“Sure, I love pizza,” he says, acting like I’m a totally normal person asking a completely acceptable question.
Phew. Disaster averted.
As Dev walks by, I look up and pat him on the shoulder, hoping like hell that all my internal thoughts have not been put on display by my traitor face. “Thanks for coming by.”
I can see from his expression that he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and I’d hate for him to feel that way because of me and my stupid reaction. He’s probably wondering if he did the right thing by coming here, and I don’t want him to have any doubts about that.
I used to feel nervous about walking into a room full of strangers with Sammy, knowing they were going to laugh as soon as they heard him speak, but I got used to it. Sammy’s little issue is nothing compared to what Dev and Jacob must deal with, so I want them both to know that in this house they have nothing to worry about. They can be themselves.
No sooner are those thoughts floating through my mind than I hear Sammy’s voice rise above all the others as the giggles die down. “Who ith that?” he asks.
I slam the door shut, probably too loudly, and rush to join the others in the family room. I nearly shove Dev out of the way in my effort to get there before Sammy can say anything that will end up hurting somebody’s feelings.
Before I can say anything, though, the young boy in the wheelchair responds. “I’m Jacob. I’m Dev’s son.”
I get there in time to see Sammy walking over and standing in front of his chair. “I went to McDonald’th with Dev. He’th cool.”
Jacob smiles. “Yeah. He is. He takes me to McDonald’s sometimes too.”
May grabs the two girls and pulls them into her lap so they can sit down and act like they’re not staring at Jacob. She tickles them, but they mostly ignore it, more interested in their brother’s activities. They know he’s going to ferret out the story before anything else happens in this room, unless I can get in there and stop him. I just need to do it without being obvious about it.
I take a deep breath and send up a prayer to the universe that the powers-that-be will guide my son toward doing the right thing. If I had time to prepare, I probably would’ve sat him down and explained why Jacob was in the wheelchair, and how we should discuss it when he was not around and how we should keep certain things to ourselves. But I didn’t have a chance, so I have to count on his childish innocence and my former attempts at mothering to win the day.
“How come you’re in that chair?” Sammy asks.
“I have cerebral palsy.” Jacob says it like it’s no big deal, but of course Sammy is completely confused by that explanation.
Sammy narrows his eyes and looks at Jacob suspiciously. “Can you walk?”
Okay. So much for asking the universe to lend a helping hand. I take a step into the family room, thinking I’m just going to throw up a big distraction and stop this conversation in its tracks. But Dev takes me gently by the hand, effectively stopping my progress and giving me a heart attack in the process. He’s holding my hand again!
When I look up at him, he nods at me and gives me a signal that I should just wait.
I look first at him and then his son, trying to decide if that’s the right thing to do. But eventually I figure that he must know these situations much better than I do, and having spent part of an afternoon with my son, he certainly knows what Sammy is capable of. Please God, do not let my son hurt anyone’s feelings. Dev lets my hand drop, and I work like hell to get a grip on my emotions. One minute I’m sailing on air, and the next I feel like I’ve plunged to the earth like Icarus, ready to go splat.
Jacob answers matter-of-factly. “Yes, I can walk, but I don’t like doing it. I’m really slow, and it’s not comfortable, but my dad makes me.”
Sammy nods. “How fatht can you go?” He points at the wheelchair.
Jacob nods sagely. “Pretty fast, actually. Probably faster than you can run.”
Sammy’s eyes get wide. “Wow, that’th really fatht.” He holds up one of his feet with two hands, so Jacob can see his Spider-Man shoes. “My thneakth are pretty fatht.”
Jacob nods. “I like Spider-Man.”
Sammy’s eyes brighten. “Me too! You want to play action figureth with me?”
Jacob shrugs, Mr. Cool all the way. “Sure. But I didn’t bring any of my guys with me.”
Sammy runs off to the corner of the room and drags a bucket full of toys over. “No problem. I have a whole bunch. You can share them.” Sammy picks up the bucket and leans in toward Jacob, giving him a full view of its colorful interior. “You can have any that you want. You can even uthe my favorite oneth.” He points to the most scarred and well-loved figures of the bunch: Spider-Man, of course, and Superman too.