In case you're wondering, quite a few elements in this part are pretty directly autobiographical...
While they were in the process of registering Will for kindergarten and Hannah for preschool, Darcy found his old calendar of his son's milestones. He was rooting through a box of keepsakes, wondering if Lizzie had put their children's birth certificates in there instead of the box labeled Official Documents where they clearly belonged. And then he came across the little book.
He pulled it out slowly, hesitant to relive that selfish disappointment from when he realized that Will would not follow his rigid version of success. But he knew it was better to confront it.
The first twenty or so pages were packed with notes. It seemed Will had reached a new milestone every other day during his first year of life. The notes slowed then, once a week, maybe a few a month. Then nothing.
He had thought it was better to put it away, to stop waiting for things that may never come. But now, looking at the empty pages, he felt like it was the wrong choice.
Darcy began carrying the calendar with him, and gradually discovered new ways to fill its pages. A date from a few weeks ago – Looked up the first time his name was called. Just yesterday, Shut the door after he was asked to. They would seem insignificant to most outside observers. To his parents, they were worth more than any money could buy.
Money was, unfortunately, an issue that came up more than once in regards to Will's treatments. Choosing a school for him to attend kindergarten was as difficult as the preschool decision, and Lizzie and Darcy did not come to a mutual agreement as easily this time. His preference happened to also be the most expensive, while Lizzie was inclined toward a place that was affiliated with his preschool.
"They'll have the same programs, the same educational philosophy," she argued.
"Perhaps, but their facilities aren't nearly as modern as this one. It's clearly the superior choice."
"Clearly? Why, because it costs more?" He should have recognized the dangerous glint in her eyes by now. "You know, money isn't a magic cure-all. You think you can just throw a wad of cash at something and make it all better."
"I believe nothing of the sort," he replied impatiently. "This school is demonstrably better. They have used their funds to –"
"There. See what you said? Funds. Money."
"All right, money certainly helps. Would you prefer we send him to a one-room hovel?"
"My choice is not a one-room hovel," she said through clenched teeth.
It had just gotten worse from there. But after they'd each cooled off and made their apologies, they reached a compromise fairly easily. Both schools had a waiting list. They could put Will's name in for both and see what happened.
An opening came available in Lizzie's choice before Darcy's. To her credit, she refrained from being smug.
Since they had two weeks between Will's last day of summer preschool and the start of kindergarten, they planned an excursion to their beach-house, accompanied by the Lees. Hannah had been anticipating their arrival for months, asking every day if "My cousins come now?" They kept in touch with video calls fairly regularly, but get-togethers usually only happened once or twice a year.
They had been preparing Will as well, in a different way, by presenting him with pictures and videos of the ocean as well as photos of Mei, Charles, and Aunt Jane and Uncle Bing. It wasn't that he responded fearfully to new situations and places and people. On the contrary, he tended to bound forward into the unknown, forcing his parents to scramble after him before he did something dangerous or destructive or both. But when he was outside of his familiar environment, his problematic behaviors increased a hundredfold.
This trip was no exception, preparation notwithstanding. When the Lees pulled up to the beach-house in their rental, Hannah ran out to greet them with a shriek of delight. Will also let out a high-pitched shriek. Thirty seconds later he let out another…then another, and another.
All afternoon.
"Uh, is he okay?" Bing asked after about an hour. He and Jane had crashed on the sofa, unable to shake off jet lag as easily as their children. Will was perched next to him, grinning widely as he released a particularly ear-piercing noise.
"He's not in pain, if that's what you mean," Lizzie said wearily from the kitchen where she was preparing a salad that would probably go untouched by the younger half of the dinner party. "It's a stimming thing."
"Sensory stimulation," Darcy elaborated, emerging from the refrigerator with a large pitcher of lemonade. "He's excited. This is one of his ways of processing it."
"Right. So…any idea when he'll stop?" Bing immediately looked abashed. "Not that I'm complaining. He's a great kid. I just, uh -"
"It's okay," Lizzie said. Darcy could see her trying not to laugh at Bing's irrepressible need to never say anything less than nice. "You don't have to pretend you're enjoying it." She came to Will, took his hand and said, "Come get some lemonade before you deafen your aunt and uncle."
His response was, of course, a happy shriek.
"Is it all right if we go lie down for a while?" Jane asked. "It's so good to see you, but I can barely keep my eyes open. Mei and Charles should be okay in the playroom – you might want to check on them, though –"
"Of course." Lizzie waved them off. "We'll let you know when dinner's ready."
