Raphaela's Gift Read online

  "They have the cure," Marian had said three months ago, when she'd thrust an envelope at him. Inside, a colorful brochure filled with photographs of smiling children and a confirmation letter. She'd enrolled all three of them. "For Ella's sake."

  When she'd said the words, "For Ella's sake," he'd nearly lost control. Who'd been with Raphaela day and night for the past three years? Who'd helped her adjust to the divorce? Tried to hold her after she'd skinned her knee or bumped her head? Comforted her when she woke screaming from nightmares?

  Not Marian.

  Now she was thinking about Raphaela?

  Even so, he wouldn't have wanted things any other way. Raphaela, despite her aversion to being touched, lack of eye contact, and continual silence, filled his heart with sweet, pure love.

  He didn't need Marian signing him up for some useless camp. He was doing fine. Sure, things were tough at home, but that didn't mean he needed intervention. He was tired, that's all. Who wouldn't be? He rarely got a break. Every night, he drove straight home from work and spent every remaining moment with Raphaela. She needed no less. Deserved no less.

  Complicating matters, Missy, the nanny, who'd been a lifesaver for the past three years, gave him notice before they left. She was marrying a captain in the Navy and moving to Florida. No emergency, he kept telling himself, merely an inconvenience. He'd find another nanny after they returned.

  The front tire skidded in the loose gravel on the side of the road. Garret dragged his thoughts back to driving. The road was notably narrower, giant oaks crowding both sides, forming a lush canopy overhead. The quiet, cool blue of the sky, green of the leaves, lack of traffic and city noise all lent the area serenity. He shut off the air conditioning and opened the window a tiny bit, indulging in the sweet smell of clean air.

  Hoping the draft hadn't upset Raphaela more, he glanced her way. No change, but at least he hadn't made things worse. The sight of her so distraught sliced his heart into pieces and sent the bits into his throat. What the hell was he doing?

  The truth was, if her behavior hadn't grown progressively worse the past few months, and if her demands hadn't left him so overwhelmed, he never would have agreed to the camp.

  He shook his head. He'd never seen himself like this before, no more than a jumble of conflicting emotions: regret for dragging Raphaela to the camp, guilt for feeling so burdened, uncertainty about the camp itself.

  Without thinking, he reached for her. His fingertips brushed her hand. She jerked away, screeching like a wild animal and flailing her arms and legs. That was a mistake, he told himself, frustrated at his stupidity. He should have been more careful. If anytime, now was not the time to touch her. It was risky enough at home where she was secure. Still, he couldn't just sit next to her and do nothing.

  He edged the SUV off the road and studied the map in his Mountain Rise welcome packet while waiting for her to calm down. The spells were becoming more frequent and more difficult to handle, but he tried to hold to his belief-- let her work her way through them on her own.

  "Okay now, sweetie?" he asked after she'd settled into her previous rhythm. Battling the temptation to turn around and drive home, he pulled onto the road and continued south. The camp was only a mile away. No sense in leaving. If Raphaela became too upset, he'd take her home tomorrow.

  As he drove the truck through the camp's arched wooden gate, his stomach twisted. Was it a twinge of apprehension? Dread because he'd have to deal with Marian for more than a handful of stress-clogged minutes?

  He parked in front of the rustic-looking log building. "This is the place, kiddo. We're here." A sign stretched across the front, under the eaves: "Mountain Rise, Welcome Campers!"

  "You're in for a big adventure. Let's have some fun." He peered at her.

  She squinted out the window for a moment, and then recoiling, resumed her head shaking and rocking. If nothing else, the activity would leave her exhausted by nightfall.

  After shutting off the engine and setting the parking brake, he opened his door and stood on the gravel drive. The pebbles popped under his loafers as he walked around to the SUV's back and opened the rear door.

  When he pulled out their suitcases, two teen boys, dressed in shorts and t-shirts emblazoned with "Mountain Rise," ran to him.

  "Welcome to Mountain Rise, Doctor Damiani," said one, taking a suitcase from Garret. "I'm Jeffrey and this is Dan," he said, motioning toward the other boy. "You can step inside and check in. Would you like some help with your daughter?"

