she realized it, her legs carried her toward the double doors and outside. “Hi, Shane. Jason.”
Her words disrupted the boy’s whine. When he stopped yanking on his father’s arm to get him to leave, he quit shaking his head and stared at her. Then suddenly he launched himself at her.
She stood her ground.
“Pretty yellow hair.”
Whitney bent toward Jason, the movement of dropping her head slightly intensified the ache in her neck caused by the accident a few days ago. She would curl up with the heating pad again that evening when she got home from seeing the apartment. She intended to grab the garage apartment at Zoey Crandell’s and move in as soon as possible, hopefully this weekend.
“What’s going on, Jason? Have you checked out your new classroom yet?”
The child focused on her ponytail, which had fallen forward.
“Not yet. I was hoping today,” Shane said while his son remained silent but continued to touch her hair. “Is that okay?” He gestured toward what Jason was doing.
“Fine.” After a minute, she straightened, holding her hand out to the child. She’d made a point the day before to see who would be Jason’s teacher. “I can show you to your classroom. I know they have a yellow ball in there.” Jason’s face started to screw up into a scowl until she mentioned the toy.
“Yellow ball!” He dragged her toward the door into the building.
“I guess we’re going inside,” she said over her shoulder as Shane followed them into the lobby.
She guided the pair down the first long hallway on the right and stopped at the second room. Jason came to a halt when he saw his teacher a few feet from him, tacking up a poster by the door. Suddenly he hid his face against Shane.
“Mrs. Bradley, this is Jason and his father, Shane McCoy. Jason was interested in seeing your yellow ball.”
The older teacher approached them with a neutral expression. She shook Shane’s hand. “It’s nice to see you again. I see you were able to get Jason inside.”
“Not me. Whitney did.”
That she had awed Whitney. When she had decided to go for her degree in elementary education, she’d never dreamed of dealing with children who had special needs like Jason. Only in the past few months with her interaction with Noah’s four adopted children, coupled with her volunteer work at Stone’s Refuge, had she realized she wanted to work with kids. But a child with special needs? For years she’d been drifting from one job to the next—just trying to make a living and staying off the streets.
“Yellow ball?” Jason asked, his words muffled against his father.
“Oh, that. Jason, it’s over in the corner.” Mrs. Bradley pointed to the left.
The child peeked around his father, saw it and tore across the room to stroke it.
The teacher faced Shane. “I still have my reservations about this working. We just aren’t equipped for a child like Jason here at this school. He should be in a self-contained special education class like at Eisenhower Elementary School.”
“I insist on trying this. We won’t know until we do. I signed the paperwork for him to be in special education, but I want him involved with all kinds of children. We’re working on socialization at home and with his therapist. I’ll keep you informed of things that develop at home, and I want you to keep me informed about what’s going on here.” A firm resolve underscored each of Shane’s words.
Although Whitney faced Jason playing with the ball, her attention focused on the exchange between Shane and the teacher. Just the few times she’d been around the boy, Whitney couldn’t imagine what it was like to deal with a child with Jason’s obvious limitations. And yet, Shane did it with love and patience. How was Jason going to fit into a normal kindergarten class, especially with a teacher who was less than enthusiastic?
“I have a meeting to attend. You and your son may stay for a while and get familiar with the classroom if you wish.” Mrs. Bradley slipped off a smock she wore to protect her clothes while cleaning.
After the teacher left, Shane turned to Whitney. “Thanks for helping earlier. I’d about run out of ideas on how to get Jason into the building. You saved the day.”
Her first instinct was to scoff at his compliment. In the past people only gave them to get something from her. Then she remembered Lindsay telling her she was the best aunt a few days ago. Noah and his family were chipping away at all her defenses she’d learned to use over the years.
“You’re welcome,” she managed to say after a long pause. She took a step back, not sure what to do with her changing attitude. “I’d better get back to the office. I was unpacking some new supplies.”
“I was going to call you,” Shane said as she turned to leave.
She stopped and glanced back at him.
“Remember I need to pay the deductible. When will your car be ready to pick up?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“I can pick you up at school, take you to the garage and pay my part.”
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble. Just write a check to Premier Body Shop and I’ll give it to them.”
Shane’s gaze riveted to hers. “If that’s the way you want it.” He removed his checkbook and quickly wrote a check for her.
Beneath her brave front, he glimpsed vulnerability in Whitney that he doubted she knew she projected. But he’d seen it in a lot of the children he’d worked with over the years. What had put it there for Whitney?
He looked toward his son, rolling the ball around the floor in the corner. He had enough problems raising a child with autism. Since his wife had died five years ago, his hands had been full just making it through each day as a single dad. He certainly didn’t need to become involved with anyone.
But there was something in her brown eyes that haunted him, even invading his dreams at night.
Saturday morning, Whitney dragged herself to the kitchen to make coffee and grab something to eat before she tackled packing the boxes to move. While the coffee brewed, she hurriedly dressed in navy blue shorts and a red T-shirt and was back in time to pour a huge mug of the hot liquid, its aroma spicing the air.
As she sat at the table and ate her bowl of cereal, she looked around at the mess she’d created the night before in preparation for her move this weekend. Her gaze lit upon a yellow pillow that graced the sofa, and she immediately thought about Jason. He hadn’t attended school either Thursday or Friday. She’d almost called Shane on Friday to see if his son was all right. She’d even dialed halfway through the phone number before she’d slammed down the receiver, determined not to intrude.
Finally yesterday afternoon she’d asked Mrs. Bradley if she knew why Jason wasn’t at school. She’d said that he had come for about fifteen minutes the day before with his father and thirty that morning to acquaint himself more with the classroom. But he left when Dr. McCoy did. Disappointment had spread over Whitney as she’d gone back to the classroom she’d been
