Devoted to Drew Page 6

  Bianca turned into her driveway and stared at the front of the house—the only home Drew had ever known. The wreath on the door and the mat on the porch said WELCOME. Friends, neighbors and family all praised her for making them feel so much at home that they sometimes lost track of time. When had she last felt that way herself?

  Long enough that she couldn’t remember.

  Once inside her home, she looked around at the rooms she’d redecorated in the hope of filling the gap left by his death. She hadn’t been able to control his feelings toward Drew, nor could she control the disease that had taken him from her, but this…this she could control.

  The first thing she noticed, walking into the now-sunny kitchen, was Drew’s colorful reminder taped to the refrigerator door: A DOG FOR DREW. He’d drawn accurate renditions of not one but seven dogs, one for every year he’d lived, “…so we’re not stuck lookin’ at just one kind.”

  Smiling, she pressed a palm to a curled corner of the yellow construction paper. Oh, how she loved the boy who was slowly emerging from the lonely shell of autism. If adding a furry, four-legged member to the family would help open the crack of what remained of that shell, she’d beg, borrow or grovel…even to the likes of Logan Murray.

  The weather had been glorious these past few days, so she opened the back door and took a deep breath of the sweet spring breeze, then grabbed a notepad and pen from the basket beside the phone and sat at the table. TALKING POINTS, she printed across the top of the pad’s first page, and wrote one through ten in the left margin. Her younger sister, Lily, a freelance writer for several local newspapers, had shared the method when Bianca complained about how difficult it was to dig for interview facts that went deeper than the limited information provided by guests’ press kits. With a bit of luck, the questions she’d written down for Logan would be answered by the man himself.

  She scrolled to his number in her cell phone, took a deep breath and hit the call button. His line rang five times before the now-familiar voice said, “You’ve reached Logan Murray. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.”

  Bianca hadn’t considered the possibility that she’d get voice mail. Without a prepared script, what would she say?

  She cleared her throat. “Hi. Logan. It’s… This is Bianca. Bianca Wright, from WPOK? When you get a minute, I wonder if you’d give me a call. I, um…there’s something…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought, maybe, since you’re affilia—”

  The end-of-message beep cut her off mid-word. Bianca stared at the phone’s keypad for a second and considered calling again to pick up where she’d left off. “Right,” she grumbled, dropping the phone into her blouse pocket. “Leave more evidence that you’re a stereotypical ditzy blonde.”

  Bianca turned on the radio sitting on the kitchen counter and dance music filled the air. A glance at her homemade clock told her she had time to start supper before leaving to pick Drew up at school. It also told her that the bowl of a silver spoon she’d tacked into place in the four o’clock spot had slipped out of alignment. Bianca slid a kitchen chair up to the sink and climbed onto the counter.

  She reached up to remove the clock from its nail when a DJ-smooth baritone said, “Wouldn’t a step stool be safer?”

  In one instant she was falling, arms windmilling, too startled to scream.

  In the next she found herself nestled in the strong, sure arms of Logan Murray, whose brow furrowed and blue-green eyes were filled with concern. Bianca hadn’t been this close to a man in more than a year, when Maddy had arranged a date with her yoga instructor’s son; two hours with Davis Blackwell—aka The Octopus—had given her the courage to put a stop to her mother’s “A Dad for Drew” campaign.

  “You okay?”

  Heart pounding, she said, “I will be…when you put me down.”

  Ever so gently, he did as she asked. “Ordinarily, I’d say it isn’t a good idea to leave your door unlocked.”

  She opened her mouth to point out that he’d been the reason she’d lost her balance when he said, “What in God’s name were you doing on the counter anyway?”

  “The number four came loose.” Bianca pointed at the clock.

  One long, muscular arm reached up, and with no effort at all, Logan took it down. He was about to hand it to her but hesitated. “Hey.” He pointed at her signature. “You made this?”

  Smiling, she nodded. It had counted more than three years’ worth of minutes, hanging in that same spot for so long that she rarely thought about the night she’d used the last of her art supplies to duplicate the cheese, crusty bread, fruit and wine delivered by neighbors to feed family and friends following Jason’s funeral.

  “It’s gorgeous,” he said. His gaze slid to the now-faded splotches of blue-green, burgundy and gold…proof she’d used the oak tabletop as her palette. “And you installed the clockworks yourself, too?”

  Bianca nodded.

  “You’re really talented,” he said, handing her the clock.

  She put it on the table and moved as close to the door as possible. Just because everybody knew his name and face didn’t mean he wasn’t a lunatic.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” he said, leaning on a chair back.

  “Actually, I’d rather know how you found out where I live.”

  “I was just leaving my folks’ house when your call came in.” A faint, slanted smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Put my new app to use, cross-checking your phone number with your address.” He shrugged. “Mailbox was full, so rather than scroll through and listen to your message, I thought I’d stop by, since I was right around the corner. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me because of the radio. What did you need me for?”

