Ellen pulled down the sun visor mirror. It was evening and the little bulb wasn’t bright enough to apply eyeliner so she tapped the cabin light.

It’s only fifteen minutes to the restaurant, Rob said. You couldn’t do that before we left? You’ll lose an eye if I hit a pothole.

Don’t hit a pothole, Ellen said.

As if leaving the house was simple. Rob was lucky she was wearing anything at all. Sophie, their four-year-old, loved when her grandparents babysat. And though Grannie and Gramps were happy to help, Ellen sensed their nerves. The previous attempt, the call came during appetizers. Come back, please. Zach was the X factor.

Since that doctor visit three months ago, urgent questions about their two-year-old swallowed Ellen’s days. What did an autism spectrum disorder mean for him? What should Ellen and Rob do? No one they knew had this. She had to ask a dozen people before she found someone who knew another mom to share some clues. That opened things up. The ongoing quest threatened to eclipse her attentions for Sophie, their thriving curly-haired girl who talked nonstop.

The other moms cautioned Ellen that onboarding her family into The System was an all-hands-on-deck moment. The research, the calls, scheduling provider interviews, arranging trial meetings with said providers, evaluating said meetings (did Zach smile? Did he flee? How did the doctor or therapist handle a tantrum?). Organizing the calendar. Driving to appointments. More research. The moms said, don’t let the husband watch the Patriots, sipping beers all Sunday. She got that. None of the moms mentioned their other kids. Neither had they described this moment’s duration, and she was afraid t dr o ask.

I did the social skills group and the sensory gym today, Ellen said. I really need you to take those next Saturday.

That morning, Rob played basketball. A fitness gesture. Rob had gained some stress poundage and wanted a sweaty respite. He cited a health article that said exercise benefited his mental wellbeing. It’ll make me a better father, he’d said. Other guys in the recreational league brought their families, so he’d taken Sophie.

Yes, I did it last week and I’ll take Zach next time, Rob said. I wanted Sophie to see her Dad being active. She enjoyed it.

She did, Ellen said. She came home and asked what shit meant. She said Daddy kept shouting that word. She also said it was fun to watch you run back and forth. So there’s that.

Ellen zipped her makeup kit and tucked it in the minivan door pocket. She wanted to be in charge of Zach, to lead. She had to make up for lost time. She didn’t see it at first. She thought her little boy loved moving toy trucks across the floor by himself while she played nearby with Sophie. Trouble arrived when it was time to put the trucks away. Toddler fussing, she expected. The unceasing, inconsolable rage she did not. His apparent inability to hear her, to understand her. To say anything, even a babble. He needed something, something beyond the toys, and Ellen couldn’t perceive what. Ellen’s subsequent scrambles, and the nightly updates to Rob, were not only about helping Zach. She needed to get Rob to see, too.

Rob took her hand as they walked the boutique-lined block.

The hostess at Francesca’s, blond, in a long black dress, listened as Ellen spoke Peter and Molly’s shared last name, then said to follow her. Probably a student at the college, Ellen thought. Managing courseloads, love life, work shifts.

Peter and Molly lifted their glasses, then stood so all four could exchange hugs.

We ordered the Sancerre. You said you really liked it, Molly said.

Ellen must have mentioned that summer trip to Paris years ago. They visited a college friend of Rob’s and his wife. Ellen was piqued at first. Our second honeymoon, we’re trying for a baby and Rob wants to hang out with these other people. But Rob said Will and his wife would be fun and they were. Easygoing, comfortable with their French. They made the boulevards, the bistro, the wine list their own. The cool Sancerre refreshed, made delicious by the company, the setting, as much as the vintage.

Very thoughtful, Ellen said.

We also ordered some apps, Peter said. Bruschetta and olives.

The black-aproned server handed them menus, explained the specials.

Ellen was relieved Rob had worn his blue button-down. Molly and Peter always appeared stage-ready. Her sensible black sheath and jacket were fine.

