Читать книгу His Brother's Gift - Mary J. Forbes - Страница 10

Chapter Three

They arranged for Savanna and Christopher to temporarily move into Georgia’s home. Savanna had argued against the offer, but the old woman would not budge. She wanted a chance to know her great-grandson, she said. And Savanna. She wanted to understand the woman her granddaughter trusted with life’s most precious gift.

They used Georgia’s old truck to move the suitcases from the lodge. Done, they drove to Starlight Elementary where Savanna registered Christopher in fifth grade for the remainder of the school year.

She was walking through the six-o’clock dusk, back to the house from Larson’s General, with three king salmon steaks, when Will came up the street in a red Toyota 4Runner.

“Hey,” he said through the open window. Slowing to a crawl, he drove with his right hand atop the steering wheel while his left arm sat jacked on the sill. “Lodge said you’d checked out.”

She stopped, the grocery sack swinging against her leg. “We moved in with Georgia Martin.”

His brows jumped. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

“She’s Christopher’s great-grandmother.”

“I know who she is, Savanna. I just didn’t know you two knew each other, is all.” His eyes were ebony in the dusk.

“We didn’t until about eight hours ago. I needed a place to stay. She offered, so…here we are.”

He stopped the truck. “Get in and I’ll give you a lift.”

“What for? It’s right there.” She pointed a hundred feet up the street where lights welcomed the old lady’s home among the trees.

“Because,” he said, “we need to talk.”

“If it’s about us leaving, I’m not interested.”

“It’s about Christopher. I’ve changed my mind.” He nodded to the passenger seat. “Get in. Please,” he added.

The please went through her like butter, but she forced herself not to give in too quickly. “Are you always this charming?”

His grin rippled across her stomach. “Only with certain women.”

Certain women. She could imagine the type. Tittering at his whim. Blinking doe eyes. Women like Mindy the waitress, dreaming of dancing with the local macho pilot. Dirty dancing. Eager young women. Not one skipping toward menopause with the next handful of birthdays.

She raised her chin. She had not spent twenty years in the Third World without earning her wrinkles, her tough spine. Nine years and Will Rubens might, might, catch up to her wisdom.

“I am not certain women,” she said. “And I do not take orders easily.” Definitely not from young hotshots with dimples.

He laughed. “Feisty is good.”

She walked on. “We can talk at the house.”

“Savanna…”

“The house,” she called back.

“Fine.”

She heard gears grind as the truck detoured around her and roared ahead. He veered into Georgia’s driveway and slammed to a stop. Before she could catch her breath, he was out of the cab, arms crossed and waiting like the headmaster of a nineteenth-century school.

She walked past him. He had some growing up to do.

“Damn it, Savanna.” He wheeled to stride beside her. “You said the house.”

“When you act your age, we’ll talk.”

He caught her arm, halting them midlane. “Where the hell do you get off talking like that? I’m not your student and for damn sure you’re not my mother.”

Her heart bumped her throat. She’d forgotten his size. They stood in a forest of trees, in the dark, and who in Starlight would come to her rescue against the fun-loving, dancing Will Rubens? “Please take your hand off me,” she said quietly.

His mouth thinned, but he did as she asked. “I want Christopher.”

For an indefinite moment, they stared at each other and she thought, The shape’s all wrong. Christopher didn’t have Elke’s eyes. Will dominated both the shape and color of Christopher’s eyes. A little ruffle stirred under her heart. “Why?” she finally managed.

“Why? This morning all you wanted was for me to take him, and now you ask why? How’s this—because he’s my brother’s kid?”

“Not good enough.”

His mouth gaped.

“First of all, blood does not make a parent. Second, last night and this morning you—”

He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I can’t deny what I said before, but I’ve been thinking on it all day and I want a chance.” A heavy sigh. “He’s all I have left of…of Dennis.”

Again that little bump in the throat. Dennis, she reminded herself. She would do this for Dennis…and Elke. “All right. We can meet in the morning and figure out the arrangements.”

