Chapter Thirteen

DURANGO WALTERS

Across the table sits Maxwell Williams, a younger, darker-featured version of myself from years ago. The kind of man I always wanted to meet, but never did. Trapped in a ten-year marriage, I never had the chance to express myself or explore my true identity. My family forced me to be the epitome of everything I wasn't. They expected me to become the alpha male, working construction or oil rigs during the week, and take on the sporty outdoorsman hobbyist on the weekends. For almost thirty years, I lived a lie.

Even after my divorce from Bethany, I continued to battle with my sexuality. Love seemed like a distant dream, too little, too late. Only when I finally confronted my demons, did I dip my toes into the dating pool. But with little luck in finding a true soulmate, I eventually gave up. Now, as a prospect to help this swarthy fashion photographer's seven-year-old daughter on the autism spectrum, my rate quickens. Ethics aside, this meeting—while professional—is the first in a long time to truly excite me.

All that to say, it's partly because I spend most of my days in storybook-themed rooms, talking to children using simplified vocabulary. Cleaning up Barbie and Ken dolls from the floor and battling the glitter station has become more routine than fun, adult conversation beyond the chatter between my client's parental units. Don't get me wrong, I love my work. But I so desperately yearn for an adult conversation like this. Usually, I maintain a distant, professional client-provider relationship. But something about Max compels me to share a bit more of myself than I normally would.

I clear my throat. "Since we're getting more personal than I usually do in an introduction meeting, I should tell you that my son, Gage, is also on the autism spectrum."

"That's a good thing in my book, actually," Max assures me, tossing his cup in a nearby trash can.

"I don't tell many parents, hardly ever, really," I clarify. "Some might think it clouds my perception or compromises my neutrality as a psychologist."

Max's phone buzzes on the tabletop. "Speaking of Lily, this is my sister," he says, sliding out from his chair. "I've been trying to return her calls and texts all evening—I think I should be going."

"No worries, Max, I understand. It's late," I say, extending my hand to shake his. "My son's probably wondering why he's at the babysitter's longer than usual, anyway."

He smiles. "Boy, don't I relate to that parental guilt?"

"Spectrum dads, right?" I chuckle, returning his smile in kind. "We should form a club and call it precisely that."

As we shake hands, Max turns and heads towards the door. He pauses for a moment, glancing back at me.

"I'll call you in a few days once I get back to Denver and talk with my sister about the move. You might just be the first person I've met on my quest to find a new provider for Lily here on the West coast. But for some weird reason, I think I already know you'll be an excellent person for her to place her trust in."

Offering a nod, I gather my padfolio and transfer my cup of ice to the trash can. "Thank you, Mr. Williams. It would be my honor to get to know Lily and help her with the transition from Denver to Seattle."

"Oh, please," he scrunches his face playfully. "Just call me Max. Mr. Williams is my dead father," he jokes, flailing a wrist.

I notice a sparkle in his eye as he walks past me, heading towards a car. It's not just the minor attraction that makes this interaction unusual. There's something else, something beneath the surface that feels immensely comfortable. There must be some force that brought this new client my way. And I doubt it has anything to do with our mutual friend, Dirk Halstead.

The commute from Jackson Street to my brother's home on the other side of Seattle will be a good time to catch up on my audiobook. I love the world of fiction. In fact, besides my brother and Gage, books are my primary source of entertainment. As much as I enjoy having a social life, it doesn't happen often because I'm a single father to a son with autism. But even with the heavy responsibility, I wouldn't trade having Gage for anything in the world. Just because I'm often stuck at home doesn't mean I can't have fun. Truth be told, most of the time I don't know how to have fun without Gage by my side. Thankfully, my brother Jake steps in whenever possible to help with raising his nephew.

As usual, the Seattle sky is turning gray, and another rain is about to grace the lush greenery of the Lakeside Estates subdivision. I pull my silver Honda Element into Jake's slanted drive, ready to face another evening of fatherhood.