The menu. A long list, like the services proposed by the behavior analyst agency one of the moms recommended. Thirty hours of one-on-one sessions per week. Six hours per day, five days a week. Landed like a doctor’s order. What would Zach do during that time? How would he sit still? What about nap time? Does the agency assign the same ABA therapist for all those hours? Rob said we could afford this for a time. The manager said the program’s length depended on how Zach progressed.

The trial sessions revealed that Zach could sit for half an hour at the toddler table, pointing at cartoon pictures of farm animals. He loves the M&Ms that Piper, the bright twenty-something therapist, gives him. One for staying in his chair. One for maintaining eye contact. Another for identifying the horse, the cow, the pig. That Zach screams when Ellen has no M&Ms handy is a complication. The moms nod. Expect setbacks.

Peter, Molly said, tell our friends about your gangster.

Really, Rob said. You’re representing gangsters now?

Molly is exaggerating. One of my clients is dealing with the government. I really can’t talk about it.

Just tell our friends what you told me, Molly said. About the guy. You know.

All I said was, he was a gentleman. Considering the situation, he came across as a regular person. Just a typical guy in his forties with a family and a business. This meeting had a build-up to it. I expected something and then, I don’t know, it was like routine. That’s what I told Molly.

Playing against type, Rob said.

Something like that, Peter said.

Ellen knew Rob saw his old friend’s work as consequential. She’d heard how Peter had earned the grades while also enjoying himself. Now he dealt in questions of rights, liberties. It was far from Rob’s work of banging out media kits for tech companies. To alert the world that this software or gadget was superior.

You know, Molly has a story, too, Peter said. Tell them who you met at lunch the other day.

This is someone you saw on TV in the ’90s. A lot, Molly said.

That narrows it down, Rob said. Bill Clinton?          

Not that a lot, Molly said. In sports. Women’s sports.

Yesterday, Ellen had overheard Piper struggling to get Zach to say ball. She praised him, upbeat singsong voice. That’s OK, we’ll try again later, she said.

Afterward, Piper confided that the manager was assigning her to work with another family. The moms had warned her that such turnover was common. You have to add HR head to your hat rack, they said. Ellen wanted to ask if she could appeal Piper’s move. She would have to introduce a new therapist to Zach. She would ask the manager about her staff’s experience. Review the listserv for more providers. See if others evaluated this agency. And check the listserv for lawyers. The moms said we’re going to need one to protect Zach’s rights in school. Maybe Peter knows someone. Rob will sweat the cost. You cannot put a price on your child’s future. Zach, a functioning member of society. Rob says we need to have clear goals. There’s one.

A couple of years ago, she’d heard a radio interview with a man the government assigned to determine payouts to the families of people who died on 9/11. He talked about the calculations that went into the awards. How a person would be expected to earn so much, for so many years. Then the family would get approximately that amount.

Ellen. You left us there for a minute, Rob said. Molly is telling her story.

Sorry. Women’s sports.

Figure skating, Molly said. I actually ran into her. In that sandwich place on Boylston. I thought of you. We used to sit around that TV in the dorm lounge. You were at the front, riveted, oohing over the jumps.

We all were, Ellen said. It was like a soap opera, the heroes and the villains. The costumes. The judges. And the announcers.

Oh, and she couldn’t land that double axel, Salchow combination. What a shame, Molly said.

And her practice routines had gone so well, Ellen said.

She was right there in the café, with some friends, Molly said. I was with my mom. I whispered to leave her alone. You know my mom. Went right up to that table. Pointed at her. Oh, I think you’re terrific. I was prepared to be mortified, but she just nodded and gave that smile. Like on TV. She even thanked my mom. I just had to tell you.

We were more into hockey at the time, Peter said. I don’t remember who won twenty years ago.

Sweden, Rob said. They beat Canada in the final. Penalty shots.

The server returned. Large plates. Ellen’s with a little mound of handcrafted gnocchi in the center. Molly’s salmon encircled by a splash of sauce.

Peter lifted the bottle and Ellen nudged her glass toward him.

This looks delicious, Molly said. You know, we just got Thomas to try fish. Fish sticks shaped like dinosaurs, but still. Once he tasted it, he kept asking for more. Grace, of course, eats everything.

