The Wave Kristen Crusoe (best life changing books .txt) 📖

him, Steller’s jays, demanding food, hit the bird feeder outside the bedroom window with a crash, flashes of cobalt as their spread wings caught the emerging light. He lay there watching the colors drift around the room, dust motes captured in the movement of air from the open skylight above the bed.

That was one thing he had loved most about this house, the way the windows were designed to be open during the long months of rain, so that even in a downpour, they could feel and see sky above. He and Clair would lay there at night, listening to raindrops hit the sides of the skylight, feeling safe and warm in their bed. When had they stopped reaching for each other, he wondered? Not during her pregnancy. He had loved her bulbous belly, and would lay his head against her protruding belly button, listening and feeling the sensation of life inside. And not immediately after. Her breasts, swollen with milk, would leak during their lovemaking, and he would lick the sweet liquid from her skin. Somewhere around Devon’s second birthday, they began to notice how different he was from other toddlers and that he didn’t seem to be meeting the developmental benchmarks Clair read about in her childcare books. When they took him to the park, instead of playing on the swings, slides, and jungle gym playset, he would sit alone, in a corner of the sand-box, lining up the cars and trucks in exact order, from large to small. If another child came to play in the space, he would ignore them, continuing with his solitary activity.

Clair had told him this was ‘normal’ toddler behavior, called parallel play. But soon other signs began manifesting. His lack of eye contact, dislike at being held. He wasn’t as verbal as the other children at his pre-school. It was his teacher who suggested they take him to the pediatrician for an evaluation. Dr Chung had said that yes, it was difficult to make a definitive diagnosis at this early age, but it did very much look like autism. She administered a neurological screening tool, and the signs were impossible to dismiss. Their beautiful boy was on the spectrum, and only time would tell how severe his condition was. And that was when their connection with each other had changed. The more she focused on Devon, the more he distanced himself, from them both, Adam realized. Feeling his face reddening with shame at this revelation, he closed his eyes, soldering the memory deep into his consciousness so he would never forget.

There had not been any seeds in the feeder for months now but still the jays came, each morning, nagging and demanding. Adam thought, today, I’ll replenish their birdseed. Eyes still crusted with sleep and residue of salt, from the ocean and his own tears, he eased out of bed, muscles stiff from his time in the forest and on the beach. His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Stumbling his way to the bathroom, he kneeled next to the toilet, waiting for what would come. Not sick, hungry.

* * *

The waitress placed a large plate filled with over easy eggs, large slices of bacon, hash browns, and a stack of wheat toast, soggy with melted butter, in front of him. She held a coffee pot aloft like an offering. Eyebrows raised, she smiled a question.

‘Keep it coming, Cookie. Today’s a day for extra coffee,’ he said, holding his cup up to her.

‘Haven’t seen you in for a while,’ she said, her large hip resting on the edge of the table.

The diner was filling, but still quiet this early in the morning. The night shifters had left, day shifters just coming in. Adam had been a regular for years, before Clair. She had teased him about his southern style big breakfasts and, in deference to her tastes, he had gone with her to a coffee house offering gourmet drinks and eats. He would drop into the 101 Diner occasionally, to gorge on thick pancakes, bacon, eggs, biscuits, and all the trimmings. Reminding him of the meals at his grandmother’s, memories of the times in his life when he felt safe and loved, the diner provided him a respite from his daily act. Here, he felt he could be himself.

Just before his twelfth birthday, his mother had dropped him off in a state-run foster home, deciding that the new man in her life only had time for her and his younger brother, Allen. Adam had been rescued by his grandmother, and remained with her until he completed high school. She had made sure he ate every day, and had a quiet place to study and do his homework. Life with his mother had been noisy and chaotic. He missed his brother but thrived in the love and care of his grandmother. And he was hurt, to the core, that he had been the one who was not chosen. His mother had told him he was big enough to take care of himself. Tall and broad shouldered, he looked older than he was, and people often expected him to act in a certain way. He wasn’t athletic, preferring to read, daydream, and even then, act out scenes from his favorite movies. His grandmother was a seamstress, and would make elaborate costumes for him.

Before she abandoned him, his mother would criticize his daydreaming, snapping her fingers in front of his face, telling him to snap out of it. Their housekeeper, Bertha, would tell her to leave the boy alone, he’s just playing in his mind.

It was a working man’s diner, and at first, the regulars ignored him, bantering with Cookie or Tom back in the kitchen, casting doubtful glances at the man dressed casually elegant, when they were in their longshoreman or timber workers’ clothes. But when they did talk with him, at the counter or if seated at the same table due to crowding, his quiet presence, active listening, and non-judgmental attitude