He looked at the house with its inviting face. “Understood. Tomorrow it is.” Then added softly, “Thank you.”

He walked back to his truck, night shadows swaying through the trees to brush his shoulders. She tried to ignore the shadow stealing into her heart.

With one hand holding a thermos of coffee, Will knocked on Georgia’s door at 7:30 the next morning.

He should be at the flight service station getting ready for the two hikers he was flying into the Talkeetna Mountains in a couple hours. He never understood people hiking when the weather was ornery and unpredictable. But who was he to argue? Their decisions and money put food on his table.

In the pale dawn light, he studied the front yard with its spruce and birch, frosted from the overnight temperature. The ambience resembled his own property on the next street. Except, when he’d bought, the original structure hosted rot and decay and he had torn it down to build a log cabin. This August would mark his seventh in the house, still ranked “new” by Starlight standards. It’s what he loved about the village, this reluctance to massacre the environment in the name of progress.

When he’d returned to his hometown eight years ago, it was to lick his wounds. To flee a broken heart. Broken because of Aileen, dying for the same altruistic reasons as Dennis had last Monday. What Will hadn’t understood then was you can’t hide from memories, that it takes time—sometimes never—for the mind to evict its awful images.

Thanks to Harlan those images had faded, finally. Harlan, former Nam vet, teaching orphaned seventeen-year-old Will to fly helicopters—a boy who eventually grew into a man, flying rich folk around California and who, one day years later, would return and use those skills in the Alaskan wilderness to erase the memory of his murdered sweetheart. A woman like Savanna, journeying into areas where poverty and gangs were medians of survival.

The door opened. “Morning, Will,” Georgia greeted.

“Nana Martin.”

“I suppose you’re here to see Savanna and Christopher?”

“Yes, ma’am. Savanna’s expecting me.”

“Come in, then.” She walked back to the kitchen.

Entering, he smelled breakfast and coffee, and followed the morning odors. At his house, he had made a plate of eggs and toast; though he had no trouble brewing his own coffee, he sometimes left the task to Lu over at Lu’s Table with her Starbucks franchise.

At the kitchen table, Christopher munched his toast triangles. His blue sweater was inside out. Savanna stood leaning against the counter, coffee mug cozy between her hands, green eyes on Will. She’d pulled her blue sweater on properly—and over breasts, he noticed, which were a nice ample package. Her jeans fit a damn fine package, too.

He offered a nod. “Savanna. Figured we could talk before I head out for the day. Don’t know what time I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Talkeetna Mountains. Hikers,” he added.

She turned toward the window. Mounds of crusted snow lay among the trees. “People hike this time of year?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Almost May. Not as cold as it looks.” If the wind stayed down.

Her look took in Christopher, and Will understood. “This won’t take long,” he said. “We can talk out on the porch.” After the boy reiterated Will’s words verbatim in the lodge’s room, he’d rather ask questions and discuss his plans away from little ears.

“Let me get my coat.”

Outside, day was beginning to arrive. Pale-gray patches stitched themselves into evergreen tops. Will stepped from the rear stoop to walk through the trees. Brittle brown grass and glassy snow crackled under their boots. He loved early morning best. The quiet, the peace. Before people cluttered the day.

Stopping, he lifted his thermos, took a deep swallow of dark roast. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Georgia?”

Hands buried deep in her parka’s pockets, Savanna edged beside him as he stood on the path among the hulking black spruce. He could smell her, a clear, pure scent of summer in the mountains—blue skies and meadows filled with dogwood.

“You didn’t give me a chance.”

She had him there. “Suppose I didn’t,” he admitted. “So. What’s the story? She know about the boy’s problem?”

“Yes. Elke told her right after she and Georgia started communicating in 2005.”

He looked down at the top of her head barely reaching his collarbones. “They had remained estranged all those years?”

She lifted a shoulder. “As I’m sure you know, the reasons were profound.”

Yeah, he knew all about those reasons. Elke’s mother thought him “foolish and stupid” putting his life on the line because he liked riding motorcycles and flying helicopters, sky-diving and whitewater kayaking—and dragging his brother along.

