His Brother's Gift
“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.
Chapter Four
Six days later, Christopher’s teacher phoned and left a message on Will’s answering machine. She wanted to discuss present and future educational goals for his nephew.
Must be the IEP Savanna mentioned, he thought, driving into the school parking lot a half hour after the home-time bell.
A few kids still hung around the yard, playing a game of basketball on a cemented pad. He remembered those days when he’d been twelve, right here, joshing around with his buddies after sitting in a desk for five hours.
Those had been good days. Kind days.
His parents had been alive then, his brother down at Stanford and Aileen…sweet Aileen…had sat on the grass and watched Will and his pals show off, dribbling the ball, tossing it over their shoulders, twirling it on their fingertips, sinking pointers into the ratty net. He’d been the star player then, his sprout of height lending him a five-inch advantage to the rest of the group.
He had laughed in those days. Laughed and sent Aileen all sorts of mischievous grins. And she had held her hand over her mouth, giggled with her friends, but he’d known, clear as a July sky, that he would marry her one day.
God, how naive he’d been then. Twelve years old and already he’d mapped the direction his life would take.
He hadn’t counted on Aileen’s sensitive heart, her need to help the underdog, to travel and teach in disadvantaged areas of the Outside. Like Savanna, and Dennis.
He pushed through the school doors and strode down the hall to the office. The smell of youth, sweaty bodies and chalk dust stung his nose, filtered into his memories. His boots echoed on the tiled floor.
Valerie sat inputting data on a computer. Her son drew silly faces with a blue erasable felt on a dry board next to a filing cabinet.
“Will!” the kid called.
“Hey, Josh.” Will nodded to the woman. “Val.” Her face lit like an ornamental lamp; he looked away.
Josh rushed over. “Whatcha doing here?”
“Got an appointment with Ms. Murphy.”
“Cuza the new boy? I mean your…your nephew?”
Will flicked a look toward Valerie, and shame rose. He should have told Josh about Christopher. In all senses except bloodlines, Josh was his little brother.
But he knew why he’d kept Christopher to himself, why he hadn’t been up-front with Josh, or anyone else for that matter.
Christopher was different.
Oh, hell, admit it, Will. You don’t know what to make of the boy.
Jeez. He wanted to walk out of the school, out of Josh’s life for fear his shame would touch the kid.
Sweat popped from Will’s skin. Could he be any more of an ass? If Savanna knew how he felt…
“Yeah, sport, I’m here because of Christopher.”
“Oh.” A tone of resignation.
“Sorry, pal. I should’ve told you about Chris earlier. I will later, okay?”
Valerie had gone back to typing. As always, she wasn’t getting involved. More loudly than necessary he said, “But right now, I need to speak with his teacher and Mr. Germaine.”
Valerie’s head turned. “Of course, Will,” she murmured. “Follow me.” She led him down a tiny hallway to another door, one he’d gone through more than once as a student and not always for praise. “Mr. Germaine, Will’s here to see you.” She gave him a hesitant smile, then bustled back to her desk.
Will nodded to the principal, “Harry,” and shook the teacher’s hand. “Ms. Murphy.” The woman looked to be in her early twenties. He’d bet his helicopter that Starlight Elementary was her first teaching position. A neophyte in the business of education. And kids with Asperger’s Syndrome.
Behind the desk, the man Will had flown up the Copper River for fly-fishing the past four summers gestured to the empty chair beside Ms. Murphy. “Thanks for coming, Will. Penny, here, wanted to discuss some possibilities for your nephew next year. Since she teaches a split fifth-sixth grade, he’ll be in her class again come September. Penny, why don’t you explain your concerns?”
The woman studied a notebook in her lap. “As you know, Memorial Day weekend and the end of the school term is only seven weeks away, Mr. Rubens. While Ms. Stowe has agreed to volunteer in class with Christopher for the interim, she’s made it clear she won’t be here in the fall.”
Oddly, hearing the information from this girl-teacher made it more real than hearing it from Savanna. Will’s gut clenched.
“Therefore, Mr. Germaine and I recommend Chris be placed in a specialized program in September.”
“Specialized program?”
“A special needs class. There’s a very good one in Palmer.”
Will’s heart pounded. They wanted Christopher to travel sixty miles to attend a class separate from his peers? The idea did not sit right with Will. Years ago, educators like Ms. Murphy had singled him out because he’d been three grades ahead in math. The geek in elementary school.
The daredevil in high school.
“Has he been in a special class before?” he asked calmly.
“Well, according to Ms. Stowe, no. But—”
“Then he’s not going in one now.”
“Mr. Rubens—”
“Will,” Harry began.
“No,” Will said, forcing his breathing to level. “I want Chris staying here, with the other kids. I don’t care where you get the help, but he’s not going into a class that’ll make him feel more different than he is.”
“Mr. Rubens.” Ms. Murphy clenched her hands on top of her notebook. “I know Christopher has been in class only a week and I’m not completely familiar with his behaviors, but I’ve read that autistic children can be highly agitated if…if things don’t go their way.” Her knuckles paled with pressure. Will almost felt sorry for her. “They’re also prone to being very focused.”
And that was a problem? Didn’t teachers want their students focused?
Suddenly his gut spun like a dryer. He had to step up to the plate. For Dennis—and that young math geek twenty years ago. But not without Savanna. He’d been wrong, thinking to send her back to the Lower 48.
You need her help.
“He’s staying in your class, Ms. Murphy.” Will regarded Harry with what he hoped was a take-no-prisoners look. “I won’t have his routine interfered with. Meantime, get him to use an agenda. Ms. Stowe has one and he follows it to the minute.” During the evenings at Georgia’s, he’d witnessed Savanna model behavior through workable techniques by way of the agenda.
“It isn’t that simple,” Ms. Murphy stressed. “For example, Christopher will need assistance in switching tasks.”
Will turned to her. “Isn’t that your job?”
The woman flushed; Harry cleared his throat. “Penny has twenty-nine students in two grades, Will. Christopher takes up more time than one regular student. A smaller class would eliminate confusion for him.”
“Chris is a bright kid,” Will said stubbornly. Like my brother. “He’s quick to catch onto routine.” Sort of. “I’ve seen it at his grandmother’s house. He doesn’t need a special class.”
Harry sighed. “Fine, but he will require testing to qualify for an assistant in the fall.”
Tested. Like a guinea pig. Will could imagine what testing involved for a boy with Christopher’s condition. Hadn’t Will gone through similar rigors at six, ten, twelve, because the ratio of his age to his acumen didn’t match?
Harry checked the file folder in front of him. “You’re the boy’s guardian, right?”
Would perspectives change if he admitted, Biologically I’m his father? “Yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his chair. “Look, Harry. Give me a name and I’ll hire her to help Christopher. I don’t want him tested.”
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