but she’s a good neighbor. She goes to my church.” Shane started again for his front door.
As Whitney ambled toward the house, she thought about the little boy she’d almost hit. Her earlier question crept again into her mind. Was she making a mistake? Maybe her wanting to be a teacher wasn’t what she should do with her life. Before coming back to Cimarron City nine months ago, she would never have dreamed of becoming a teacher and not all children were like her niece and nephews. Ones like Jason would be a challenge. Could she deal with that?
She couldn’t get the image out of her mind of the child coming out between the parked vehicles so suddenly, then after she had crashed, walking over to her car and touching it. In her education classes she took at night at the university, she hadn’t had the Exceptional Child course yet, but it was obvious something wasn’t right with Shane McCoy’s son.
But wasn’t that why she had decided to be a teacher’s assistant? To see if she could handle the job?
Inside his house Shane immediately headed toward the kitchen, which flowed into a den. Whitney followed. His son sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television, watching Animal Planet and rocking back and forth, while he clutched a yellow cloth.
“Aunt Louise, this is Whitney Maxwell, Noah’s sister. I’m going to drive her to Will Rogers Elementary School where she works.”
His aunt smiled at Whitney then turned to Shane and said, “Are you taking Jason?”
“Yeah, since later this afternoon I have that meeting at the school and I don’t know how long it will last.” He handed Whitney a cordless phone and the telephone book.
While she placed a call to a wrecker service and the school, he poured coffee into a mug sitting on the counter then took a new one down from a cabinet and filled it for Whitney. He handed it to her as she wrapped up her second call.
After taking a large sip of the brew, Shane strode toward the den area and knelt next to his son. He placed his hand on the boy’s arm before he said his name. Pressing a yellow cloth to his chest, Jason slowly looked up at his dad. Shane’s lowered voice didn’t carry to Whitney.
“He has the patience of Job.”
Surprised by the comment, Whitney turned on her heel and faced the older woman, slim, medium height, her gray hair pulled back in a bun at the base of her head. “Shane?” She picked up her mug and drew in a deep breath of the coffee-laced air.
“Yes. It’s been hard since his wife died.”
“Oh, she died recently?” Whitney asked, remembering the ring on his hand.
“Five years ago so he’s been mostly the one responsible for raising Jason. He does a wonderful job with his son. If anyone can prepare Jason for a change, it’s my nephew.”
What happens if you don’t prepare Jason? Whitney wanted to ask the question, but it was a private affair, and if anyone understood the need for privacy, it was she. That thought prompted a decision to call Zoey Crandell and set up an appointment this week to see the apartment because at Noah’s estate—as large as it was—she never had much alone time.
Louise released a deep sigh. When she brushed back a stray strand of hair, her hand shook. “I’m not nearly as good as Shane, hence the runaway this morning. Jason didn’t like the breakfast I fixed him. We’d run out of his favorite cereal so I made him pancakes, his second favorite. I don’t move as fast as I once did. He was out the front door before I could stop him. I’m so sorry for what happened. Are you all right?”
The concern in the woman’s brown eyes reflected the same concern as her nephew’s earlier. Although her chest hurt where the strap wrenched her to a stop, she wouldn’t add to this woman’s worry. “I’m fine,” she hurriedly said to reassure Louise who was still visibly upset even if she was trying to present a calm front.
“I’m so glad of that. Thankfully Jason’s favorite program was on, and he didn’t object to coming back inside. That gave me some time to settle my nerves.”
“I understand he’s starting kindergarten on Thursday at the school where I work.” Whitney took a swig of coffee, its taste smooth and rich like Shane’s voice.
Louise’s eyebrows crunched together. “Before this year, he went to a private special school, but Shane feels he needs more exposure with regular children. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What’s wrong with Jason?” The second she asked the question she wanted to take it back. It wasn’t her business, and she normally stayed out of others’ affairs and problems. She had enough of her own to deal with.
“He’s autistic.”
Whitney’s gaze flew back to the pair on the floor in front of the television. She didn’t know much about autism, but she knew it could be very challenging for teachers and parents. Again the niggling doubt surfaced.
“We’re ready to go. When is the wrecker going to be here?” Shane asked as he approached her.
“Half an hour. I’ve given the man all the information. If I leave, will my car be okay until the wrecker comes?”
Aunt Louise stepped forward. “I’ll keep an eye out for the wrecker. This street doesn’t have much traffic.” She splayed her hand over her heart. “I thank the Lord every day for that fact. Don’t worry about your car. It’s off to the side, and if someone wants to get by, they can.”
Whitney nodded. “Thanks.” She was already late for her first day and didn’t want to make it worse.
Jason stood behind his father, and when he glanced up and really saw her, he flew at Whitney. Surprised, she stepped back.
The boy opened and closed his hand as though he wanted something. “Yellow hair. Touch.”
“Jason, you can’t—”
“That’s okay,” Whitney said, interrupting Shane.
She knelt in front of the child and smiled. He didn’t look at her face but fixed upon her hair, stroking its long strands over and over.
“Pretty.”
Whitney caught sight of Shane hovering close beside his son. Worry had returned to his expression, his eyebrows coming together, lines wrinkling his forehead. She started to rise when the child grabbed a fistful of her hair but didn’t pull it.
Shane shifted forward to intervene. “Sorry. His favorite color right now is yellow.” He touched his son’s shoulder and moved to where he was in the boy’s line of vision. “Jason, are you ready to go for a ride? You can touch the yellow car one more time before we leave to go to school. But this time you will have to walk with me in order to touch the car. You are never to run in the street by yourself.”
“Yellow car.”
“But first, Jason, you need to let go of Whitney’s hair.”
“Touch yellow car.” The child released his grip and her strands fell back into place.
Whitney quickly rose while Jason took his father’s hand, tugging him toward the front door.
Shane