She watched them shuffle sleepily down the hall, Bing's arm draped easily over Jane's shoulder, and said with a frown, "I just had a terrible, mean thought."
"What is it?"
"I don't want to say it."
"Are you thinking that Jane and Bing would be much better parents for an autistic child?"
She dropped the salad bowl, which was fortunately still empty. "How'd you know? That's just scary."
"Well, I was thinking the same thing." Darcy sighed. "They have infinite patience. I've never heard either one raise their voices."
"And look at their careers." Lizzie made an exasperated gesture. "Bing works with needy children, for heaven's sake. Jane – I bet Will could spend hours playing with her fabric samples. Pretty colors and patterns, and all the different textures; he'd love it. She could probably design a whole line of apparel especially for kids with sensory processing disorders." She slumped to the counter. "Meanwhile, our jobs are all about words. Drama. It's meaningless to him."
"Is it really such a horrible, mean thought?" he asked quietly. "That you wish a more ideal situation for Will?"
"Nope. It's definitely mean. Because I'm not really thinking of him, am I? I'm wishing someone else had to deal with him. I'm envious of everyone with – with normal children."
Darcy cleared his throat. "If Jane and Bing offered to take care of Will," he said quietly, "would you hand him over to them?"
"No!" She whirled on him, her cheeks reddening in fury. "Are you crazy? He's our son."
"There." He took her hands, half-smiling. "I think that proves you're not selfish."
"Not completely selfish, at least," she allowed.
Some time after eleven that night, Bing tapped on their door and popped his head in apologetically. "Um, guys?"
Lizzie sat up groggily and said what had become her instinctive phrase during middle-of-the-night surprises. "What did he do now?"
Darcy rolled over and got up, saying his usual words in turn. "I'll get it." But she followed, typically refusing to let him take care of everything.
They knew what had happened as soon as they stepped into the hallway. The stench was unmistakable.
"Mei came to get us when the, uh, smell woke her up," Bing explained. "We would have taken care of it, but we weren't sure what to do about Will –"
"Seriously?" Lizzie said, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light in the children's room. "That's really nice of you, but –" surveying Will's handiwork all over the floor and furniture, "you should come and get us for something like this." The culprit himself was crouched in bed, naked and wide-eyed.
Jane was standing in the hallway with Mei, holding a fussing Charles. "Is Will feeling all right?" she asked with her usual soft-hearted worry. "I thought you said he was potty trained."
"Mostly," Lizzie answered. "If we're there to direct him to the right place. But if it happens in the middle of the night, he doesn't know what to do about it."
"So this happens a lot?" Bing asked, unable to keep the look of horror from his face.
"Not all the time. But yeah, it's happened more than once. Jane, you'll probably want to take the kids to your room for the time being. Sorry."
"No need to apologize," Jane said sweetly, guiding Mei down the hall.
Lizzie crossed the children's room, gingerly watching where she stepped, and beckoned toward her son. "Come on, Will. Let's get you in the tub."
"I'll get started on this," Darcy said. "Is there a shampooing vacuum in this house?"
"I don't think so," Lizzie called out as she escorted Will to the bathroom. "We'll have to find one to rent tomorrow."
He grimaced. In the meantime, he would need a damp, soapy towel. And plenty of elbow grease.
"Is Hannah okay?" Bing wondered, nodding toward the small figure in a deep sleep in her bed.
"She's fine," Darcy said, once he'd watched her chest rise and fall a few times. "She's learned to sleep through just about anything."
Bing joined him in the scrubbing against his insistence that he should go back to bed. "Man, Darcy," he said partway through, "I don't know how you do this."
"You're doing it now," Darcy said, peering at a bedpost in search of any streaks he might have missed.
"Yeah, but it's one time. All the time? I think I might go crazy."
Darcy raised an eyebrow. This was highly ironic, given his recent conversation with Lizzie.
"I guess I'm just saying, you're an amazing dad."
"I don't claim any extraordinary capabilities," Darcy said. "I do what I have to. Sometimes I handle it adequately, and sometimes I handle it very poorly. I was not so calm the first time we discovered Will had done this." He straightened, regarding his friend earnestly. "But I'm sure you could rise to any occasion you were presented with, Bing. There's no sense in denigrating your skills in an attempt to vaunt mine."
Bing chuckled. "I do okay. Mei and Charles are great. Jane is so good with them," he added, glowing with affection.
"Not at all surprising to any of us. Well, I think that's all that can be done tonight." Darcy began gathering up soiled clothing and sheets and blankets.
