Beyond Gravesen is nearly done! I'm piecing together the last seven or eight chapters. I hope to have it done within a few weeks, and it will definitely be worth the wait. In the meantime, here's another Gravesen Guardians chapter I've been sitting on for a while. We never really got to spend much time with toddler Parker, but there's a very important detail of his childhood that I don't think I've explored much yet. Enjoy!

Dr. J:

Mary sat on the sofa watching Peter stack Duplo blocks. He smiled as he worked, clearly pleased with himself, and Mary couldn't help but smile too, despite the worry gnawing at the pit of her stomach. "Hey Peter, can I have two of the red ones?" she asked. He toddled over and dropped exactly what she asked for into her waiting hand. "Thank you," she said. Peter didn't reply, just got back to work. Mary sighed.

She hated the silence. Yes, it was preferable to crying, but where babbling usually gave way to "Mama" and "No" and "Please," and eventually holophrases and full sentences had, in her son's case, faded to quiet.

Mary brought it up at his one-year checkup with the pediatrician, and he assured her that every kid develops speech at their own pace and Peter was perfectly on track in all his other developmental milestones. Despite being told not to worry, Mary couldn't help herself. She encouraged Peter to speak at every opportunity, but he never answered her questions with words. He answered them, in nods and headshakes and pointing and facial expressions that Mary and Richard had both grown well-versed in reading, but it was as if he didn't recognize his voice as an option for communicating.

When he still hadn't spoken by eighteen months, and then twenty-one, the pediatrician told her to have his hearing tested. Mary knew Peter could hear because he responded to noises, but there was still a chance he couldn't differentiate sounds normally. Then he aced his hearing test with flying colors and they were back to having no possible explanation for his lack of speech. At this point, Mary's worries gained new dimensions.

"What if he never speaks?" she asked Richard before bed one night.

"Then he never speaks," he said matter-of-factly. "Lots of people are nonverbal. It's not the end of the world."

"How's he going to manage in school if he doesn't talk? It's a recipe for bullying just waiting to be popped in the oven."

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself. He's not even two yet."

"You're right," she sighed. "I know I'm overreacting, but it's hard not to."

"Everything's going to be fine. He's still Peter no matter how big or small his vocabulary is."

"That's true, but I'm just afraid that everybody will only see this instead of seeing Peter. He's so smart, already it's obvious, but nobody's going to know that if they ignore him the second they learn he can't communicate like most people."

"Mary, I think you're looking too deeply into this. It's still early, we don't know what's going to happen in the future. He might start talking tomorrow. Or not, and either way it's going to be okay. I promise."

Mary took a deep breath and let her husband's words sink in. He was right. She just needed to trust that Peter would speak as much or as little as he could, and thrive regardless.

~0~

Peter turned two. Then three. He still hadn't said a word. And everybody noticed. May and Ben asked every time they saw Peter if there'd been any developments or a diagnosis, and every time Mary had to tell them no. The poorly-disguised disappointment on their faces made her despair, questioning her worth as a mother. She'd tried every piece of advice she and Richard had been given, but Peter still wasn't talking.

His teachers noticed too. That was their job. "Peter is clearly a very intelligent child, but his lack of language development is concerning." They told Mary that he would play by himself all day. If another kid asked for whichever toy he was playing with, he'd hand it over without a word and find something else to do. Sometimes, he'd just sit and watch the other kids play. At pick-up time, Mary's jealousy boiled watching all the other kids run babbling to their parents, already telling stories and eloquently expressing their feelings. She could always tell that Peter had a good day by his body language, but she desperately wanted to hear it from him. The other moms occasionally looked at her with pity. One even suggested she have him evaluated, as if she hadn't already done that.

The pediatrician suggested she have Peter screened for autism spectrum disorder. She was handed a questionnaire full of yes/no questions about Peter's behavior. Mary didn't know much about autism besides the language delay aspect, so some of the questions surprised her. It was written in such a way that she could tell with near-certainty if her answer was the "right" one or not, "right" meaning not suggestive of autism.

If you point at something across the room, does your child look at it? Yes.

Have you ever wondered if your child might be deaf? Not really. He responded to noises normally, except for, of course, using his perception to learn and speak English. They had his hearing screened; it was normal.

Does your child play pretend or make-believe? Yes. Peter's current favorite thing was making imaginary food in his toy kitchen and forcing Mary to eat it. She never knew what she was supposedly eating, but she always told him it was delicious.

Does your child like climbing on things? Yes. He was all over their neighborhood playground and the one at school.

Does your child make unusual finger movements near his or her eyes? No.

Does your child point with one finger to ask for something or to get help? Yes. His communication consisted mostly of pointing.

Does your child point with one finger to show you something interesting? All the time. Everything was interesting to Peter.

Is your child interested in other children? This one gave her pause. In her opinion, Peter was just painfully shy. He seemed interested but also scared. His teachers said that when he wasn't playing on his own he'd be off to the side happily watching the other kids. She answered yes.