  "Wow, thanks. Sure," he said, impressed Jeffrey knew his name.

  Dan, who'd been standing silent but displaying an eager grin, nodded and dashed into the lodge, returning moments later to proclaim, "Miss LeFeuvre will be here in a minute."

  Nodding, Garret handed the other suitcases to Dan. "What does Miss LeFeuvre do here?" he asked, making small talk. He didn't like standing around waiting, especially with a stranger.

  "She's an art therapist--been told she's the best. She's new here, but everyone likes her so far."

  He ducked into the back of the truck and reached for Raphaela's favorite blanket, which he'd brought to help her settle down at night. She'd never stayed in a strange place overnight. He had no idea what to expect. "Art therapist? Who ever heard of an art therapist?"

  "You haven't heard of an art therapist?" A woman asked, her voice not the gritty, post-pubescent one that had spoken moments ago.

  Jerking back, he clunked his head on the truck's rear hatch. Gritting his teeth at the throbbing pain, he resisted the temptation to throw his hand on his head and howl. After drawing in a slow, deep breath, he turned to face the woman he assumed was Miss LeFeuvre, the art therapist. It was always his luck--make a stupid comment about someone, and they end up behind him.

  Immediately his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. She wasn't anything like he'd imagined. Her title had elicited images of a young kid, mid twenties, with a pierced nose or spiky black hair. The artsy type.

  Instead, she was a beautiful woman with silky blond hair, and round, blue eyes leveled at him in silent censure.

  "You were about to say?" Her voice was sharp and yet he sensed she was neither as angry, nor as insulted, as she sounded.

  Of its own volition, his gaze meandered down her body, lingering at the swell of her breasts, emphasized by her v-neck t-shirt. Her khaki shorts accentuated the narrow span of her waist and hips and her trim thighs. Yet, she wasn't waif thin, like Marian. He preferred a woman who was built like a woman. No boyish hard body for him.

  When his regard ventured back to her face, he realized she was older than he'd expected--possibly in her thirties, his age.

  Wrenching his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he thrust his hand out and stammered, "Garret Damiani. Nice to meet you."

  She smiled, then glanced at his hand, and lifted azure eyes back to his face. Placing her hand in his, she said, "Faith LeFeuvre. Questioning the program already, Doctor Damiani?"

  "Me? Questioning the program? Not at all." After dragging his regard from Miss LeFeuvre, he brushed past her to the passenger side door to see how Raphaela was doing. She was still rocking back and forth, clearly traumatized by the trip.

  He stepped away from the truck and whispered, "Ella's having a hard time. I don't know if she'll make it through the program."

  "I understand, Doctor Damiani."

  He turned to face Miss LeFeuvre. Normally able to talk anyone's ear numb, as long as it was about nothing consequential, he clambered for something worthwhile to say.

  The awkward moment swelled, until she spoke, "Shall we see if we can get her out of the car? Small trials lead to big changes. I think the results you will see by the end of the camp will surprise you."

  He lowered his voice again. "You can save the sales pitch for someone else, Miss LeFeuvre. I'm a psychiatrist. I know about autism, and I know the likelihood of a child like Ella learning to speak, let alone lead a remotely normal life. Two weeks at camp aren't going to change a thin
g." The muscles along her jaw tightened, and Garret couldn't help chuckling. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so close-minded."

  "Can you answer one question for me?"

  "Sure," he said, curious, but leery.

  "Why did you come?"

  He paused. Why had he? To prove to himself that hoping for some miracle cure was an exercise in futility? To get Marian off his back? Because he wanted his baby to speak to him--if only once? To have Raphaela look into his eyes and connect with him instead of staring through him? "Because I love my daughter and am willing to try anything, even something I truly have no faith in, to help her."

  "Fair enough." Her voice had lost its sparkle, fallen flat. She obviously didn't approve of his answer.

  "Shall we?" He motioned toward Raphaela, interested to see how Faith would handle her.

  "Do you mind letting me try?" She motioned toward the car door.

