As Tears Go By by Lydia Michaels Read Free Book Online Page A

tell me all about your exciting weekend with Daddy.”
    With
quick reflexes, she caught her eight year old’s wrists as he pivoted and shoved
her. Rotating his back to her belly, she struggled to force his arms low.
Crossing one arm over his chest, locking down the other flailing arm, she
dodged his thrashing attempts to lash out in a show of desperate defiance.
    Controlling
his outbursts had become a bit more challenging with his recent growth spurt.
He’d always been strong, but since sprouting up another six inches and packing
on a goodly amount of weight, it wasn’t as easy as it had once been to detain
Hunter when his tantrums struck.
    His
head swung wildly from side to side as he carried on. His frustration mounted,
segmenting his words into nonsensical sounds. Becca pinned her arm around his
chest, holding his limbs down in an attempt to subdue the thrashing.
    Sharp
pain exploded in her jaw as his head jerked back and she winced, blinking back the
burn of sting-induced tears. “Hunter,” she said sternly. “You hurt Mommy. Take
a deep breath.”
    His
shoulders heaved as he muttered sounds, waging an internal battle. Becca’s arms
remained around him, holding his back tightly to her front and his temper
slowly waned. Resting her chin on his soft brown hair, she carefully
transferred both his wrists to one hand, and used her other arm to apply
pressure to his shoulders. “That’s it. Deep breaths.”
    Her
grip remained secure, the impersonal pressure of her hold settling him. It took
well over five minutes before she could let him go. When she finally did, she
braced for another attitude shift.
    This
was difficult for all of them. Kevin’s absence from the house hadn’t disturbed
Hunter so much in the beginning, but once they’d started custody visits, many
of Hunter’s older habits returned with a vengeance.
    Hunter,
like many children on the autism spectrum, needed a dependable routine. Becca
talked with his team at school and they helped her create charts that adapted
to their new family schedule. On Friday, Hunter had been fine. However,
returning home, even after three days with his father, seemed to be too
unsettling for her son to handle gracefully.
    “Are
you ready to come inside?”
    “Mmm,”
he mumbled, affirming he was ready.
    She
took his wrist and slowly led him through the garage. They weren’t quite out of
the woods yet.
    The
tendons in Hunter’s small hands and fingers flexed as he widened his fingers
and rotated his wrists like talons. His head bopped as he repeated quietly,
“Come inside. Come inside. Come inside.” Echolalia was a tendency of Hunter’s
whenever he came out of a tantrum.
    Shooting
Kevin a glare regarding his usual lack of assistance in a crisis, helped dispel
some of her frustration. Thankfully, Kevin’s need to escape prevented him from
lingering.
    “I’m
gonna take off,” he said as Becca released Hunter’s arm as he entered the
house.
    Pulling
the door only partially closed she asked, “Has he been like this all weekend?”
    Kevin’s
expression showed offense. “No, Rebecca, just today when I mentioned returning
home.” His fingers forked through his hair. “I thought we were past this shit.”
    That
was the thing with autism. It never ended. It had taken her years to come to
terms with her son’s limitations, but it wasn’t all work. There were days
Hunter blew her away with his abilities to do what ordinary people could not.
She had, over time, embraced her son’s world, submerged herself in helpful
literature, and met frequently with the people involved in his progress. Kevin
had done no such thing.
    Being a
parent of a child living with autism was tiring in ways most families couldn’t
comprehend. But what utterly exhausted her was trying, for eight years, to
teach her husband that their son was different, not broken.
    She
retrieved Hunter’s bags and sighed. “How did you handle it?”
    With
uninformed arrogance, Kevin said, “Rebecca,