  What she needed was time. To process all he’d just said. To figure out how to phrase the dog-for-Drew question. To hope he wouldn’t mention having witnessed her, shimmying and shaking in time to the music.

  “Wonder if I could trouble you for a glass of water,” he said, loosening his collar.

  Bianca hoped it wasn’t a mistake to let him stay. “Where do your folks live?” she asked, grabbing two tumblers from the cabinet.

  “Dunloggin Road.”

  With any luck, the ice cubes drowned out the sound of her gasp, because their neighborhood was walking distance from here.

  “Iced tea or lemonade?” she asked, opening the fridge.

  “Sweet tea?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “Not in Baltimore,” he said, his smile broadening. As she filled their glasses, he picked up the clock. “The detail in this painting is incredible.”

  She handed him the tea.

  “Thanks. Did you study art?”

  “No…unless you consider how-to books ‘studying.’”

  Logan placed the clock back on the table, then leaned his backside against the counter. “Know what else is amazing?”

  Bianca had no idea, but he was gearing up to tell her, like it or not.

  “I was thinking about getting in touch with you when your call came in.”

  “Oh?” For a reason she couldn’t explain, Deidre’s comment, about him being ‘her Logan,’ popped into her head.

  “You remember that school I told you about, the one I hope to build for kids like my nephew and your son?”

  How could she forget? His entire demeanor had changed in the coffee shop that day, from quiet and courteous to animated and excited, when he told her about the pipe dream that had gradually become an obsession.

  “I need someone to act as point man—sorry, woman—and check out some of the leads I’m encountering.” He explained the people he’d been lining up interviews with: state and county officials; prominent names in the field of education; experts who’d conducted studies of autism and organizations that linked families with medical, scholastic and counseling services.

  “It’s not a difficult job,” he concluded, “but every phone call is important.”

  “Like the bl
ue puzzle piece,” she said without thinking, “that symbolizes autism.”

  “Exactly!”

  His enthusiasm might have been contagious—if she had time to get involved with his project.

  “I’m sure the work will be fascinating, but between my job and the house and errands and Drew’s issues…” Did she sound as whiny and self-pitying to him as she did to herself? “I think you’re right. About the work being important, that is. But I’d hate to shortchange you,” she quickly added. “I don’t have time to give it one hundred percent, and I’d hate to let you down.”

  His expression reminded her of the way Drew looked when she said no to a snack before supper. Bianca didn’t like disappointing him, especially when what he hoped to accomplish would benefit so many autistic kids and their families. But there were just so many hours in a day, and she’d already packed each to the max.

  Bianca rubbed her chin. “Didn’t you tell me when we had coffee last week that your sister was looking for something to do when her kids were in school?”

  “She’s already at her wits’ end, trying to juggle my mom, the folks’ house and an autistic son, all without overlooking her daughter’s needs.” He shook his head. “Sandra isn’t like you. She’s…she’s fragile.”

  Logan had mentioned that his sister was divorced, and based on his tone of voice, she’d guessed the split hadn’t been amicable. Add the stressors of a complicated breakup to caring for a sickly parent, a special needs son and another child—all while living under her parents’ roof? No wonder Sandra seemed overloaded. But she’d found the strength to leave a bad marriage and had the heart to care for her mother. Anything but fragile by Bianca’s definition.

  “If time is the only thing keeping you from saying yes, maybe I can help.” He stood up straight. “I could hire a housekeeper for you. Someone to run errands. Drive Drew to and from school.” He grinned and held a hand up, traffic-cop style. “Don’t look at me that way. I’m not a stalker.” The smile dimmed and the hand rested on the back of his neck. “If it seems like I’m trying too hard, it’s only because I happen to think you’re perfect for the job.”

  Logan could snap his fingers and summon a bevy of beauties. Could probably do the same to draw in a hoard of assistants. Why did he seem so determined to work with her?

  “Why me? You barely know me.”

  “I know enough. You’re smart. Capable. Efficient.” He looked around her kitchen, then nodded approvingly. “And from the looks of things around here, organized, too.”

  Bianca grunted. “Knowing exactly where things are at any given moment has saved Drew from a meltdown more times than I can count. My so-called organizational skills are the result of desperate necessity, not stellar personality traits.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I disagree. And as much as I admire the why and how of your skills, my only interest is outcome. And you strike me as a results-oriented kind of woman.”

  It would feel great to participated in a project that, when complete, would improve the lives of people with autism and their families. Bianca was tempted to say yes. With the extra income, she could hire a housekeeper.

  He hadn’t said a word about salary. But even if he had, Logan would be her boss…if she said yes.

  “Your offer to help me out?” she began.

  And Logan brightened.

  “Couldn’t you make the same offer to your sister? She’d probably enjoy having something to distract her from all the demands on her time.”

  Frowning, he said, “I told you. Sandra is fragile. One more thing on her To Do list, and she could snap.”

