Devoted to Drew Read online

“No, I’m not a mind reader,” he teased, “but I am pretty good at math. Logan called last week and asked if I could talk to Denise about that gal in Mt. Airy she interviewed a couple months back. Turned out the name I passed him led to a different servicedog outfit.” He finger-combed his mustache. “I just put two and two together and guessed.” Leaning closer, he wiggled his eyebrows. “So what’s your beef with Baltimore’s pretty boy?”

  “I don’t have a beef with him.” The more she talked, the deeper the hole grew. “So that’s what you came in here to tell me…that Logan didn’t get the name and number he needed from you?”

  “Actually, he did. But that isn’t why I’m here. I came in to give you these.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew two tickets to an Orioles game. “I know how much Drew loves baseball.”

  “Aw, Marty. That’s sweet of you. I appreciate it, really I do, but Drew hates crowds even more than he loves the Os. He’s better off watching the game on TV.”

  “These aren’t tickets to a game. They’re passes, sweetheart, to get you and Drew into the locker room. Let me know if you want to go down there before the game or after so I can stand between you and anybody who’s out of uniform.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t want you blushing, in case there are pictures.”

  It was a lovely gesture, so thoughtful that it left her at a loss for words. She wanted to accept the gift. But how could she, knowing how Drew reacted to noise and crowds and quite likely the chatter of reporters and the flash of photographers’ cameras?

  “You can’t protect the kid from everything,” Marty pointed out. “If you don’t let him try new things, how will you find out what he can handle and what he can’t?”

  Her mother said the same thing. Often.

  “If he gets agitated and acts up, nobody’s gonna mind. Most of the guys are familiar with autism, thanks to B. J. Surhoff.”

  She’d heard about how the former Hall of Famer and his wife had founded Pathfinders for Autism to help other parents of autistic kids find services. Several times over the years, Bianca had considered matching their resources with Kennedy-Krieger’s, but with everything else she was juggling, change terrified her almost as much as it scared Drew.

  Marty tossed the passes onto her desk. “Think about it. If you decide not to go, let me know. I can name ten people off the top of my head who would kill for those things.” He checked his watch. “Uh-oh. Better hustle back to the studio. Almost time for the radio weather report on WPOK.” On the way to the door, he said, “Have a good one, kiddo. Catch you later.”

  “You, too, and thanks for thinking of us,” she returned, then faced her desk and read the notes she’d made before Marty had popped in. And the ones she’d scribbled while talking with Mrs. Peterson. “Drew talking dogs at school,” said one. “Call Logan Murray about dogs,” said another.

  She ought to be doing a dozen other things, Bianca thought, instead of dialing his cell number. But at least she could cross one thing off her list once she got hold of him.

  Three rings, four, then he said, “Marty. Hey. ’Bout time you got back to me.” He chuckled. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You broke your dialing finger?”

  It was refreshing to know he talked to everyone the way he talked to her. “Hi, Logan. It’s Bianca. Bianca Wright?”

  “Oh. Hey,” he said. “Sorry. Saw the station’s phone number in the caller ID window and automatically thought it was Marty.” He cleared his throat. “Wondering what I found out about the dogs, eh?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “I figured to call you tomorrow, after I’d talked with the last name on my list. But I can give you what I have, maybe stop by today to drop off the pamphlets and whatnot.”

  “Today?”

  “Well, I was thinking maybe tonight?”

  That would teach her to make snap decisions. Why in the world had she called him!

  “Things rarely settle down at my house until eight, eight-thirty.” Later, she admitted, if Drew decided not to cooperate with his bedtime routine.

  “How’s nine, then? I know you’ll have put in a full day, so I won’t stay long.”

  She reminded herself that he’d gone to a lot of trouble to help her out. Correction: to help Drew.

  “Okay. Sure. See you tonight, then.”

  “I have back-to-back meetings. No time for supper. Okay with you if I grab some fast food on the way over and eat it at your place?”

