She looked at Taylor earnestly. “Well, it makes perfect sense-to me, at least. I’d never walked him through the swamp, I’d never shown him snakes; I’d never shown him what might happen if he got stuck somewhere and couldn’t get out. Because I hadn’t shown him, he didn’t know enough to be afraid. Of course, if you take that one step further and consider every possible danger and the fact that I have to literally show him what it means, instead of being able to tell him-sometimes it feels like I’m trying to swim across the ocean. I can’t tell you how many close calls there have been. Climbing too high and wanting to jump, riding too close to the road, wandering away, walking up to growling dogs . . . it seems like every day there’s something new.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if reliving each experience, before going on.

“But believe it or not, those are only part of my worries. Most of the time, I worry about the obvious things. Whether he’ll ever be able to talk normally, whether he’ll go to a regular school, whether he’ll ever make friends, whether people will accept him . . . whether I’ll have to work with him forever. Those are the things that keep me awake at night.”

She paused then, the words coming slower, every syllable edged with pain.

“I don’t want you to think that I regret having Kyle, because I don’t. I love him with all my heart. I’ll always love him. But . . .”

She stared at the revolving swings, her eyes blind, shuttered. “It’s not exactly what I imagined raising children would be like.”

“I didn’t realize,” Taylor said gently.

She didn’t respond, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, with a sigh, she faced him again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you those things.”

“No, don’t be. I’m glad you did.”

As if suspecting that she’d confided too much, she offered a rueful smile. “I probably made it sound pretty hopeless, didn’t I?”

“Not really,” he lied. In the waning sunlight she was strangely radiant. She reached over and touched his arm. Her hand was soft and warm.

“You’re not very good at that, you know. You should stick to telling the truth. I know I made it sound terrible, but that’s just the dark side of my life. I didn’t tell you about the good things.”

Taylor raised his eyebrows slightly. “There are good things, too?” he asked, prompting an embarrassed laugh from Denise.

“Next time I need to pour my heart out, remind me to stop, okay?”

Though she tried to pass off the comment, her voice betrayed her anxiety. Immediately Taylor suspected that he was the first person she’d ever really confided in this way and that it wasn’t the time for jokes.

The ride ended suddenly, the swing rotating three times before coming to a stop. Kyle called out from his seat, the same ecstatic expression on his face.

“Sweeeng!” he called out, almost singing the word, his legs pumping back and forth.

“Do you want to ride the swing again?” Denise shouted.

“Yes,” he answered, nodding.

There weren’t many people in line, and the man nodded that it was all right for Kyle to stay where he was. Taylor handed him the tickets, then returned to Denise’s side.

As the ride started up again, Taylor saw Denise staring at Kyle.

“I think he likes it,” Denise said almost proudly.

“I think you’re right.”

He leaned over, resting his elbows on the railings, still regretting his earlier joking.

“So tell me about the good things,” he said quietly.

The ride circled twice, and she waved to Kyle each time before saying anything.

“Do you really want to know?” she finally asked.

“Yes, I do.”

Denise hesitated. What was she doing? Confiding about her son to a man she barely knew, giving voice to things she’d never said in the past-she felt unsteady, like a boulder inching over the edge of a cliff. Yet somehow she wanted to finish what she had started.

She cleared her throat.

“Okay, the good things . . .” She glanced briefly at Taylor and then away. “Kyle’s getting better. Sometimes it may not seem like it and others may not notice it, but he is, slowly but surely. Last year, his vocabulary was only fifteen to twenty words. This year, it’s in the hundreds, and at times he puts three and four words together in a single sentence. And for the most part, he makes most of his wishes known now. He tells me when he’s hungry, when he’s tired, what he wants to eat-all of that’s new for him. He’s only been doing that for the last few months.”

She took a deep breath, feeling her emotions roil to the surface again.

“You have to understand . . . Kyle works so hard every day. While other kids can play outside, he has to sit in his chair, staring at picture books, trying to figure out the world itself. It takes him hours to learn things that other kids might learn in minutes.” She stopped, turning toward him, an almost defiant look in her eyes.

“But you know, Kyle just keeps on going . . . he just keeps on trying, day after day, word by word, concept by concept. And he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t whine, he just does it. If you only knew how hard he has to work to understand things . . . how much he tries to make people happy . . . how much he wants people to like him, only to be ignored . . .”

Feeling her throat constrict, she took a ragged breath, struggling to maintain her composure.

“You have no idea how far he’s come, Taylor. You’ve only known him for a short while. But if you knew where he started and how many obstacles he’s overcome so far-you’d be so proud of him . . .”

Despite her efforts, tears began to flood her eyes.

“And you’d know what I know. That Kyle has more heart, more spirit, than any other child I’ve ever known. You would know that Kyle is the most wonderful little boy that any mother could wish to have. You would know that despite everything, Kyle is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. That’s the good thing I have in my life.”

All those years of having those words pent up inside, all those years of wanting to say the words to someone. All those years, all those feelings-both the good and the bad-it was such a relief to finally let it all go. She was suddenly intensely thankful that she’d done so and hoped in her heart that Taylor would somehow understand.

Unable to respond, Taylor tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Watching her talk about her son-the absolute fear and absolute love-made the next move almost instinctive. Without a word, he reached for her hand and took it in his. The feeling was strange, a forgotten pleasure, though she didn’t try to pull away.

With her free hand she wiped at a tear that had drifted down her cheek and sniffled. She looked spent, still defiant, and beautiful.

“That was the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever heard,” he said.

When Kyle wanted to ride the swing yet a third time, Taylor had to let go of Denise’s hand so he could walk over and present the additional tickets. When he returned, the moment had passed; Denise was leaning on the barrier, resting on her elbows, and he decided simply to let it go. Yet standing beside her, he could still feel the lingering sensation of her touch on his skin.

They spent another hour at the carnival, riding the Ferris wheel-the three of them crammed into the wobbly seat with Taylor pointing out some of the places that could be seen from the top-and the Octopus, a spinning, dipping, gut-twisting ride that Kyle wanted to ride over and over again.

Toward the end of the hour they headed over to the area that housed the games of chance. Pop three balloons with three darts and win a prize, shoot two baskets and win something different. Vendors barked at the passersby, but Taylor walked past all of them until reaching the shooting gallery. He used the first few shots to understand the sighting of the gun, then proceeded to make fifteen straight, trading up for larger prizes as he bought more rounds. By the time he’d finished, he’d won a giant panda only slightly smaller than Kyle himself. The vendor handed it over reluctantly.