Dennis, wanting to be a doctor from his tenth birthday.

No, there hadn’t been any love lost between Will and Rose.

But Elke was the woman his brother had chosen from the time they hit puberty. In Will’s mind she’d been weak-kneed in the face of Rose. But Dennis loved Elke, and Will loved his brother, end of story.

“Who contacted who first?” he asked.

“Georgia. After Rose died.”

“Two years ago.”

“Yes. She wrote a letter of regret and apology on Rose’s behalf, and Elke accepted. They corresponded several times a month.”

“When did you tell her about the crash?” His throat tightened. Thinking of Dennis, God, it was a slug to the gut every time.

“Yesterday morning. After our breakfast.”

So. Georgia wasn’t first on Savanna’s list any more than she was in Dennis’s will. Oddly, Will felt satisfaction in that. As a result Savanna Stowe deemed him Priority One. She might have moved Christopher into Georgia’s house, but she had kept her promise to Dennis.

“I’d like a chance with Christopher,” he said. “I’ll hire a nanny for the days I’m flying and can’t be with him or,” he looked back at the house, “I’ll make arrangements with Georgia.” Though he hoped that necessity wouldn’t happen.

“Georgia isn’t capable of watching Christopher for long stretches. She’s eighty-six with a possible onset of Parkinson’s. However, I am capable. As I’ve explained, I’ll be staying in Starlight until I see that Christopher has adjusted to you and his new home. And,” she paused, “until I feel confident you’re able to care for him. If not, we’ll both be on the next flight out.”

Will stared at her. If she wasn’t a woman and if his mother hadn’t whupped respect into him before she died, he’d tell Savanna Stowe in no uncertain terms to take a long hike into the mountains. She was using that superior attitude again. Like he had no sense, no brains. The way Rose had classified him.

Okay, fine. He’d play along. He wanted the kid. If that meant singing her tune, he’d sing. “Tell me what you want.”

She blinked, no doubt surprised he’d acquiesced without a murmur.

“You’ll need to readjust your flying time to be home when Christopher is finished with his day. He’ll need your attention then.”

“Seems he does fine with his maps.” He skipped another look toward the house. “I saw him with a Game Boy in there.”

She scowled. “Those are fine for emergencies. Look, except for his learning and some specific behaviors, Christopher is just a little boy. He requires stability and routine like other children. But he also requires a lot of mental stimulation. Which you’ll need to provide.”

“And if I don’t he’ll throw a tantrum, rip down curtains?” Will tried to joke.

Her pupils pinpricked. “Possibly. Imagine ignoring an active, anxious toddler.”

Will couldn’t imagine. The youngest kid he had coached was six. An age when they talked and walked and went to the washroom alone. When they could entertain themselves with a Tonka truck.

“Maybe he’ll like playing on a Little League team.”

She blew a soft sigh. “Will, have you read anything about Autism Spectrum Disorder or Asperger’s Syndrome?”

“Checked the Internet a bit last night.” Her scrutiny had him itching to pace. “Before that—” He shrugged.

“The Internet is a start. There’s also the library or bookstores.”

“Fine. What about his education at school?”

“I talked to the principal and the fifth-grade teacher at Starlight Elementary yesterday. They’re willing to let me volunteer as Christopher’s assistant for now. However, as his guardian, your input will be considered first and foremost.”

“Seems you have it under control.”

“Because my dedication is to Christopher, who needs an immediate routine. And sometimes even that doesn’t work as planned. Today he’ll be anxious. He won’t be familiar with the school or the kids. And he’ll worry they’ll stare and tease.”

Something shifted inside Will. He studied the house. Inside was a child vulnerable to the panorama of life. The thought of Christopher huddling in a corner because of some cruel gesture or word had Will pressing his lips together. For the first time he realized how much Savanna knew about the boy and how much he did not.

“Is that how it’s always been, kids teasing him?”

“No. Honduran children seem kinder than North American kids. Probably because in the Third World they already have so little, differences are not as evident.”

“I’ll make sure no one teases him.”