  Supper, not dinner, she noted. From a guy who’d probably attended a hundred thousand-dollar-a-plate black tie affairs. It made her smile a little. “No need for that. I’ll save you a plate. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I never joke about food.”

  Laughing, he said, “Great. Better than great. See you around nine.”

  She hung up slowly and glanced at the clock: six hours to get everything on her To Do list done…and still have time to get home and touch up her hair and makeup.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “OH, hello! You must be Logan Murray!”

  He accepted the outstretched hand. “And you must be Bianca’s mom.”

  “Please, call me Maddy.” She led the way into the family room, where a Hot Wheels track looped across the carpet. “Bianca is upstairs tucking Drew in for the night.” She cleared coloring books and crayons from the sofa cushions. “Make yourself comfortable.” Glancing around the room, she laughed. “If that’s possible in this mess!”

  “Doesn’t look half as messy as my sister’s house,” he said, placing a manila folder on the coffee table. He took a seat and hopped right up again. “Ouch,” he said, grinning as he put a miniature car on the table.

  “Oh, that grandson of mine.” Maddy shook her head. “Can I get you anything to drink? Soda? Beer? Coffee?”

  “Soda sounds good, thanks.”

  While she was gone, Logan looked around the room, where a caramel-colored leather sofa was flanked by overstuffed plaid chairs. A wooden clock and framed photographs decorated one polished end table, a vase of spring flowers added color to another and a collection of odd-sized clay pots stood on the coffee table. He liked the tall, wood-shuttered windows and the blue-and-green paisley rug beneath his feet. He admired the clusters of treelike plants in every corner, too. He’d paid a high-priced interior designer to furnish his place with similar pieces, so why did his family room look cold and uninviting, while Bianca’s felt warm and welcoming?

  “Here you go,” Maddy said, placing a wooden tray in front of him. “I wasn’t sure if you like sipping straight from the can or if you prefer your soft drinks over ice, so I brought both.”

  He popped the top of the cola can and poured the liquid into a glass. “You aren’t going to keep me company until Bianca finishes upstairs?” he asked.

  She sat in the easy chair nearest his end of the sofa. “Well, of course.”

  Maddy glanced at the ceiling, and he presumed Drew’s room was on the other side of it. “I can’t imagine why she invited a busy man like you over here on a weeknight. Drew can be…” She bit her lower lip. “Sometimes, after a long day at school, he can be a little…difficult.”

  Logan leaned back. “Boys will be boys,” he said, propping an ankle on a knee. “Besides, Bianca didn’t invite me. I sort of invited myself.”

  “Oh. Really?” Maddy’s hands fluttered at her throat. “Well. Goodness.”

  Maddy pointed at the folder on the coffee table. “Is that the reason you’re here?”

  Nodding, he said “Yes, ma’am.” If he had to guess, he’d say Bianca probably discussed the idea of getting a dog with her mom before asking for his help. But just in case she hadn’t, he intended to keep his lips zipped.

  “That girl runs around most days like the proverbial chicken without a head.”

  He followed her gaze, from the toys piled high in a wicker toy box to two pairs of small sneakers lined up side by side next to the TV.

  “Now you watch…. Sh
e’ll come down here, and before she looks into that folder you brought, she’ll put all these toys away.”

  “Can’t fault her there,” he said. “I’m the same way.”

  “I’ve said for years that Bianca is a workaholic. If it isn’t Drew this or Drew that, it’s something to do with the show. And then she’s up half the night trying to keep this place in tip-top shape.”

  “Because kids with autism crave order in their lives.”

  She looked surprised, so he said, “My nephew is autistic. Sam. He’s about Drew’s age.”

  “Is that right?” Maddy sighed. “Strange, isn’t it, the way the number of people with autism continues to grow. Some people blame mandatory vaccinations. I say it’s plastic. Everything is packaged in plastic these days. Food. Water. Who knows what’s leeching into the things we eat and drink?”

  “Something to think about, for sure,” he said, looking for something, anything, that would give him an excuse to change the subject. Then he noticed a collection of silver-framed photos on the mantel. “So that’s Drew’s dad, there in the middle?”