Does your child show you things by bringing them to you or holding them up for you to see—not to get help, but just to share? Absolutely. Peter did this all the time.

Does your child respond when you call their name? Yes. Mary thought he seemed to love his name.

When you smile at your child, do they smile back at you? Yes. Peter's smile was one of her favorite things in the world.

Does your child get upset by everyday noises? No.

Does your child walk? Yes. And run.

Does your child look you in the eye when you are talking to them, playing with them, or dressing them? Yes.

Does your child try to copy what you do? He copied Richard and her equally.

If you turn your head to look at something, does your child look around to see what you are looking at? Yes. Anything that piqued her interest piqued Peter's.

Does your child try to get you to watch them? Yes. He never said it out loud, but he waved sometimes or just stared and waited expectantly for attention and praise.

Does your child understand when you tell them to do something? Definitely.

If something new happens, does your child look at your face to see how you feel about it? Yes.

Does your child like movement activities? For sure.

Her answers were evaluated, a specialist watched him interact with her for an entire half hour, and Peter was deemed low-risk. Language was the only social skill he lacked. Mary felt guilty with how relieved she was that it wasn't autism, but now she and Richard were only more confused and desperate.

"Why won't he just talk to me?" she asked Richard before bed that night. "He's so smart, why can't he figure this out?"

"I don't know, Mary," Richard sighed.

"It seems nobody does."

"Nobody except Peter."

The pediatrician next recommended taking him to a speech pathologist, so Mary immediately threw herself into researching the best ones. She could tell by the doctor's tone when he suggested it that this might be their last resort. The name that came most highly recommended was a Dr. J. Jonah Jameson. She scheduled an appointment for his next available slot.

Three weeks later, Peter held her hand as they walked together into the therapist's office. His eyes, wide with fascination, tracked over door, every poster, and every person that they passed on the short trek. They paused in front of the door and if Mary didn't know better, she would've thought Peter was reading the nameplate affixed to it. Maybe he fixated on it because it was shiny. Dr. Jameson opened the door with a smile and let them inside. He nodded to Mary, but addressed his first words to the toddler by her side.

Dr. Jameson crouched down to his level and introduced himself, "Hi. I'm Dr. Jameson, but you can call me Dr. J. What's your name?"

Mary furrowed her brow in confusion. She'd explained the situation thoroughly when she made the appointment, so what was Dr J hoping to accomplish? Her confusion turned to astonishment when she witnessed her son's response.

"Peter Parker."

He enunciated it perfectly, delivering the line with confidence. Mary felt like her brain was going to explode. She'd never heard her son's voice before, yet here he was offering it to this stranger he'd never met. How was this possible?

"What the fuck?" She blurted it out without even thinking, too thrown by Peter's sudden speech revelation to realize that she'd just sworn in front of this man and her son.

Peter looked at her curiously. "What does fuck mean?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, am I missing something here?" Dr. J asked, rising back to his full height and cocking his head in confusion.

Mary stammered, "He…those are the first words I've ever heard from him. I swear."

"Wow," he chuckled. "I must say that's a first."

"I—I don't know what to say. Why hasn't he said anything until now?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that."

Peter tugged at her hand insistently and repeated his question, "What does fuck mean?"

"It's not important," Mary said sternly. "Just don't say it." She rubbed her face with her free hand in exasperation. The fifth word to join her three-year-old's vocabulary was fuck. This was just great. It felt like a prank.

"'Mkay," Peter said with a shrug. Mary reminded herself to watch him carefully to make sure he didn't ever say it again.

"Do we still need to do this?" she asked Dr. J.

"I would still like to have a conversation to assess his grasp of language, and possibly find out why he experienced such a delay."

Mary nodded and moved to sit on the sofa in the room. Peter resisted following along. "I don't need a speech therapist," he said simply. Even the three-syllable word gave him no noticeable trouble. Mary was in awe. How could he speak so well without ever having practiced? Or had he practiced, only when he was alone and out of her earshot? The whole situation was unbelievable.

Dr. J stopped in his tracks on his way to his desk. "Well, the little man has spoken. I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to be here."

Mary didn't want to waste the effort and money it had taken to get an appointment with Dr. Jameson, but it was pretty clear that Peter had no need nor want of his services. She decided to take him home and thanked Dr. J on the way out.

"Thank you Dr. J," Peter echoed.

Mary half expected him to clam up again now that he wasn't being forced to prove himself capable of speaking to avoid therapy, but Peter seemed to enjoy using his voice now that he'd decided to make the leap. He narrated everything he saw on the way home. Mary let his little voice wash over her and tried not to cry with joy. She'd waited so long to hear this. She hoped he never shut up.

Within days, she regretted that wish. Well, not really. The first time she thought to herself, "I want some peace and quiet, this child is driving me crazy," she actually smiled. As happy-go-lucky as he'd been before, Peter radiated even more joy now that he'd found his voice. Mary lived for that joy, and if she had to listen to endless babble about everything that her son found fascinating (which was, well, everything), she'd do it gladly for the rest of her life.