Peter leaned over to say something to Molly. Ellen was trying that lip-reading thing she did sometimes. We said we wouldn’t, something something. Under the table, Rob pinched Ellen’s leg.

What did you offer Thomas? To try the fish, I mean.

Molly paused. You mean, like a bribe?

To encourage a behavior. A reinforcer, Ellen said. It has to be something he really wants.

Zach gets a little candy, Rob said. Like for sitting with us at the table.

The moms had a recurring risk-benefit debate about the ritual of pouring Skittles and M&Ms and crackers shaped like goldfish into little bodies. Diabetes later versus behavioral compliance now. Only one family Ellen knew had achieved a positive result for bits of banana during the reinforcer test. Though Zach couldn’t talk, he discerned which of the bright bites set in front of him had the most sugar and carbs. And so it was candy for sitting at the table, for pointing at the cow when Piper said moo. What would she need to offer for potty training? Was there a sliding scale? All she had were questions.

It sounds like seals we saw at the Aquarium, Peter said. You know, they get a treat for their tricks. The kids really loved that.

Ellen felt Rob pinch her leg again. Stand down. Not worth it. Treats for seals. Fish sticks for dinner. Civilians. What about figuring out a person’s future, one increment at a time.

Rob, Molly said. Tell us something about you. What’s your most interesting client doing?

Yeah, Peter said. You’re working with Xenon, aren’t you? You mentioned them before.

We helped them launch, Rob said.

Something to do with connecting to the internet. Online stuff, Peter said.

Everything is about online, Ellen said. Even when it’s not.

That’s what I tell her, Rob said. Last week, we talked to a company that makes flooring. They wanted to know how they could become a dot-com. How we could help them remake their image, their brand.

What did you tell them?

That we’d build them a website to sell flooring, Rob said. Photographers can make hardwood gleam like a sports car.

The behavior therapist agency told Ellen and Rob to test out Zach’s floor play. A development category to evaluate. Rob called it the baby SATs. The toy bricks he brought home were folded-up, primary-colored chunks of cardboard. While Ellen read with Sophie, Rob crouched on the carpet with Zach. Zach held one in his pudgy hands, then put the corner of the block to his mouth.

No buddy, it’s not food. It’s a toy, Zach. A toy brick. You build things with it.

Ellen monitored the interaction. Rob showed patience. He put his hand over Zach’s hand, as Piper had coached. The father-son double-hand arranged the blocks into a pile.

This is a fence, Zach, see? Zach and Daddy are on one side of the fence, and Mommy and Sophie are on the other side of the fence.

Zach allowed Rob to touch him. His arm was like a puppet’s. When Rob let go, he grabbed the blue block and gnawed on it.

No, Zach buddy. It’s not to eat. That’s enough.

Thus began the day’s first tantrum. Zach launched himself at the block in Rob’s hand. Protested when he couldn’t reach it. Rob held Zach’s wriggling body. He just held him, hugged him to his cheek. Swayed like it was bedtime. It’s OK, Zach. I got you. Pure love, if you muted the screaming. When Rob’s eyes opened, Ellen saw pain. Pain at not understanding, and not for the first time. Ellen felt for Rob. And she wanted him to experience, again, this illogical, unnatural communication breakdown that parents and children are not supposed to have. Not like this. Not every day.

The moms mentioned marriage strain. Some fathers can be slow to pick up on what’s happening. They have a bias against anything atypical. Witnessing it can help. Vital to maintain the parental alliance. If the dad can’t see, a wedge forms. That day, Rob’s taking Zach to his room so he could calm down was bad enough to be good. Rob had to wait him out. Don’t leave him there, he might hurl himself from the big boy bed or topple the dresser. Ellen counseled Rob to sit on the rug, hugging Zach until he settled. Usually an hour.

Xenon, Peter said. Must be lots of competition.

Their technology, yes, Rob said. Quite innovative, to do with Wi-Fi. Signals through the air. Patents for it all.