A sad smile. “You won’t be with him every minute of every day, Will. There are going to be times his behavior will draw stares. The way he walks. His humming.”

Flapping his hands. Repeating sentences and words. Will moved down the path a short way, thinking hard on all she had said. What training did he have to handle a kid with differences? With restrictions? None. Maybe he should let the boy go back to the Lower 48, live with Savanna.

Through the window of the house, he saw Christopher sitting at the table, probably working that pocket toy or poring over his maps. An isolated little kid who had Dennis’s wheat hair, Elke’s serious face.

Damn it. He had to make this work. For his brother, even for Elke. But more significantly for Christopher.

With a sigh he turned to Savanna. Her spruce-green eyes were determined; his decision made not a whit of difference. Christopher was her focus. If the boy stayed, she would stay. If Will changed his mind, she’d have the kid out of Starlight within the hour.

Her indifference on his behalf bothered Will. He wanted Savanna Stowe to care about what he thought, what he felt. Mostly he wanted her support, and the logic of that made no sense. He lived his life the way he liked, without a woman’s whims or approval.

“Does he like school?” he asked, slamming the door on his emotional analysis.

Amusement sparked her eyes. “Oh, he loves school. He just wishes the other kids weren’t there.”

Will chuckled. “Did he say that?”

“The first day of every school year. As I’ve said, he has no desire to be with his peers.”

“Because of the teasing.”

“Because of his genetic makeup.”

That stung. “I didn’t give him autism, Savanna.”

“Maybe not.” Elke had fretted over the same possibility. “What I meant is that his condition won’t seem so different or odd once you understand the underlying factors.”

“What causes it?”

“They believe it’s how the brain develops. Specifically, deficits and delays in those areas dealing with social and emotional behavior and reasoning.”

“Delays. You mean he’ll be normal, typical, one day?”

“Like you and me? Not entirely. But he’ll have mastered life skills that will assist him as an adult.” A smile touched her mouth. “It’s believed Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton and Henry Cavendish, the scientist who discovered hydrogen, all had a form of Asperger’s. If that helps.”

It didn’t.

A weak sun peeked through the gray-blue patches, dusting the frosted trees in glitter. For a few moments they stood silent, contemplating the emergence of spring.

Will said, “This isn’t all, is it?”

A head shake. “We’ve barely touched the surface. But with each day I’ll explain more when a particular behavior crops up.”

Will pursed his lips. “Seems he likes maps.”

“You’ll find he’s very possessive about certain items. Like his maps, his knapsack, the sketchbook. He’ll draw trains for hours. But he’s averse to taking direction. Not because he’s belligerent, but because he relates it to negativism. He needs a lot of praise and encouragement.”

“Terrific. So how do I tell him when he’s done something wro—inappropriate?”

“Why don’t we take it one day at a time?”

He was all for that. What she had given him had overloaded his brain.

He studied her while she surveyed their surroundings.

She was small and curvy, with hair that spiraled around the shoulders of her black coat the way forest fires whorled into a night sky. Genetics had given her a linear nose, a little on the long side with tiny nostrils—and well-shaped lips. Kissable if he had an inkling. Which he did not.

On the whole, she matched nothing of what he found appealing in women. Her brows and lashes were auburn, her chin small and narrow. And she was shorter than he preferred. However, her smile was sincere and kind and he wished she’d volunteer it more often.

Suddenly he wondered about her age and how long she’d worked on foreign soil. “How old are you?”

Her head turned slowly, eyes wide and dark. “That’s rude, don’t you think? To ask a woman her age?”

He shrugged. “I figure with you and Elke being best friends you know my age.” Lifting his eyebrows, he cut her a grin. “Fair is fair. And it’s not like we’re interested in each other.”

She regarded him for a moment. “Forty-two.”

“This year?”

“No.” Her eyes flashed; he curbed a laugh.

Forty-three this year. A separation of nine years. He’d already had his thirty-fourth birthday.

“I think,” she said, moving down the path toward the house, “we’re done here.”

