next to the coffee table, eliminating air and space by his tall, honed body.
“Won’t you sit down?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the furniture rather than on him.
He sat. And for the first time, she noticed his black jeans and boots and the navy bomber-style jacket hanging open to a gray V-necked polo shirt. He looked up, and she saw sorrow deepen the hue of his eyes, and something shifted in her chest. “Would you like some coffee?” She motioned to the kitchenette.
“No, thanks.” The darkness of his voice shivered across her skin. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to know what happened to my brother.” Imperceptibly his mouth softened. “Other than dying.”
Savanna remained beside the TV cabinet. “He and Elke were heading for Comayagua. They had scheduled to meet with a doctor, an internist, an expert in colon problems. Dennis had a patient who needed part of his large intestine removed and this surgeon was one he trusted to do the operation.”
She caught herself wringing her hands, and moved to sit in the chair across the coffee table, across from the man who was now, by all technicalities, Christopher’s father. “Elke went along. Originally she had planned to stay home, but Dennis—” Savanna studied her fingernails; they needed clipping “—Dennis wanted them to have some time alone together, just the two of them. They were seldom able to get away as a couple. Life in Central America is not easy, Mr. Rubens. Especially not with…”
Christopher. She held his gaze, determined to impress on him that his brother and sister-in-law were neither whimsical nor flighty. Nor irresponsible.
Dennis was not like the man who sat four feet away—according to the tales she had heard from her best friend.
“The bodies?” he asked.
“The crash…” She swallowed hard. Concentrated on kinder images of her friends. “It burned.” To cinders. “We held a small memorial yesterday.”
For a long time he stared at his hands clasped between his knees. A black-banded wristwatch edged from the jacket’s left cuff. “Where’s the boy?”
She sensed Will Rubens wanted to get up and pace. Or leave the room. Go home.
“Christopher’s sleeping.” She inclined her head. “In there.”
“He’s here?” Rubens darted a look left. “You brought him to Alaska?” Are you crazy? His eyes burned with the words.
Savanna aligned her shoulders. “Yes, I brought him. He’s the reason I’m here and why we’re having this conversation. Your brother’s last request was for Christopher to live with you in the event he and Elke—” Oh, God. “In the event they…died before their son was of an independent age.”
Alarmed, Rubens sat back. “Are you kidding? I can’t take the kid. I fly people into the wilderness all summer, and skiers and boarders up mountains in the winter. Who’s going to look after him when I’m gone on those trips?” Abruptly he rose to pace from TV to hallway. Back and forth. Scraping a hand through his hair. Muttering, “I can’t do it. The time schedule…”
“Mr. Rubens, if you could calm yourself…”
He barked a laugh. “Calm myself? Lady, first you inform me my brother and his wife are dead, then you tell me I’ve inherited their kid. How do you expect me to react?”
“With responsibility,” she retorted.
His head jerked. “You think I’m not responsible? Do you have any idea what it takes to fly into a mountain range with six people aboard a helicopter?”
The way Dennis and Elke had four days ago. “Yes,” she said steadily. “I do. And, please. Could you speak with a normal tone? You’ll wake Christopher with your shouting.”
He stopped, once more running a hand through his shaggy hair. “I wasn’t shouting.”
“Your voice is raised.”
“I wasn’t shouting,” he repeated stubbornly.
“Okay. We agree to disagree. Let that be the only thing.”
A snort. She ignored it. “What matters at the moment is that you are now Christopher’s guardian.” And father.
He continued to pace. “Why the hell would Dennis make this—this request when I don’t know the first thing about kids.”
“But you do,” she said patiently. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she might have laughed at his expression. “You used to volunteer for Big Brothers, although you stopped that a couple of years ago when you got involved coaching Little League teams during the daylight season.”
His blue eyes pinned her. “Been busy, have you?”
Gossiping, his gaze accused. Except, she hadn’t; she hated idle chatter. “Shane down at the desk volunteered the information.” She lifted a brow. “Your fishing buddy?”
And Elke. Elke had told her more than Savanna wanted to know about the notorious freewheeling Will Rubens.
He grunted. “Shane’s flapping his gums, as usual.”
She had no idea what Shane’s “usual” was. “Don’t blame him. I made some inquiries before I set out on this trip.” Like contacting Elke’s grandmother and longtime resident, Georgia Martin, as well as Starlight’s mayor, Max Shepherd. “I was not about transfer a ten-year-old from the only home he’s known to this frozen tundra without investigating who he’d be living with for the next decade.” She gestured to the rust-colored sofa. “Would you please sit down so we can go over the issues?”
“What are you, a teacher?” he grumbled, but did as she requested.
“Actually, I teach special-needs students, though I began in ESL—English as a second language.” She hesitated, then decided if they were to get on the same page, he had to know the wheres and whys of her history with his family. “Elke and I were roommates at Stanford and became best friends. It didn’t matter that she married Dennis, we continued to keep in touch through the years. Then I moved to Cedros and began teaching there.” She paused, letting this brother absorb the information. “When Christopher went into third grade, Elke and Dennis asked me to set up a behavior intervention program for him.”
“Behavior intervention?” Rubens shot a look toward the bedroom as if Christopher might appear, fangs bared. “Like those nannies on TV?”
“No, I assist children with Autistic Spectrum Disorders, or ASD as we know it.”
His head came around slowly. “Autistic…?”
“Yes,” she confirmed so there would be no mistake. “As you probably know, Christopher has Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s a form of ASD. A milder form,” she added when he set his hands on his knees, ready to spring into a mode of action. “But autism nonetheless.”
“Dennis never said anything about autism.”
Savanna couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rubens. Maybe they were afraid to tell you.”
“I’m
