The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [51]
Okay, start with what you know . . . take your time . . . he’s trying his best . . .
“He’s not,” Denise said, repeating after Kyle.
“Yes.”
She held his arm gently, in anticipation of what would come. She wanted to keep his attention focused.
“Kyle, he’s not what?”
“No . . .” The word came out with a whine, and Kyle made a low growling sound in his throat. He tried to pull away.
Definitely on the verge of a screamfest.
She tried again with things she knew he understood.
“Do you want to go home?”
“No.”
“Are you tired?”
“No.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Kyle—”
“No!” he said, shaking his head and cutting her off. He was angry now, his cheeks turning red.
“He’s not what?” she asked with as much patience as possible.
“He’s not . . .”
“He’s not, what?” Denise repeated.
Kyle shook his head in frustration, groping for the words.
“He’s not . . . Kye,” he finally said.
Denise was completely lost now.
“You’re not Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not Kyle,” she repeated, this time as a statement. Repetition, she’d learned, was important. It was something she did to find out whether or not they were both on the same wavelength.
“Yes.”
Huh?
Denise thought about it, trying to figure it all out, before focusing on him again.
“What’s your name? Is it Kyle?”
Kyle shook his head. “He’s not Kye. He’s linno man.”
She ran through it again, making sure she understood what he was saying.
“Little man?” she asked.
Kyle nodded triumphantly and smiled, his anger suddenly receding as quickly as it had come.
“Eez linno man,” he said again, and all Denise could do was stare at him.
Little man.
Oh Lord, how long was this going to last?
At that moment Taylor approached them, his gear bag thrown over his shoulder.
“Hey, Denise, how are you?” He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Denise turned her attention to him, still flummoxed. “I’m not exactly sure,” she answered honestly.
The three of them began walking across the park together, and Denise recounted her exchange with Kyle. When she was finished Taylor patted Kyle on the back.
“Little man, huh?”
“Yes. Eez linno man,” Kyle said proudly in response.
“Don’t encourage him,” Denise said with a rueful shake of the head.
Taylor seemed to find the whole thing extremely humorous and didn’t bother trying to hide it. Kyle, on the other hand, was gazing at Taylor as though he were one of the seven wonders of the world.
“But he is a little man,” Taylor said in Kyle’s defense. “Aren’t you?”
Kyle nodded, pleased to have someone on his side. Taylor unzipped his gear bag and dug around inside before pulling out an old baseball. He handed it to Kyle.
“Do you like baseball?” he asked.
“It’s a ball,” Kyle answered. (Ess a baw)
“It’s not just a ball. It’s a baseball,” he said seriously.
Kyle considered it.
“Yes,” he whispered. “It’s a baseball.” (Yes . . . Ess a bessbaw)
He held the ball tightly in his small hand and seemed to study it, as if looking for a secret that only he could understand. Then, glancing up, he spotted a children’s slide in the distance. All of a sudden that took priority over everything else.
“He wants to run,” Kyle said, looking expectantly at his mother, “over there.” He pointed to where he wanted to go. (Ee wanta wun . . . O’er dare)
“Say, ‘I want to run.’ ”
“I want to run,” he said softly. (I wanta wun)
“Okay, go ahead,” she said. “Just don’t go too far.”
Kyle dashed toward the kids’ play area, a bundle of unharnessed energy. Luckily it was right next to the tables where they would be sitting—Judy had chosen the spot for just that reason, since nearly everyone involved in the game brought their children with them. Both Denise and Taylor watched Kyle as he ran.
“That’s one cute kid,” Taylor offered with a grin.
“Thanks. He’s a good boy.”
“That little man thing isn’t really a problem, is it?”
“It shouldn’t be . . . he went through a phase where he pretended to be Godzilla a couple of months ago. He wouldn’t answer to anything else.