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forward and told Aiden about what had happened at the store in hushed tones lest Art walk past the open cabin door and overhear. When he was done, Aiden said, “Whoo. Sounds like our man Art met up with an old flame and had a rush of testosterone or something.”
“Testosterone?” Luke repeated in a panic.
Aiden smiled lazily. “That’s not the chromosome he’s missing, Luke. He’s a man. What is he—thirty-one? He’s going to have a lot of typical male responses. Then again, some responses that are just pure Art…”
“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Luke said, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.
Aiden laughed at him. “Relax—he’s completely calm…He’s not going to go berserk or anything. But for God’s sake, he has feelings! Have you talked to him about this stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“Girlfriends. Sex. Desire. Caution.”
“Well, of course not! Why would I even think of that? And what would I say?”
“I’m not entirely sure what you should say—I don’t deal with male patients, and certainly not those with Down syndrome. Does he have a caseworker or a social worker? Because if he has a girlfriend, especially a girlfriend with a similar disability, someone should address it before they’re both in over their heads.”
“Oh God,” Luke moaned.
“You need to find an expert—maybe someone with a degree in special ed. Call social services and explain what you’re up against, your lack of experience in this area. Get some help.”
“What about the girl? I promised him I’d try to find the girl!”
“Then try to find the girl! They lived in the same house together, Luke, they mean something to each other. Well…” He hesitated. “She means something to Art. You probably should try to find out if the feeling is mutual before you turn him loose.” Aiden grinned. “I know what you’re thinking—there’s a little piece of you that’s afraid Art will go nuts. No, Luke,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s mentally challenged but his personality is characterized by extremely cooperative behavior. He’s sweet and gentle. He just needs some guidance. Get someone with experience to tell you the best way to handle that.”
“You’re just faking it,” Luke accused. “Are you just faking it to look smart? Because we all get that you’re smart—don’t show off.”
Aiden laughed. “It’ll be all right. You’re great with Art. Talk to Shelby about it—you two work well together.”
Luke grumbled a little bit, then got up and ambled off in the direction of the river.
Aiden shook his head. Luke reminded him a lot of their father—a real tough exterior, but plenty of that old Irish angst inside. Complete vulnerability. All soft and gooey. No one had forced Art on Luke—it was all Luke’s idea to take him on. Just like the situation with their mother—Luke was probably the one who was the most concerned about it, and the least likely to talk it over with her.
Luke needed to handle this thing with Art, Aiden thought. It would give him confidence, make him more sure of himself in an emotional situation where he didn’t have a lot of experience. It would be good for all of them and good training for being a parent.
Chapter Four
Aiden had a few commitments scheduled for the next couple of weeks. First of all, his sister-in-law Franci had sold the house she and Rosie had lived in while Sean was in Iraq. All their household goods would be shipped to Alabama, Sean’s next assignment. Franci and Rosie were going to take up residence in one of Luke’s cabins, where Sean would join them shortly, before they headed east. But there was a great deal to do around Franci’s house before the move—minor repairs, a garage sale, a little painting and yard work, and once the movers had departed, some serious cleaning before the new owners took possession. Aiden had signed on for all of it. He wanted to spend time with Franci and Rosie and they needed the help.
His mother and George would also be showing up sometime in the next week and he wanted to be close by when they arrived.
And of course he wanted to be available if Shelby needed him for anything; Luke didn’t like leaving her side unless Aiden was going to be nearby. And Luke was itching to figure out the situation with Art before his son was born.
Aiden’s mission for the summer was simple—be a helpful visitor; enjoy the family. His current plans didn’t leave a lot of extra time and there was still one other thing he wanted to do. He wanted to check on the woman with the head injury. Erin.
He dressed for hiking one morning, loaded his backpack and took off in his SUV. He drove toward her cabin, parked on a wide space in the road below the ridge and walked up that dirt road again. When he got to the top, he saw that her car was missing. He walked around the house, checking it out. Nothing much had changed, except it was all closed up. He checked out the garden, or the poor excuse for a garden. Dry, and no improvement. He assumed she’d gone home, but he watered the plants just in case. Maybe it was on her mind to spend the occasional weekend at the cabin.
Then, completely unplanned and for no good reason, he did a little digging in that big square plot behind the house that had proved to be too much for her. He cleared the weeds and sod, dug out the big rocks and heaved them into the woods. The he tilled the dirt until it was loose, soft and ready for planting. He drove into Fortuna and bought a few bags of topsoil, a couple bags of fertilizer, some man-size gardening tools and a hose. Then he went back, hoed in the soil and fertilizer and wet the ground.
Before he left he sat on the deck and looked out at the view while he drank some water. He didn’t sit on her nice clean chaise lounges, but on the step of the deck. He happened to glance through the French doors—neat as a pin in there. No sign of life. No books or papers strewn around, no dishes on the table or pans on the stove, no sweater draped over a chair.
So, she was gone.
When he left he took the empty plastic bags that had held the dirt and fertilizer with him and leaned the tools against the back of the house.
The next day he took plants, vegetable-garden starters, flower borders, stakes and a slow sprinkler to hook up to the hose. Again he sat on the deck while he drank his water and again he glanced through the French doors. All tidy.
He wondered if she’d ever come back. Then wondered why he wondered. He didn’t like her—she was a pain in the butt.
The next day at around noon he swung by to water, telling himself that there was no place for a garden at Luke’s and he was enjoying this. It also crossed his mind that she would eventually come back to her cabin and she might just check on her dead plants against the house. It was fun to think of her spying a new garden back there and wondering who would do such a thing. And why.
He gave the garden a little extra water because the following day he was committed to go to Franci’s with Luke, Shelby and Art to help with a garage sale, some minor home repairs and yard work.
Art, who was absolutely never annoying, had become annoying. Filled with anxious impatience, he was continually asking questions about Netta. “Do you know where she lives now? Do you know where her house is?”
Luke kept saying, “Not yet, bud. I’m making phone calls to bakeries, asking if anyone with her name works there, and so far I haven’t found her. Try to relax.”
Telling a man with the scent of a woman up his nose to relax was turning out to be about as useful as throwing kerosine on a fire. Nothing could distract him for long. For once, even Rosie couldn’t seem to occupy Art. And the garage sale, which really should get his attention, didn’t. He kept questioning if there were any updates and Luke kept patiently saying, “Not since the last time you asked me ten minutes ago, Art.”
Shelby sat in a lawn chair right in the garage door, fanning herself, haggling with customers while Franci and her mother, Vivian, did any lifting