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.”
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