  Maddy looked up. “Yes,” she said on a sigh. “Bianca’s dad and I didn’t have a son of our own, but Jason more than made up for that.”

  Logan nodded.

  “I don’t suppose Bianca told you—she positively hates talking about herself—but we lost Jason several years ago. Cancer.” She shook her head. “Very aggressive. Poor dear suffered horribly at the end.”

  Bianca had skirted the subject that day in the café and again in her kitchen. He hadn’t pressed her for details about her husband—or any other area of her life—but it didn’t seem as though she hated talking about herself.

  “Guess it must be tough to lose a spouse.” With a little luck, Maddy would talk about the more recent loss of her own husband.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, it is, especially at first. And having a child like Drew…” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say dealing with him was complicated even before Jason died.”

  She rambled on for another minute or so, citing her son-in-law’s more stellar qualities and listing all the reasons Drew was such a challenge. Now Logan glanced at the ceiling and wondered how much longer it would take Bianca to tuck the boy in. Unfortunately, Maddy caught him at it.

  “See? That’s what I mean! When my girls were his age, I said go to bed, and that was that. But Drew? It sometimes takes hours to get him to sleep!” Maddy shook her head, then got to her feet. “I’ll just run upstairs and see what’s taking so long this time.”

  “Please don’t. It isn’t Bianca’s fault—or Drew’s—that I got here early.”

  Maddy returned to her seat. “Her whole life revolves around that boy. I admire her dedication. She’s a wonderful, loving mother, but I don’t mind admitting…in her shoes, I’d go mad.”

  “I don’t know Bianca very well,” he began, “but from what little I’ve seen, she’s a very responsible, caring woman. She didn’t get that way through osmosis. Makes me think if one of your girls had been autistic, you would have handled it.”

  Blinking, Maddy blushed, then used one hand to fan her face. “That’s very nice of you to say.”

  “What’s very nice of him to say?”

  “Sweetheart,” Maddy said. “I thought you’d never finish up there! This nice man has been waiting for—”

  “Sorry to barge in on you earlier than planned,” he interrupted, pointing at the file.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Actually, they ordered sandwiches for my last meeting.” It killed him to say it because he’d been craving a plate of spaghetti and meatballs all day.

  “Well,” Maddy said, standing, “I think I’ll head upstairs.” She offered Logan her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “How long have you really been here?” Bianca asked, stooping to pick up toys.

  “Five minutes, give or take.”

  “I hope my mother didn’t pester you with too many personal questions.” She laughed softly. “My dad used to tease her, saying she should have been a reporter.”

  Logan laughed. “I can see why.”

  With the toys put away, Bianca seemed at a loss for something to do. Hands clasped at her waist, she looked at his glass of soda. “Reading two stories and bedtime prayers made me thirsty,” she said. “I think I’ll pour myself a glass, too. Care for a refill?”

  “Nah, I’m good. But thanks.” He grabbed his glass and the file and followed her into the kitchen. “So if you don’t mind my asking, is your mom ill?”

  “Ill?” Bianca carried her soda to the table. “No. She’s fine. Why do you ask?”

  He sat across from her. “Well, she was bragging about how hard you work. About everything you do around here all by yourself. Guess it made me wonder why she can’t help out.”

  “Mom doesn’t help because—how do I put this delicately?—because she hates housework. She’s also terrible at it!” Bianca laughed. “I managed it alone before she moved in, and it isn’t as though she’s a big mess-maker or anything. It’s a relief, knowing she isn’t rattling around in that big old house all by herself. And it’s nice to have a grownup to talk to at the end of the day.”

  Logan held up one hand, oath-style. “You have my word. I won’t tell anyone at the station you said that.”