  “I understand how raising an autistic kid is challenging. And frustrating. Because as moms, we do everything humanly possible to improve life for our kids, despite restrictions put on us by the medical and scientific communities. I think you’re seriously underestimating what she’s capable of. Have you considered that it might be good for her…to help you reach your goal?”

  Logan put his glass in the sink. “No disrespect intended, but I think I know my sister better than you do.” He walked toward the door, pausing halfway between it and the table. “I’m disappointed you don’t want the job, but…” Another shrug, then, “I’m sorry.”

  For the surprise appearance? For making her feel like a helpless victim by preventing her fall? Scolding her for making him reconsider his assessment of his sister?

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Barging in here like the proverbial bull in a china shop, for starters. Too late to ask why you called me?”

  Logan looked and sounded sincere, but then, he was an actor.

  “I, ah, wanted to see if you could…” She told herself, Do not say “help me”! Instead, she said, “I wondered if you could maybe point me in the right direction. To find out more about service dogs. Like the ones in your commercial.”

  “Companion dogs,” he corrected. “Thinking of getting one for Drew?”

  She nodded, and then he filled the uncomfortable silence by telling her everything he knew about them: they provided companionship. Increased levels of independence and confidence. Interrupted self-harming behaviors, such as darting into traffic or sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night.

  An involuntary shiver snaked up her spine, remembering the time Drew had done that.

  “Your son has done that?” he asked. “Snuck out of the house while you’re sleeping, I mean?”

  Bianca cupped her elbows. “Only once,” she admitted. “The nurse across the street was just getting home from the hospital when she saw him, outside, in bare feet and pj’s. If she hadn’t been on duty that night…” Bianca’s heart beat harder, thinking of the awful possibilities. “The very next day, I installed key-operated locks at the top of every exterior door.”

  Logan followed her gaze to the one on the kitchen door. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

  Bianca didn’t like admitting to this self-made millionaire that she couldn’t afford to hire a locksmith to do it for her. “Well, sure.”

  “So you really do know how to use every tool in the shed.” He smiled. “Except for the chainsaw.”

  Bianca smiled, too. “Necessity isn’t just the mother of invention,” she said, waving the compliment away. “Sometimes, it’s the mother of peace of mind.”

  The ticking clock, lying on the table between them, reminded her that school would let out soon.

  “I hate to be rude, but I have to pick up Drew at school in a few minutes. He worries if I’m so much as one second late.” Bianca thought of the day when an accident had stopped traffic on Route 40 and made her ten minutes late. When she had pulled up to the school and saw the huddle of students, parents, teachers and administrators, she knew exactly who was at the center of it: Drew, kicking and screaming and rolling on the ground. It had been the first—and last—time she wasn’t there when the final bell rang. It meant eating lunch at her desk and skipping coffee breaks so that she could leave early, and sitting in the car twice as long as other parents, but it had been worth it.

  She grabbed her jacket and purse from the hook behind the door, and Logan held the screen door as she locked up.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” he said, walking beside her to the driveway.

  “Do what?”

  Touching his thumb to each fingertip, he ticked off her responsibilities. “Full-time job, house and yard to maintain, live-in mom, a kid with special needs… A load like that would crush a lesser woman.”

  A lesser woman—like Sandra? Maybe, she thought, if his sister had a sibling willing to risk alienating herself by speaking the hard-to-hear truth… Six months after Jason’s funeral, her sister, Lily, had grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “If you’re determined to suffer, you will. And so will Drew.” She’d given Bianca a figurative and literal shake by adding, “So quit wallowing!”

  If she knew Logan better, Bianca might ask how he’d formed his opinion of Sandra. But he’d made it clear that he’d made up his min
d about her and didn’t want anyone poking holes in his theories.

  He’d parked beside her and stood in the space between their cars. “Are you in a hurry to get Drew a companion dog?”

  She got into her car and buckled the seatbelt. “No, no hurry at all. At this point I just need information, so I can make an informed decision.”

  “Good. That’ll give me time to see what I can dig up.”

  With one hand on her roof, the other on the open door, he leaned closer.

  “Any rules about when I can get back to you?”

  “Rules?”

  “Sandra doesn’t allow calls after seven-thirty, which is Sam’s bedtime. Thought maybe you had a curfew like that.”

  “Drew goes to bed at eight, but it usually takes half an hour or so to get him settled in. No curfew, per se, but between nine and eleven is good because my mother…” Bianca sighed. Why was she telling him all of this?

  “Do me a favor?”

  Last time he’d said that, she’d ended up spending an hour she couldn’t afford sipping coffee and chatting in the quaint little café near the station.

  “If I can….”

  “It’ll take a few days for me to hunt up the dog info you need, so while you’re waiting for me to get back to you, will you think about the job? Think up some ways we can make it doable, and run ’em by me, okay?”

  And there it was again—that hopeful expression that made him look more like an overgrown boy than a full-grown man.

  “Okay.” It was the least she could do, considering he’d agreed to hook her up with companion-dog connections.