“Are you planning to live with Georgia for the duration?”

She hesitated. “I’ll be looking for a place to rent. Georgia is kind enough to have us stay, but I’d prefer not to take advantage.”

Not with a high-maintenance kid. Will nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know.” He shifted on his feet. “Thanks for the information about…”

“His name is Christopher.”

Was she for real? “I know that. Look, it may take a few months to adjust my schedule. I’m already booked into June.”

“He doesn’t have a few months, Mr. Rubens, so I suppose it depends on what’s most important to you. Your job or your nephew.”

Damn the woman. “My job,” he said, breathing deep for control, “pays the bills. It’ll keep the boy in clothes and food with a roof over his head and a babysitter at his beck and call—”

“Babysitter?” Two steps and she was back within his space, a compact bundle of tenacity. “Christopher needs someone specialized in working with autistic children, Will. He’ll need a behavior interventionist to help reinforce strategies to curb his anxiety and frustrations, establish boundaries. He may require an SLP. And you’ll need to participate in his IEP. There’s also the respite worker—”

He threw up his hands. “Whoa. Speak English. An IEP and SPL?”

“SLP. Speech language pathologist. An IEP is an individualized educational plan the school requires for his workload.”

“Okay, understood, but a respite worker?”

“As sweet as Christopher is, you’ll need breaks. Respite workers are trained in special needs.”

“And where am I supposed to dig out this nugget of gold?”

“I don’t know. Maybe instead of going dancing or playing pool, spend the time doing research.”

“What? Where the hell do you get this sh—Argh!” He headed down the frozen path. “Elke, right?” Swinging around, he jabbed a finger in Savanna’s direction. “Well, let me tell you something, Ms. Stowe. Her mother ruled the roost in that family, so I told Dennis not to marry the daughter. I also begged him not to leave Alaska. He’d started a fledgling practice right here, did you know that? But he wanted her and she wanted to be rid of Rose. And now they’re dead. Because of her.” The pain of it all had him breathing like a winded sled dog. “And here’s another newsflash. I gave up ‘craziness’—” he dittoed the air with quotation marks and a scowl “—the day Christopher was born. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke and if I play pool, it’s once a month with good, decent folk. And, damn it, yes, I like dancing. You ought to try it sometime. Might loosen that block sitting on your shoulder.”

Turning sharply, he strode for the back gate and alley that led to his cabin. Damn it. Forty-eight hours and the woman had his temper in a knot more times than in ten years.

“Will!”

She rushed after him. He strode on.

“Will, stop a minute. Please.” Her fingers brushed his coat sleeve. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m making assumptions when I shouldn’t. It’s… It’s been a very grueling week, and I know that’s no excuse. I apologize. Can we start over?”

One street over, a diesel engine fired into the morning quiet, and he knew his neighbor Nate Burns, their local flight-service controller, was bound for the airport.

Will took a deep breath. “Are we gonna argue every time something doesn’t go your way?”

“That I can’t promise, but I can give you honesty. If it means Christopher’s rights versus yours, I’ll choose his. Each and every time.”

A heavy moment passed as his eyes held hers. Far in the distance his mind registered her green irises as beautiful with sun-gold dots dappling the outer rims. His gaze dipped to her slightly parted lips emitting a wisp of breath to the frosted air, and he wondered about the degree of warmth he’d feel there if he were to bend down and—

“Here’s the deal,” he said, annoyed because she confused him and had his libido running roughshod over his gray matter. “While you’re in Starlight I’ll respect you’re Christopher’s parental figure. But my free time is none of your business. Clear?”

“Only if—”

“It affects Christopher. It won’t.”

“Yes.”

Again the long look. Again he felt a tickle in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight when I get in.”

He left her as he had last night. Standing among shadows. It wasn’t until he slammed into his house that his words tracked back. I’ll see you. Not, I’ll see Christopher.

Will shook his head. The woman had his insides on a seesaw. One minute he was admiring her mouth, the next he wanted her out of state. He decided to go for a run.

Escaping, Will?

Shut up and get your gear.