  "Absolutely not. Please, go right ahead. You’re the professional here. I won't throw my weight around or get in your way."

  Visibly relieved, she opened the door, and stooping down until she was eye-level with Raphaela, she moved close and said her name softly, "Raphaela?"

  Raphaela jerked her head and flopped her hands in front of her face. Miss LeFeuvre wasn't going to get anywhere that way.

  "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you're too close. She doesn't like people standing so close."

  Silent, she shot an arm at him and motioned for him to back away. Then she dropped her hand and started mimicking Raphaela's motions.

  A hearty chortle leap-frogged in his belly, springing up his throat. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to curb his levity, certain she'd take his laughter the wrong way. But he could hardly help himself. What a sight: a grown woman flopping her hands as though the bones had suddenly become molten marshmallows. He turned away, knowing he would lose control if he didn't stop watching. What was she doing?

  He took a moment to admire the nearby landscaping, the fragrant white peonies, and delicate pink impatiens and blue primroses. Sure, he wasn't normally much for flowers, but they were a great distraction when he needed one.

  "There you are, Raphaela. Hello, I'm Faith. It's good to see you."

  What was she doing now? When he turned around to peek, he couldn't believe what he saw. Raphaela was sitting quietly for the first time since they'd left home. More importantly, she was looking into Faith's eyes and smiling! "How?"

  Her eyes glued to Raphaela, Faith thrust her hand up at him again. "Can you come out of the truck for me, Raphaela? Come and see my pretty colors," she said in a soft voice.

  As Garret stood gape-mouthed, his little girl, a child who'd never looked anyone in the eye, never spoken a word, or tried to communicate, nodded and hopped to the ground.

  Faith stood, a triumphant grin on her face. "We'll follow you." She reached out to grip Raphaela's hand.

  A mistake!

  As soon as Faith's hand closed around Raphaela's, his daughter shrank back and howled, falling to the ground.

  "Oh my!" Faith said.

  What was she thinking?

  Faith lifted trembling fingers to her mouth. Her gaze focused on Raphaela, she mumbled, "I should have known not to--"

  "Many autistic children can't handle being touched," he interrupted. Faith should have known not to touch her, but he wasn't about to say as much. However, as Raphaela's frantic cries stirred his agitation, keeping his thoughts to himself became impossible. "How long have you been working with autistic patients?" He dropped to his knees next to Raphaela, who lay on the cobblestone walkway, kicking and wailing. A safe distance from her, he softly sang, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…"

  "I'm new. I've been working with learning disabled kids since I graduated, but not autistic. I realize that's no excuse. After she reacted so well, I got overconfident…"

  He lifted his hand to silence her. A scarlet stream dribbled from Raphaela's forehead, down her cheek and off her chin. "Look, she's hurt! If Mountain Rise can't hire trained staff, I don't want any part of it."

  "I'm so sorry." The softness of her voice, the sound of genuine regret, failed to temper his anger.

  "Garret, what happened?"

  The sound of Marian's voice, and its accusatory tone, fed his blazing wrath. He stood, and turning, growled in a low voice, "This is your fault. What the hell were you thinking?"

  Wide-eyed, Marian glinted at Raphaela and then back up at him. "Can't you make her stop?"

  "No, I can't. She's had quite a day. First, we drove five hours to get here. Then, as if the trip wasn't enough to set her off, Faith decided to lay hands on her. What therapist, who's hired to work with autistic kids, touches a patient without at least asking the parents first?"

  Sliding a glance at Faith, Marian stammered, "She touched her? Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake--"

  "A mistake, yes, that's exactly what it was, a mistake-- coming here. Once I get Ella settled down, I'm taking her home. Mountain Rise isn't going to help her, Marian. It's going to traumatize her. I can't stand by and watch that happen."

  "But didn't you see how she connected with me?" Faith interjected.

  "I don't want to hear another word from you," he said, being careful to speak low enough so Raphaela would not hear him. "That was a trick. She didn't know what you were doing. You were merely training her like an animal."

  Shaking her head, Faith said in a quiet voice, "No, you're wrong. She did know."

