Eddie pressed his lips together and set Ivan’stest drawing in front of Alessia.


    “Dark, twisted, suffocating… That’s a lot of negativity for a seven–year–old. You must be a little unnerved too, right?” Alessia just nced at the picture.


    She’d seen Ivan’s artwork before–she knew it all too well.


    “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you? He’s not like most kids on the spectrum.”


    “What do you think?” Instead of answering Eddie’s question, Alessia tossed out her


    own.


    “If


    you ask me, it’s less autism and more like… he’s been through something–some kind of abuse, maybe? He’s on guard, always, but at least he’s willing to leave the house. He talks to people, so he can’t be doing too badly.”


    Eddie propped his chin on his hand, longshes casting shadows under his eyes as he pondered.


    “But if, as you say, he barely sees anyone outside and his family is so protective…


    then where would he have been hurt?”


    Exactly–where?


    A name flickered through Alessia’s mind, but without proof, she refused to say anything aloud, no matter how strong her suspicions.


    “Looks like you’ve got an idea.” Eddie shot her a knowing nce, reading her thoughts with ease.


    But Alessia only turned to Ivan. He’d finished eating and, imitating her, was quietly tidying up his lunchbox.


    “He seems to like it here. Would it be alright if I brought him by from time to time? It’s not healthy for a kid to be cooped up in his room all day.”


    “Of course. I’ll be around for the next few months anyway, but even if I’m not, you’re wee here anytime,” Eddie replied without hesitation.


    “And the fact that he’s willing to go out is a great sign. Shutting himself in would only shrink his world smaller and smaller, and that won’t help him at all.”


    “His drawings are bleak, sure, but I actually like the style. If only I could get a little closer to him.” She thought of how she’d once needed saving herself–and now wanted to be that lifeline for her brother.


    <i>1/2 </i>


    <b>14:48</b>)


    “Give it a shot. I don’t think he’s as distant with you as you fear.” Alessia’s gaze lingered on Ivan for a moment before drifting away, her words hinting at


    encouragement.


    Eddie paused, then stood and walked over to Ivan.


    After a morning together, Ivan no longer shied away from him, though he didn’t exactly acknowledge him either. He just stared at the spines of magazines on the bookshelf, not reaching for any.


    So different from York, another seven–year–old boy at that age when every adult’s patience is tested–Ivan was quiet, gentle, even when sick, never fussy or troublesome.


    “These are all up for grabs, you know,” Eddie said, kneeling and pulling two


    sketchbooks from the shelf.


    “Want to try one of these?” He waved them, and Ivan’s eyes followed.


    “Your sister’s not leaving just yet. If you’re bored, you can head to the studio to draw or flip through some picture books.”


    At some point, Alessia had rejoined them. Hearing Eddie, she nodded. She’d half–expected Ivan to refuse, but to her surprise, he took the sketchbook and wandered off to the art room on his own.


    Both adults let out a sigh of relief. Eddie trailed after him, but didn’t intrude–he set up a new easel and started working on his own painting.


    The two of them–one big, one small–busied themselves with their own projects while Alessia surveyed the room, then picked up a book to read.


    A peaceful afternoon settled in around them, a rare moment of quiet that let them all unwind.


    Time ticked by. When Alessia looked up, it was already four o’clock.


    “Ivan, it’s time to go home.”


    <i>212 </i>