Page 63 of The Awful Truth

Ted let out a hearty laugh at his new nickname, clearly not minding being complimented for his physique, before taking two sliders.

The group fell silent other than the odd word of praise for the food. Travis’s cheeks were pink and he had a satisfied look on his face. Time to leap. Mercy finished her slider, then cleared her throat. “So, Antonia, can I ask a professional question?”

Travis’s smile disappeared, so she quickly added, “Not as a marriage therapist, of course. We’re still in our honeymoon phase.”

Antonia nodded, her mouth full. She wiped her lips with a napkin and said, “Sure. I mean, it depends on the question of course. I’m not able to diagnose anyone.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. I’m in need of advice on whether or not we should be worried about our daughter, Grace. She’s always had some peculiar tendencies and I’m wondering if they might be a sign of something more serious.”

Antonia had an open and relaxed air about her, as if she didn’t mind the question. “Like what?”

“Well, she’s very shy around new people—almost rude.”

“She’s got discerning taste and no time for morons,” Travis put in.

Mercy gave him a brief smile, then turned her attention back to Antonia. “She has trouble with transitions and can’t wear certain fabrics—nothing at all scratchy or too silky. And she has very big feelings that she can’t seem to control. Travis calls them tantrums and I suppose he’s right, only it’s like she’s not really there when it happens and nothing I do stops it. She has to wear herself out. I’ve started wrapping her in a big blanket and holding her. It seems to help, but it can still take close to thirty minutes which honestly can be a real problem when we have to be somewhere.”

“How old is she?”

“Eight.”

“Hmm, well, like I said, I can’t diagnose someone, especially without spending time with them, but it sounds like you’re concerned, which is cause enough to have her tested. It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Ted sat forward, looking slightly annoyed, and Mercy thought it might be because she had left him out of the conversation. “It’s best done by a neuropsychologist, and with someone her age, I’d recommend two shorter sessions instead of one long one.”

Mercy nodded. “Thanks. That’s good advice.”

Travis picked up his cigar and took a puff. “No offense, Ted, but let’s stop pretending you’ve got a shred of credibility anymore when it comes to your original field. What you do is very entertaining, but it’s not what any self-respecting mental health professional would do.” He glanced at Antonia, then back to Ted. “Let’s face it: she’s the brains and you’re just the eye candy for lonely aging housewives.”

Ted opened his mouth, then closed it. Clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to his burger.

Travis smiled at him. “That’s better. Now, there is nothing wrong with our little girl. She certainly doesn’t need a shrink. She needs structure, discipline, and fresh air.”

Mercy’s shoulders dropped. She had known that bringing this up was a long shot at best, but now she could see she was going to lose this argument, and her daughter would pay the price. She and Antonia exchanged a look, Mercy pleading with her eyes for help.

Antonia spoke up once more. “You know, Travis, I think you’re right. Fresh air, structure, and consistency certainly go a long way to setting a child up for success. And I understand your trepidation about this. A lot of parents are reluctant to have their child tested. They might think it’s going to hold the child back somehow to have a label and it’ll cut them out of future opportunities. But the label isn’t the point. It’s about understanding the child’s needs and knowing how to best support her.”

“Again, Grace is just fine. Mercy’s a worrier. That’s all this is,” Travis answered. He gave Mercy a pointed look. “Remember when Rhett was a baby, and you were positive he had died from SIDs every time he napped too long? He was fine the whole time and so is Grace.”

Mercy’s cheeks heated up and she was about to answer, but Antonia interjected. “That’s a concern many new parents have. It’s very normal. And it doesn’t mean that Mercy is overreacting now. Even if Grace isn’t found to be on the spectrum or have some other issue, a mental health professional would provide strategies that would make all your lives easier.”

Travis snorted. “That’s nothing but a big money grab.”

“Respectfully, I must disagree with you,” Miguel said. “My youngest sister, Camila, has dyslexia, and my mother picked up on it so fast! She had to push and push and push for help for her, and the school kept saying ‘No, there’s no money and there’s nothing we can do.’ But she went to the school board meeting and shamed them into getting testing for her, and for other kids too.” He said with a proud nod. “And now, Camila, who couldn’t read even one sentence when she was nine, is an elementary school teacher.” He looked at Mercy. “Get her tested.”

Mercy thanked him, her heart swelling at how supportive he was being, especially given the fact that she had turned him down in his own hour of need yesterday. She glanced at Travis, who was smiling at Miguel, and knew then that there would likely be hell to pay for the man. But she couldn’t turn back now. Her daughter was drowning and so was she. Mercy looked straight at Antonia. “Would you say it’s harmful to not have a child diagnosed early?”

Antonia locked eyes with her and clearly was saying yes without saying it. “It’s like any other challenge. If your child was near-sighted, would you want him or her trying to navigate the world without glasses?”

Travis had a bite of his slider. “No need for any of that nonsense. Her vision—and her brain—are perfectly fine. Let’s play cards.” He flashed a glare at his wife. “And my darling, private family matters are not for public consumption. Unless you want me to start talking.”

She sat, stunned at his implication. He’d never threatened her like that before, but then again, she’d never once given him reason to. Her attempted swing on the trapeze had failed, and she was falling. The only question now was if there was a net. Under the table, Mercy made two fists, squeezing them so tightly her nails dug into her palms. But to anyone around the room, she looked utterly calm. If she’d stayed in the film industry, she’d have nabbed an Oscar by now.

The truth was, Travis was never going to agree to getting Grace the help she needed. It would reflect poorly on him. And his ego simply wouldn’t allow it. She had known that before she brought it up. Now the only thing to do was figure out what her next move should be.

10:47 P.M.

WINSLOW