outright hates him for being the way he is; it is so plain on her face when she looks at him. Perhaps the father will come next time and I will talk to him, see if he sees this as well and get him to admit it, both to me and himself.