Rainwater by Sandra Brown Page A

followed every careful motion of his hands.
    “I noticed last night how he was playing with the spools. Stacking them, placing them in perfect juxtaposition.” Although Mr. Rainwater was speaking to Ella, he didn’t look up at her. His concentration on placing the dominoes just so was as intense as Solly’s. “Seeing that gave me this idea.”
    To prevent any false impressions, she said quietly, “He does that with other things, Mr. Rainwater. Toothpicks. Buttons. Bottle caps. Anything uniform in shape.”
    Rather than dim his enthusiasm, which she had expected, her statement seemed to validate his optimism. “Really?” Smiling, he continued to add to the column of dominoes. Solly remained transfixed. He seemed not to notice that his knee was touching Mr. Rainwater’s.
    When all the dominoes had been placed, Mr. Rainwater withdrew his hands and then sat motionless.
    Solly stared at the line of dominoes for the better part of a minute before he extended his index finger to the last one in the line, and nudged it. It toppled, creating a contagion until all were down.
    Ella stood up. “Thank you for watching him.”
    Mr. Rainwater raised his hand, palm out. “Wait.” Moving slowly, he stretched out his hands and began to turn the dominoes over so that they lay with the dots down. Then he shuffled them as though he was about to start a game. When they were all spread out, he sat back again. “Your turn, Solly.”
    The boy sat, staring at the dominoes for a long time before he reached for one and stood it on its end.
    Ella knew that her son had responded not to his name but to his mysterious inner urging to line up the dominoes. It was that trait, his insistence on uniformity and order, and his violent outbursts if things weren’t in that particular order, that had first signaled her that he was different from other children. Normal children left their playthings helter-skelter.
    “He wasn’t always like he is now.”
    Mr. Rainwater looked up at her.
    “He was a perfectly normal baby,” she continued. “He nursed and slept on schedule. He cried only when he was wet or hungry or sleepy. The rest of the time, he was content. He reacted normally to voices and sounds. He recognized me and his father, Margaret, the boarders who were living here then. We played patty-cake and peekaboo. He laughed. He crawled at nine months and walked at thirteen. He was just like every other baby. Even exceptional, I think, because I had him toilet trained soon after he turned two, which is early for any child, but especially for boys. So I’m told.”
    She looked down and realized that she was clutching her apron with both hands. She forced her fists to relax and let go, then smoothed out the wrinkles she’d made in the fabric.
    “But during his twos, when most children are asserting their independence and revealing their personalities, Solly seemed to … to retreat. He stopped responding when we tried to play games with him. Once his attention was focused on something, we couldn’t draw it away, and he became very distressed when we tried.
    “His interest in and awareness of what was going on around him decreased. His fits became more frequent. The rocking, the hand flapping became constant. For a time, I could stop him, but then each day my sweet, smart baby boy slipped a little bit farther away from me.” She lifted her gaze from her lap to Solly, who was still lining up the dominoes. “Until he disappeared entirely.” She looked at Mr. Rainwater and raised her shoulder. “I never got him back.”
    He’d listened without moving. Now he looked down at Solly. “Murdy thinks he should be placed in a facility.”
    Immediately regretting that she’d made an exception to her usual reticence and had spoken so openly to him, she went on the defensive. “The two of you discussed my child?”
    “I asked him why Solly is the way he is.”
    “Why?”
    “Why did I ask? I wanted to know.”
    “Mr. Rainwater, your curiosity