“I thought we’d go to the library, Dylan,” I said as I started down the street, towards Farmington Avenue. “It’s open till six on Tuesdays. Have you been to the library since…?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence.
Dylan shook his head. His eyes were wide, and he was watching me carefully, as if looking for cues. Had he always looked at me that way, or was it new, because I was becoming a stranger? I told myself not to overanalyze everything, and just try to be with my son.
The library was thankfully quiet, the afterschool crowd having gone home for dinner, the toy area wonderfully empty. Sue, the main librarian, was behind the main desk, and she half-rose from her chair as we came in, giving us a wide smile.
“Dylan! Beth! I haven’t seen you in a while.”
It was over a month since I’d lost Dylan. I managed a smile back. “We’ve been busy.”
“How are you, Dylan?” she asked, knowing not to expect an answer, but Dylan gave her a smile and a nod, which was a lot for him.
I knew I should have been gratified and even excited by this progress, but it scared me. Why had it taken Dylan leaving me for him to start making these strides? What had I missed? What had I done?
“How have you been, Beth?” Sue asked as Dylan went to play with the ever-enticing train table. “Busy, you said?”
“Um, yeah.” I glanced at Dylan; he was happily running a train along the wooden track. If there were any other kids here, I’d be nervous of a screeching meltdown, but I thought he should be fine on his own. Still, I felt a little nervous, as I always did in public places. At any moment, some snotty-nosed kid could swoop in and swipe his train.
“Things okay?” Sue asked, eyebrows raised, and I forced myself to look back at her.
“Yes, they’re fine. Good.” I was not about to explain.
“Dylan seems well.” She nodded towards the train table. “A little less shy than he usually is.”
“Yeah.” My stomach churned at the thought. “Yeah, he does.”
I kept a discreet eye on Dylan as I moved around the children’s sections of the library, selecting books for him. He was involved in the trains, and not once did he glance up and look at me, as he usually would.
Normally I wouldn’t venture far, making sure he could always see me, and I’d rush forward if I sensed anything that could be a threat. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? How else is a mother supposed to manage, with a child who can scream for over an hour without stopping, provoked by the smallest or most unexpected thing?
Yet right then, watching Dylan from afar, I second-guessed everything. And when a boy came into the library with his dad and careened towards the train table, I hesitated for a fraction of a second, just to see.
The new kid started commandeering all the trains on the table except for the one clutched in Dylan’s hand. I couldn’t see the expression on my son’s face as this new boy began to take over the table, but I could feel myself tense with both outrage and fear. Normally by now I’d be over there, hustling Dylan away, glaring at the other child. This time I stood frozen, waiting, although I wasn’t sure what for. Then the kid made a grab for the train in Dylan’s hand. There were a dozen or more trains on the table, but he wanted my son’s. I didn’t wait for Dylan’s response, I just charged over.
“Come on, Dylan, sweetheart.” I touched his shoulder, and he turned to me, his mouth opening in what I knew would be that unholy screech. “Dylan…”
Dylan started to scream, and the kid backed away, looking shocked, and I took Dylan’s hand and led him out of the library without checking out any books.
It was only when we were walking back towards Ally’s house that he finally stopped screaming. And it was only when we were going up the path to her front door that I wondered if he’d started not because of that boy, but because of me.
The day after the library incident, Susan called me to set an appointment to go over Dylan’s psychiatric evaluation sometime after Thanksgiving. I asked for the bottom line over the phone, and with a sigh, she said, “It’s clear Dylan has severe anxiety issues.