  Once again, her big eyes widened as she said, “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t mean it that way. I love the job and everyone I work with! What I meant was…it’s nice to have Mom here to talk with after I help Drew with his homework, and his bath, and—”

  Logan blanketed her hand with his. “Hey. Bianca. I was pullin’ your leg. Don’t worry, I get it.” He wished he could tell her she didn’t owe him any explanations, but that would mean admitting he’d noticed her need to provide them. Last thing he wanted was to get off on the wrong foot—he still wanted her to consider the job he’d offered, alternating days and duties with his sister.

  He tapped the manila folder. “This will be a good start for your search for a companion dog.”

  She sent him a tiny, tentative smile, opened the file and finger-walked through the materials in the folder’s pockets. Those same fingers had twisted a paper napkin into a rope that day in the café while telling him about Drew’s disorder and how Jason hadn’t had time to learn how to interact with his only son.

  Bianca’s hands were shaking, he noticed, just as they had as she’d tried to remember which cable to remove from his battery that day in the parking lot. If he’d known it would turn her into a nervous wreck, Logan would have done the job himself. But she’d seemed so eager to prove that she could do it that he’d stood back and let her. She’d succeeded at the connection, at calming down, too…until his jacket had slipped from her shoulders. Logan didn’t think he’d ever forget the instant of dread and regret that had registered on her pretty face.

  As she carefully replaced the press releases and pamphlets into the folder, he tried to understand the disappointment in her eyes. He didn’t get it because she’d seemed so interested and excited at first.

  And then it hit him: now that he’d done this favor for her, she felt beholden to him.

  Not ten minutes ago her mom told him that Bianca was hell-bent on doing everything all by herself. He admired that. Respected it, too. Maybe, if he chose his words correctly, he could get her to agree to do the job…to put things in balance.

  Bianca closed the file and wrapped her hands around the tumbler. “This is… It’ll save me hours of research. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I do.”

  Eyes wide, she said, “Oh?”

  “That job offer I made the other night? Give it a week, and if you hate it, well, we’ll call it even. If you like it, we’ll talk salary.”

  She was thinking about it. He could tell by the way she nodded in sync with her forefinger tapping the file.

  “Maybe this will influence your decision. I took your advice to heart—see? Proof I’d be a terrific boss!—and talked to my s
ister. You were right. She’s considering the job, too.”

  Bianca sat up straighter. He definitely had her attention. And she was definitely interested.

  “Job share,” he said. “I’ll let you two work out the schedule and the logistics. I don’t care who works what hours as long as the work gets done.”

  “You know, that makes sense. A lot of sense.” She paused. “And Sandra is okay with it?”

  Logan hesitated. “I have to be honest. She agreed to consider it, but she hasn’t said yes. Yet.”

  “Makes sense,” she repeated.

  “But I have to ask you another favor.”

  He could almost read her mind: “Another one?”

  Logan gave her a quick rundown of the conversation he’d had with his sister. “It hit me like a roundhouse punch that you were right. She isn’t fragile at all.” He scooted to the edge of his seat, folded his hands on the kitchen table and listed Sandra’s duties and responsibilities.

  “She went from being Daddy’s little girl,” he continued, “to being the wife of a control freak. That idiot she was married to blamed her for Sam’s condition. Every time the poor kid misbehaved, he punished her.”

  Bianca closed her eyes and cringed, and Logan took it to mean she was imagining what it might be like to take it on the chin—or worse—every time Drew acted out.

  “Sandra is a great gal. Smart. Capable. Big-hearted. But these past ten years, well, let’s just say she doesn’t have a very high opinion of herself.”

  Nodding, Bianca said, “Because she thinks if she’d made a better decision about who to marry…”

  Relief wrapped around him. “So if Lady Luck decides I’m worthy, and you guys say yes to the job, I need Sandra to think she’s in charge.”

  He tried to read her reaction to that. Hopefully, the fact that she hadn’t recoiled told him Bianca was open to the idea.

  “She won’t be in charge, of course. No reflection on her intelligence or abilities, mind you. It’s just, well…” How would he explain that his sister had allowed others to tell her what to do for so long that he feared she was too weak to take charge when a situation demanded it?