cues about how to act and what to pay attention to."
That made sense. And didn't explain the tinges of sadness as their visitor talked. He replied from his gut. "It didn't work that way for you?"
"No." One word, loaded with finality and yearning. "Most people with autism never learn how to do that. And it makes sitting in a room like this so much harder."
He was lost. "Why?"
She was watching him now. "When Kenna looks at you, it's kind of like a shortcut to figure out what she should be doing. Because you're not worried about me, she doesn't have to be. Because Nat's not paying attention to the noisy little papers flapping over in the corner, she doesn't have to."
Jamie looked over in the corner. A small stack of Kenna's latest finger-painting masterpieces flapped in an invisible flow of air - the edge of one of Nell's soundproofing spells, most likely. "You can hear that?"
"We all can. But the three of you can easily ignore it."
He tried to imagine a life distracted by random bits of flapping paper. "What else do you notice in the room?"
Her face didn't change, but her mind tinged with appreciation for his interest. "I hear some odd creaks - pipes, most likely. And three dogs barking from the north, south, and southeast. A car backfired about four minutes ago." Beth paused a moment. "There are some warmer air currents coming under that door over there. The kitchen, maybe - there are whiffs of tomato and oregano."
His tomato sauce. "You're totally welcome to stay for dinner." She really was. Anyone who delighted his daughter and his wife in the same day could sit at his table for as long as they wanted.
She smiled back. "Nat's rocking chair has something under the left side that's slightly breaking her rocking rhythm. And something smells over behind that green beanbag chair - moldy bread, maybe?"
Holy hell. Kenna liked to hide food, but his mind wasn't on his witchling at the moment. "How do you function with all that in your head?"
"I can't." She was back to watching his girlchild. "I've learned my own weird little filing system for what's important. I missed learning how to do that when my parents were close by, so I have to do it the hard way. It helps a lot when there's a child in the room - I can usually take my cues from them."
He let out a breath. "We have lots of kids around here." And every last one of them would be delighted to hang out with a witch who understood that toy butterflies liked to eat cookies.
This time, her smile came with a tinge of embarrassment. "More than one child brings a different kind of challenge."
Crap. Of course. "Well, then, we have lots of kids you're welcome to spend time with one at a time." His brain was going a mile a minute now. Plenty of those munchkins had fire power, too. He'd finally found something helpful - no way was he letting it go.
She laughed, a sound that had Kenna looking up from the feeding of her treasured "bufly." "You're a lot like Nell. The two of you are very persistent."
He had no idea whether that was a compliment or not. But he'd made a discovery with his persistence. The person most likely to help them make sense of Beth was... Beth.
"So you don't filter information the way Kenna does." He routed back over what she'd said in his head, trying to grab the most salient points. This connected to teaching her - it had to. "Or have you watched enough children that you do learn that way now?"
She shook her head. "Not really. I was taught to make eye contact and to look like I'm paying attention. And I've practiced a lot - Liri helps with that. But mostly, I have compensations to replace what Kenna does naturally. In a familiar environment, they work pretty well."
She didn't have to say the rest. Accidentally teleport her into Witch Central and toss chaos-as-usual at her, and they'd thoroughly broken a lot of the ways she functioned.