One of my partners is doing a lot of IP work. She said they were worth watching.

I can share the PR materials, Rob said.

That would be great, Peter said. My partner, Laura, is heading to a big event they are having. Xenonworld, or something.

Xenon-a-thon, Rob said. San Francisco. I’ll be there.

Xenon-a-thon, right.

The gnocchi carried the right touch of garlic. Ellen ate too quickly and now had a gnawing in her gut. She tapped Rob’s leg, hoping he would pick up her let’s-go-soon signal. Too subtle. Peter and Molly accepted the dessert menu and Rob the Agreeable said that sounded good. Peter and Molly ordered a tiramisu to split.

Let’s get the chocolate caramel bread pudding, Rob said.

Get it. I’ll have a taste.

Ellen excused herself as Molly transitioned to another topic. Something about her consulting firm hiring an Outward Bound counselor to run team-building games. You have to trust they’ll catch you, she said.

The restroom was by the restaurant’s backdoor and takeout counter. Ellen went outside, flipped open her phone. Her mother-in-law picked up.

Roberta, how was bedtime, everything OK?

Everything’s fine. We watched Blue’s Clues like you said. Zach fussed a little when it was time to turn off the TV. Sophie talked to him. She told me how to sit next to Zach’s bed, and we read together. Sophie held Zach’s hand until he went to sleep. She said that is what Mommy does. It was very sweet.

Ellen’s body warmed at the thought, sitting between the kids. Sharing sounds and rhythms and, oh, look at the pictures. The light press of Sophie leaning on her. Zach’s fingers wrapped around her thumb.

Wonderful, Roberta, thank you. We’ll be home soon.

No rush. We’re having a fine time.

Rob left Ellen a corner of the bread pudding. The baking pan was still hot. He’d placed it in front of her, fork poised.

We were just talking about movies, Rob said. Molly thinks we’d like The Aviator.

Leo is quite good in that, Molly said.

Cate made a stunning Katherine Hepburn, Peter said.

Sounds great, Ellen said. Thanks for saving me a bite, honey.

The last time they saw Molly and Peter was the weekend after the diagnosis. They’d planned a family playdate. Rob argued they should go, that even with this news life would go on. That evening, they’d put the four kids in front of a movie with pizza slices cut into chunks. Rob suggested Sophie hold Zach’s hand. They brought toys from home so Zach could touch familiar objects. Ellen spied him rolling the trucks along the carpet instead of following the search for Nemo. Like the big colorful show wasn’t there. At least he was content.

When Molly asked how she was doing, Ellen told her. It was therapeutic. She realized later that she was still explaining their situation as Marlin reunited with Nemo and it was time to go.

Ellen wondered if the office supply store was open late. One of the moms advised getting a fresh filing cabinet. You’ll have a lot of printouts and you’ll need a system to keep them straight, she said. Evaluations, copies for the school department. And for the lawyer. You don’t have a lawyer yet? There are a few usual suspects, the moms said. It depends if you want a take-no-prisoners type.

Sometimes the moms talked shorthand. E.E., early intervention. P.T., O.T., A.B.A. Speech therapy, it turned out, had both receptive and expressive components. The audiologist said Zach’s hearing was normal. He just wasn’t responding or using words.

To the moms, the results were familiar. Their knowing nods welcomed Ellen to a new tribe. She lived in a land removed, with fewer nights out, fewer conversations about work or celebrity encounters.

There would be no wedge. Ellen was confident. Five years ago, pregnant with Sophie, they had a scare while awaiting a genetic test. Walking for hours, Ellen and Rob declared they’d bathe this baby in love. She’d quit her project manager job. He’d leave the office on time every day. Just last month, she and Rob had recalled that walk. They’d figure out how to get Zach the best help. Ellen air-kissed Peter and Molly on their way out. She reached for Rob’s hand on the walk to the car. He was in the tribe, too. The previous night he’d read Go Dog Go with verve, Sophie’s laughter spilling out of Zach’s room accompanied by Rob’s coaxing their son to follow along. Hey Zach, look! A dog party. A big dog party.