章 5: Chapter five
CHAPTER 5
RAHAM, BUDDY, KICK THE ball. Come on. Graham… Graham!" I clapped my hands, trying to grab his
attention, but I'd lost him to a jet flying overhead.
His little mouth hung open, and his big, dazzling blue eyes
—Chris's eyes—took it all in. Other than those two pale orbs, he was a Doyle through and through with his dark hair, naturally tanned complexion, prominent brow, and square jaw. His fingers fluttered at his side, a mark of excitement.
I chuckled and shook my head, glancing back at my sister who was nursing seven-month-old Kylee under a thin blanket as she lounged on the park bench. "And here I thought I was more fun than air traffic."
"That will teach you." Amelia smiled the standard-issue Doyle smile. "He's been kicking the ball for almost fifteen
minutes. That's a record. You should feel accomplished, not shunned."
It was an accomplishment.
My nephew's attention span was sparse, especially when it came to activities where he had to play cooperatively with another person. We'd been practicing so he was better prepared for school in a few weeks, but it was an uphill battle.
Moments later, the airplane was long forgotten—as was Uncle Aslan and the soccer ball. Graham dropped to his hands and knees and dug in the gravel pit surrounding the play equipment, spewing random facts about backhoes and excavators as though giving a seminar to an invisible audience. His stern little voice held more than enough authority and his speech enough maturity to turn heads.
I wandered to Amelia and joined her on the bench, kicking my feet out and fanning my T-shirt. Sweat trickled down my temples and back. It was hot and humid, typical weather for the end of August in southern Ontario. Too hot for jeans, which was what I'd worn since I rode my bike to the park.
There was an abundance of children and young parents milling around. Squeals of joy and laughter filled the air. A dog barked, yanking its leash taut as a group of kids shot off the end of the slide into a pile. Another child wailed with crocodile tears running down his cheeks because he'd fallen or gotten into a spat with a sibling. It was all very dramatic. Women and men alike pushed baby strollers or wagons and
cheered for little Timmy or Lacey or Drew with an over- exuberance unique to parents.
A handful of seagulls fought a group of teenagers for the fries they'd purchased from the fry truck in the parking lot. The teens yelled expletives and stomped their feet at the birds. The aggressive seagulls wouldn't retreat, their single- minded focus on the food, not the threat.
In the distance, the traffic along the main road provided ceaseless background noise to the already busy day. Cars, trucks, buses, horns, sighing air brakes, and ringing bells from cyclists contributed to the atmosphere. Every now and then, a siren wailed.
I'd lived in the greater Toronto area my whole life, so I was used to the constant bustle and energy that radiated from the city. It was a living, breathing entity that never stopped, regardless of weekends or holidays.
"Is everything set up with the school?" I asked as Amelia removed Kylee from under the blanket and fixed her shirt out of sight of onlookers. She was a pro at subtly nursing a baby in public. God help anyone who told her it wasn't appropriate. Amelia would verbally shred them in three different languages. She might have been younger by three years, but I'd always feared her temper. Another standard- issue Doyle trait.
"Hold her for a second." She plopped Kylee into my arms as she folded the blanket and put it away in the diaper bag on the back of the stroller. "Yeah, we're good to go with
school. We took a tour last week. Graham is excited. He's going to start with the rest of the kids the day after Labor Day. He'll have a part-time EA for the first month, then they'll evaluate how he's doing and make adjustments if needed."
"How do you feel?"
"Good. Nervous. I mean, he's ready for school. He's more than ready. I'm only worried he won't want to follow a new routine. Or he might get bored since he's leaps and bounds beyond the kindergarten curriculum. But what can I do? He can't stay home. He needs to learn how to socialize with other children."
Kylee nestled against my chest and stuck her thumb into her mouth, closing her eyes. The heat wafting off her little body only increased my internal temperature, but I wouldn't turn down baby snuggles for anything.
I rubbed her back and kissed the top of her sweaty head, inhaling. She smelled like baby powder and breast milk, a combination I associated with my niece.
Graham continued digging in the gravel, babbling to himself, giving instructions to invisible playmates and having a grand old time. He was oblivious as other children ran over and attempted to engage him or invite him to play. But that was my nephew.
Graham had been diagnosed with autism when he was a toddler, and he was often in his own world. The kid was smart as a whip. By age three, he was reading, puzzling
through simple math equations, and knew everything there was to know about airplanes, automobiles, trains, and construction vehicles. He was obsessed, but he marched to the beat of his own drum, and any changes to his stringent routine were often met with wild tantrums.
Integrating into public school would be a challenge, but Amelia had taken the necessary steps to ensure he had the best chance at success and the smoothest transition possible.
"Have you talked to Chris?"
"Last night. Hey, don't let her fall asleep." Amelia brushed wisps of dark hair from her daughter's forehead and rubbed her cheek. "It's too late for nappies, missy. Open those eyes. She'll never sleep tonight, Az. Wake her up."
"Hey, you."
I shuffled Kylee upright on my lap, bouncing her on my knee to rouse her until she gifted me with a toothless smile and grabbed my face in her chubby little palms. I rubbed my stubbly cheeks against her hands, making growly noises and pretending to nip at them until she giggled. It was the best sound in the world.
Unlike her brother, Kylee's eyes were as dark as Amelia's and mine. So far, she had all the Doyle good looks and none of our personality. Kylee was easygoing and agreeable—two things we Doyles weren't.
"Any word on when he's coming home?" I asked, referring to my brother-in-law, doing my best to keep the edge out of
my voice.
"Not until after Christmas. You know that. Stop asking."
It irritated me that Amelia's husband spent more time overseas than he did at home with his family. I bit my tongue against a remark since I'd been told more than once to mind my own business.
"Graham," Amelia called. "Five more minutes, then we have to leave."
Graham didn't acknowledge her, but when Amelia called his name a second time, he held up a hand with five fingers, indicating he understood. It was something Amelia had taught him a long time ago. She had a countdown warning system that worked wonders. When she gave him a three- minute warning, Graham would hold up three fingers. The same when he got his one-minute warning. Some parents might think it was overkill, but it significantly reduced Graham's tantrums when he knew what was coming. He functioned better if he could anticipate transitions.
But God help you if you didn't adhere to those timely warnings. The kid had an internal clock that was accurate to the tenth of a second. Try to shave any time off that five- minute warning, and you'd be sorry.
As I bounced Kylee on my knee, fake munching on her fingers when she hooked them on my lip, my phone rang. I shuffled Kylee so I could fish it from my pocket. She grabbed for it, but I held it out of reach.
My staff sergeant's name flashed on the screen.
"Fuck me."
Hey." Amelia smacked my arm. "Language. The last thing I need is for Kylee's first word to be vulgar."
"Sorry. It's work. I gotta take this."
"I thought it was your weekend off."
"Doesn't always work that way. You know that." I passed Kylee off to her mother and stood, pacing away from the bench as I accepted the call.
"Doyle." I used my all-business tone, ditching the charming brother slash uncle one I'd worn all day.
"Happy weekend off," my boss, Lindsey Summerfield, said in a far too cheerful tone.
"I made it to Saturday evening without hearing from you. I should have known it was too good to be true. What's up?"
"I need a favor, or rather, MPU needs a favor." "Tell them to file it under 'I don't give a fuck.'"
"Unfortunately, I can't do that. They've found themselves in a predicament, and I've been on the phone with Edwards for the last hour trying to help him out. They're in a pinch, and they need another set of hands."
"No."
"You don't get the privilege of using that word with me, Doyle."
"Shit." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like
this?"
"Remember our team-building day back in the spring?"
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