Devoted to Drew

by Loree Lough

  “Yeah,” he said. “It is what it is,” he said, staring at the boy’s closed door. He turned his attention to Maddy. “Well, we both know this could take a while. There’s coffee downstairs. And doughnuts. Why don’t you keep me company while Bianca puts Drew back to sleep?”

  In the kitchen, Maddy stooped to pat the dog’s head. “Well, aren’t you just gorgeous?”

  Like mother, like daughter.

  Maddy sat in Bianca’s chair and grabbed a doughnut. Smiling, she wiggled her eyebrows. “So what brings you here at this hour?”

  Logan sat across from her. “Can I trust you, Maddy?”

  “I suppose.” She sipped from Bianca’s mug. “It depends, I guess, on whether it’s good for my girl.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I don’t know how much Bianca has told you about the job offer I made her.”

  Maddy ran down what she knew about the position that his sister and her daughter would share and the information they’d gather, each from separate home offices he’d set up.

  “I really like the way Bianca balances home and work and Drew,” he admitted, “but I’m worried that asking her to help was selfish. Do you think she’s up to it? I’m worried I added the thing that will act as the proverbial straw that could break her back.”

  Maddy blinked. Spun her wedding rings round and round on her finger. “She’s an intelligent, capable woman who knows her limitations. Which is precisely why there isn’t a man in her life.” She took a bite of her doughnut and, grinning, said around it, “Now, if the right man came along…”

  Well, since she’d opened the door…

  “You know I’m kinda fond of her, right?”

  “What do you mean, fond?”

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “I admire her. Think she’s a terrific mom. A good daughter. With a work ethic that’s hard to match.” Logan pictured Bianca, ponytails askew, tugging at the hem of her girlish pj’s. He cleared his throat. “And she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Maddy patted his hand. “If you’re asking my permission to ask her out, you’ve got it.” On her feet now, she aimed a forefinger at him. “But just so you know—if you toss her aside like you did all those girls in the entertainment magazines…” She wadded a napkin in her fist. “Just…just don’t. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  She plucked another napkin from the basket on the table and helped herself to a second doughnut. On the way to the hall, she hesitated. “Her favorite color is green, she loves chocolate-covered cherries and her favorite movie is Secondhand Lions.” She winked. “Just so you know.”

  And Logan got that, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “DEIDRE,” Logan said, opening his front door. “What brings you out on a day like this?”

  She shook off her umbrella and stood it in the corner. “Pish-posh. A little rain isn’t going to hurt me. I’m not made of sugar!”

  “A little rain? It’s storming to beat the band out there!”

  She led the way to his family room and sat in his recliner. Poe didn’t like that and woofed her disapproval. “Oh, hush,” Deidre told her. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

  The dog looked at Logan, who said, “It’s okay, girl. She isn’t staying long.”

  “That’s no way to win the Subtlety Award,” Deidre shot back, laughing.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “I want to know what you did to Maddy Wright.”

  “Maddy? What’re you talking about?”

  “She was the best volunteer personal assistant I ever had…until you got hold of her. Now all she wants to do is stay home, cooking and cleaning and spending time with her daughter and grandson.”

  Logan grinned. “No kiddin’?” A selfish thought flit through his head: Did it mean Bianca would have time for a man in her life? “I’m happy for Bianca, because she can use the help…if she’ll take it…but I had nothing to do with Maddy’s decision.”

  “That isn’t how she tells it.” She waved a hand, as if swatting an irksome mosquito. “But what’s this I hear about you building a school for kids like Drew? You’re all wrapped up in something that big, and you don’t say a word to me about it? I’m crushed!”

  Deidre got to her feet. “I have something to show you.” She linked her arm with his and led him to the door. Once there, she flung it open. “Better grab a jacket, handsome. It’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

  “Why? Where are we going?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  Moments later, he found himself strapped into the passenger seat of her shiny black Cadillac and holding on for dear life as she wove in and out of traffic, talking a blue streak the whole way.

  Finally, she turned off the main road, and as she drove up the narrow, winding drive, Deidre said, “This land belonged to Percy’s family. He was the last in a long line of Richardsons, so when he passed, it reverted to my control. I hate it,” she admitted, “but it seems a shame to let it go to waste. You’d be doing me a favor by taking it off my hands.”

