Rachel Alexander 04 - Lady Vanishes

car. Not only that, he was a safe driver. I was asked to see a patient upstate once, and he drove me.”
    “You don’t drive?”
    “Well, there’s not much need for a car in the city. But he had one, and he wanted to take me, too. I think he wanted me to see that there was something he could do well. He was totally sure of himself, confident, a graceful driver, and obviously, smart enough to know the rules and pass the test. But in the rest of his life he was the consummate klutz, in addition to his crippling stutter. The moral of the story is, you never know. Dad calls the phenomenon holes in the clouds, you know, a spot where the sun can shine through.
    “David won’t mimic activities either. This is as good as it gets, and it took two years before he’d get this close to any activity. I do better with those in wheelchairs than with David, maintaining enough upper body strength and eye-hand coordination by tossing a big, light ball around. I can even get Eddie to do things, but not David.”
    “Which one is Eddie?”
    “The Down’s syndrome man. He’s a real sweetheart, and game. He tries everything.”
    I nodded.
    “That class is tomorrow. It’s usually after breakfast, but because of the funeral, it’ll be after lunch. Come and watch, Rachel. And you should come to our Wednesday-night meeting, too, the staff and Dad, um, Dr. Kagan, talking about progress and problems. He’s—Dad is—very receptive to suggestions, and being new, I bet you’ll have some. And some questions, too. It’s here, in the dining room, eight o’clock.”
    “Thanks, I’ll come.”
    “See you then,” he said, the sweat still running down his full cheeks.
    “And in the morning,” I said, “I thought I’d go to the service.”
    “It seems to me you’re part of the family already,” he said, then he turned back to the kids, walking over to an older woman in a wheelchair, the one who wore the tiara.
    There was a heavyset woman at the other end of the dining room, helping people get ready to leave. It was after nine, time for everyone to turn in, time for me to make like I had a reason to be here other than sheer nosiness.
    The woman I’d noticed was crossing the dining room now, headed my way. I began to polish up my fish stories, but she only nodded to me. It was David she was after, not me.
    “Time for bed, sweet pea,” she said, “follow Molly. Here we go,” she said, as if she were helping him up. But she wasn’t. David had put his hands on the floor to help himself up. “Good boy,” Molly said, so Dashiell, who was also up now, wagged his tail. Then Molly turned to me. “I hope you and Dashiell will excuse us, Rachel. It’s time for David to clean up for bed.”
    “Good night, David.” I stepped out into the lobby with them. “Nice to meet you, Molly.” She nodded without turning around. A busy woman.
    Two more people who were here in the evening.
    I watched Molly head for the stairs, David following, thinking at least he did that, he climbed the stairs a few times a day, something to keep a minimum amount of muscle tone. He was thin as a bone, his arms at his side, his fingers tapping again, trailing after Molly, who moved from side to side, carrying her weight slowly up the stairs, her little lamb behind her.
    So he understood Molly.
    Or did he just know the routine?
    I watched until they were out of sight, thinking that, sure, he probably did understand some of the stuff he heard, glad I hadn’t talked about Lady within his earshot, but that he never looked from side to side. He never turned around. For whatever reason, he no longer had the curiosity all of us are born with, the desire to know what’s going on, the joy that comes with discovery.
    Jackson had the desire to paint, and the Weissman twins their passion for argument. Someone else drew pictures, too, the kid who’d rendered the tree a dozen times, once more when the squirrel had come for its brief visit.
    I bent over Dashiell and dried him off with the paper towels, dried my hand as well.
    When I looked back at the dining room, the last of the kids was leaving, Samuel heading for the elevator with Charlotte at his side.
    “Bedtime stories,” he said. “Would you and Dashiell like to join us?”
    “I’ll pass, but thanks,” I told him. “You gave me a wonderful idea a moment ago, and I want to work something out with Dashiell, a surprise for tomorrow’s movement class.”
    His eyebrows went north again. “Oh,” he said,