  Damn, she had a lot of nerve! He gritted his teeth and looked at Marian. "I suggest you get this woman away from me."

  Marian nodded and motioned for Faith to step back.

  Although he had returned his attention to Raphaela, whose paroxysm was beginning to subside, he didn't miss Marian's suggestion that Faith return to her other duties.

  "I'll talk to him," Marian said conspiratorially.

  Yeah, like that's going to do any good!

  Marian returned to his side, stooped down next to him, and teetering on high-heeled sandals and tucking her skirt over her knees, whispered, "Can we talk about this?"

  "Look at her." He motioned toward Raphaela, who'd sat up, but was still rocking, shaking her head, and flapping her arms like a mad bird. "Is this program worth risking her safety? She could have a concussion; I can see a bump already." He pointed at her head. "That's a bad cut. She might need stitches. And what about all the work I've done? I'm not willing to risk the progress I've made the past three years for a long-shot."

  "But Mountain Rise is a shot, Garret. We have to try."

  Marian's expression was pleading, but he couldn't give in. Not again. He glanced down. Raphaela continued to struggle to comfort herself. "No, we don't. She's not ready. Damn it, I love her. I can't stand seeing her like this!" How he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

  Marian gripped his arm, and coaxed him to stand. As they stepped away from Raphaela, he turned to meet Marian's gaze.

  She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her. "I can't either, Garret. Why do you think I've avoided seeing her? I don't know how to reach her." She hesitated, her lip quivering and her eyes reddening. "It's killing me to see her like this too. I want to be her mother, not a virtual stranger. Mountain Rise is my only hope."

  He bit his lip to keep from saying what he really wanted to, that it was her fault she was a stranger to their daughter, that he didn't give a damn about her feelings, that she didn't deserve anything after what she'd done.

  "For Raphaela, Garret. Please. She deserves everything we can do to help her," Marian added, her hands clasped together and tucked under her chin.

  He smoothed back the curls drooping over his forehead. Damn if she didn't know how to manipulate him. "What if she gets hurt again? What if these people are a bunch of quacks? I'll never forgive myself if something happens to her."

  "I'm scared too, but I still think it's worth a try."

  His resolve was failing. Looking at his daughter, watching her r
ock and jerk, he searched for a compromise. "Okay, one day. Twenty-four hours, but if anything else happens, we're leaving." What could one day hurt? He expected the intake and dinner would take up most of the evening. Not much could go wrong there, or at least, he hoped it couldn't.

  Meanwhile, he'd check out the materials and watch how the staff interacted with the patients. One day was plenty of time for them to win him over. If they were able to convince him that they could, by some miracle, reach Raphaela, he'd stay.

  * * *

  Faith leaned back, her bottom resting against a low wooden fence, wishing she could rewind time and start over. Her first week, first day, had begun with a bang. Darn, darn, darn!

  Chewing on her lip, she watched Doctor Damiani, the man she'd read about in her undergraduate psychology classes; struggle to undo the damage she'd thoughtlessly caused. Of all the people to make a mistake with, the child of a respected psychiatrist.

  What a stupid thing to do. As she chafed her face with her palms, she swallowed bitter regret. Of course, she'd known not to touch the patients. Why had she forgotten? Poor Raphaela.

  Through stinging eyes, she studied the little girl, a beauty, with a head full of dark curls and giant blue eyes. She looked like a sprite, otherworldly, and tiny for her six years. Her cheekbones were high, her mouth full, and her nose narrow and upturned. She sat on the ground, rocking madly and shaking her head.

  Faith forced her gaze to Garret, and immediately noted the similarity in their features, although Raphaela's displayed confusion and his pure anger.

  With one careless act, she'd destroyed what little confidence he'd had in the Mountain Rise program.

  Considering his background, his skepticism was understandable, all the more reason to be cautious. Mountain Rise was a unique program, and such programs were sometimes looked upon as a sham by psychiatrists. She admired him for taking the chance and coming anyway. That revealed something about his character--an eagerness to exercise all options, and she respected him for that.