Wrinkling his nose, Bing asked, "Are you sure we didn't miss a spot? It still smells pretty strong."
"And so it will, until we can give the rug a thorough shampooing. I apologize for the unpleasantness."
"Should we get like an air freshener or something?"
"I'm afraid not. Will tends to get over-stimulated by artificial aromas."
"Hey," Bing said, perhaps seeing another apology forming on Darcy's lips, "I don't want you to spend the next two weeks saying sorry all the time. Really. If we were that bothered by noises and bad smells, we wouldn't have had kids ourselves."
A fair point. What did it say of Darcy, though? He was bothered by noises and bad smells. Did it make his fatherhood selfless or just some form of stubborn insanity?
The remainder of their excursion, happily, was free of any serious incidents. Will did have another bout of gleeful shrieking one morning, but since they were outdoors, the children playing in the sand, it was more bearable.
Hannah was in a state of perpetual bliss. She had plenty of friends in her neighborhood and playmates at Pemberley's child care, but she adored the idea of children who had the same grandma and grandpa, who knew Aunt Lydia and her boyfriend and shared all the family stories. On the last day, she and Mei clung to each other and had to be pried apart so the Lees could drive to the airport. Hannah sobbed for an hour afterwards. On the way home, she would calm down for a time, then suddenly burst out with, "I miss my couuuuuusins!" and start sobbing afresh.
They consoled her as best as they could with promises of future get-togethers, as well as assuring her she would make plenty of fun new friends at pre-school. Darcy didn't think too much more of it until Lizzie brought it up several weeks later while they were watching the children playing alongside each other in the toy room – next to each other, but solitary.
"I think Hannah would like another brother or a sister," she said softly.
Darcy looked at her in surprise. "Are you suggesting –" He hesitated to finish his thought.
She glanced at Hannah, who was looking up at them with preternaturally wise eyes. In a low voice she said, "Another baby. Yes. Is that completely crazy?"
"Some might think so."
"Okay. But do you?"
"I would love to have another baby," he said frankly. "But I haven't brought it up because you would carry most of the weight of it."
"Literally and figuratively," Lizzie sighed. "True. And yet I find myself thinking of it. A lot."
"Then we should consider it." He spoke calmly, rationally, to conceal the quiet delight rising inside him. For some months now he had gathered the children together only to have the niggling sense that someone was missing. There was no logical reason for it, yet he could not shake it. And like Lizzie, he found himself remembering fondly how to felt to witness a new life that they had created together, to hold a newborn and watch its gentle breathing.
"We could convert the study to a fourth bedroom," Lizzie ventured.
"Yes. And Hannah is becoming more independent since she started preschool."
"Will is making good progress. Do you know his teachers said he's been playing chase with one of the other kindergarteners?"
"Yes, I wrote that in his calendar."
"So."
"So."
"We can give it a few months," Lizzie said. "It's a pretty big decision."
"Yes."
She swallowed, then plunged forward. "Of course we have to think about the chance of another autistic child."
Darcy nodded and squeezed her hand. "We took that chance with Hannah. We just didn't know it."
"True."
They took the chance.
Her third pregnancy was the hardest. Physically, it wasn't any harder than when she carried Hannah. Emotionally, it was brutal. She was about a month and a half along when they announced it to their family at Christmas. Though everyone responded with excited words and encouragement, their doubts were clear. Darcy thought he knew his father-in-law well enough by then to recognize his look of Lizzie, have you lost your senses? The rest of them seemed to be determinedly avoiding eye contact. Will chose that moment, of course, to have a full-fledged meltdown complete with wrenching sobs, thrashing and kicking anyone who tried to approach him.
"These don't happen very often," Lizzie said in weak defense while Darcy took up Will and forcibly hugged him, giving the intense physical pressure that might, eventually, calm him down. "He's out of sorts because we're away from home."
Mrs. Bennet gave an uncertain, tearful nod. "Oh, Willy-billy. Would you like another cookie?"
"He's had ten already, mom."
"Why don't I take him for a walk?" Darcy said. Lizzie turned to him and mouthed Thank you.
At first he had to carry a struggling Will, but after a few minutes his son's distress subsided and he consented to walk hand in hand down the sidewalk. He didn't point or ask a litany of questions like Hannah, and much as Darcy wished for it, he also appreciated the silence. That was something he and his son had in common. They liked the quiet. They liked to observe the world without making a fuss about it.
Will had never said I love you, daddy as Hannah did. Perhaps he never would. That didn't mean he didn't feel it.