The Prodigy's Cousin Read Free

Lucie went back to her job as an anesthesiologist, six-month-old Alex was indifferent. There was no fussing when she left or excitement when she returned. As the months ticked by, he remained oblivious to her comings and goings.
    He had a few quirks. Once he began to crawl, Alex discovered a crack in the grout between the tiles in the living room. He stared at it and traced it with his finger for long periods of time. He would venture off to another area of the room but then scamper back to the crack. He noticed whenever a lightbulb burned out, whether in his own home or a shopping center, and, just as with the crack in the grout, he would stare at it for long periods of time.
    He wasn’t speaking. Alex’s first birthday passed, and he had not yet spoken his first word; he hadn’t even begun to babble.
    But Alex was quick to walk and run, and Lucie managed to ignore the worries that tugged at the back of her mind. The standard parenting books’ refrain helped: every kid develops at his or her own pace.
    Shortly after Alex turned one, they traveled to Pennsylvania to see family. The youngest of Lucie’s nephews was Alex’s age; the boys were born just a few weeks apart. The difference between the two was jarring: Alex’s cousin gestured, followed his parents’ gazes, waved, and pointed at things he wanted. He babbled as he played and cried when his parents left the room. Alex did none of those things.
    When Alex was sixteen months old, Lucie delivered her second son, William. It was another uncomplicated pregnancy, another uncomplicated birth. She had another beautiful baby boy, an alert little guy with big eyes and a happy disposition. But this time when the doctor who came around to conduct newborn hearing tests offered Lucie the usual pamphlet on resources for children with language delays, she took one.
    By that point there was no denying that something was going on with Alex. He showed no interest in his baby brother. He looked at him for a few seconds and then walked away. He was never affectionate with his parents, either. If they tried to hug him, Alex angled his entire body away to avoid contact. When Lucie tried to coax Alex into looking at her, he stared into the distance.
    He covered his ears and screamed when he heard music play, bags crinkle, or water run. Lucie and Mike walked on eggshells: they quit listening to music; they only unpacked groceries when Alex was out of earshot; they waited until he was napping to rinse dishes—anything to avoid setting him off.
    Though he had always seemed physically adept, Alex began doing an odd, repetitive dance when excited. He walked on his toes and flapped his hands.
    He developed a fascination with drawers and doors. If Lucie orMike left a door open, even the door to the dishwasher, he stared at it, silently, until someone closed it. He was fascinated by the sliding mechanism on which the drawers operated, and he opened and closed them repeatedly.
    He had many toys, but he didn’t play with them the way other children did. Often, he lined them up. He plucked small wooden trees off his train layout, positioned them carefully along the edge of the counter, and ran his eyes over them. Once the trees were perfectly aligned, he stood in front of the counter and rocked back and forth, staring at the configuration. He did the same thing with figurines; he did the same thing with cereal boxes.
    A few weeks after William was born, Lucie took Alex to a drop-in clinic at First Words, the facility she had read about in her hospital pamphlet, the one that screened young children for speech and language delays. After Lucie filled out the forms with information about Alex, a speech and language pathologist pulled her into a private room. She was certain Lucie had made a mistake; she must have reversed the numerical rating scale. Lucie assured her that she had understood the scale correctly. “Her jaw dropped, and that’s when my heart