  Deidre drew his attention to the corral and the pastures and riding trails beyond them. “That,” she said, pointing, “is the original barn, where Percy’s grandparents raised prized quarter horses.” In its day, she explained, the farm was self-sufficient because the Richardsons grew their own oats and hay.

  Next, the silo came into view. To its left stood a row of small cottages where, Deidre explained, the farm hands had lived with their families. To the right of them he spied a sprawling Georgian mansion.

  “Whoa,” he said, admiring the stately columns and dozens of multipaned windows. “How many rooms?”

  “I have no idea. Like I said, I never liked it here, so Percy and I lived in my house. But if I had to guess, I’d say twenty, twenty-five.”

  “Any idea how old it is?”

  “Percy’s grandfather built it in the twenties. I’m terrible at math, so you figure it out. Let’s look inside.”

  As she gave him the grand tour, Logan envisioned some of the rooms as classrooms, a gymnasium, a library. Science and art outings on the grounds. They built things to last back then, and unless an inspector found extensive termite damage, the place would only need minor repairs and fresh paint.

  On the way home, Deidre agreed to let Logan drive.

  “Touchy subject,” he began, “but have you ever considered selling the place?”

  “Only every other day!”

  “Has it been appraised?”

  “Not recently.” She turned to face him. “Why?”

  “We should do that, then. Because I’m willing to pay the going rate.”

  “Still suffering the after-effects of all those concussions, I see.”

  “Huh?”

  Laughing, she said, “See there!” She gave his forearm a grandmotherly squeeze. “I brought you out here because I want you to take it off my hands. Please. I don’t want anything for it. It’s costing me a fortune in taxes, what with the boardinghouse and theater. And don’t give me that big-eyed, ‘you’re kidding’ look. I’m not a fool. The tax write-off is appealing but not as much as all the kudos I’ll get when people hear I’ve donated the estate to your project.” She applauded herself. “Perfect timing, too, to promote my theater. I’ll be on the cover of every periodical in the mid-Atlantic!”

  Logan only half heard her because mentally he was composing the list of questions he’d need to ask Griff. Things like the transfer of deed and filing the place as a charitable foundation.

  “Maddy said you wanted to name the place after the little girl who owned Poe. Commendable, to be sure, but I’m afraid I have to insist you name it after Percy. Whether you use his first or last name is up to you. You can put Holly’s name on the library. Or the cafeteria. And you can put my name on the theater.”

  “Theater?”

  “You can’t expect those kids to read and write and do math all day. They’ll need a place to make music and put on plays.”

>   Logan told Deidre how Holly had loved her piano. “She was one of those rare and special kids who could hear a song once,” he said, “and she could duplicate it, note for note.” He nodded. “Maybe we’ll turn the ballroom into a music room.”

  “Makes perfect sense to name it after Holly,” Deidre said. “And as long as I’m alive, I’ll help with every play the kids put on.”

  “They’ll be lucky to have you as a mentor.”

  “Flatterer…”

  “Just tellin’ it like it is.”

  “Have you told Bianca yet that you’re going to be a big TV star?”

  He parked in her driveway and, grabbing her big black umbrella, ran around to her side of the car. When she opened the door, he said, “Your tenant is a blabbermouth.”

  Either Deidre hadn’t heard him over the rain, or she’d chosen to ignore the comment.

  “So how soon can you start work on the old place?”

  Once he saw her safely inside, he’d head home and get Griff on the phone. “Yesterday,” he said with a grin. “Day before that, if I can manage it.”

  Despite the umbrella, they both got soaked. Deidre invited him to stay for coffee, and he might have…if his cell phone hadn’t buzzed. “Sandra,” he said, reading the caller ID display.

  “Oh, my…” Deidre said, staring at him and then his phone screen. “Don’t tell me…”

  Sandra’s text message was succinct: GET TO ER ASAP.

  Logan gave Deidre a huge, heartfelt hug. “I don’t know what to say,” he told her. “‘Thank you’ sounds insignificant after what you offered today.”

  “I meant it when I said you’d be doing me a favor. Now get to the hospital.” She gave him a gentle shove. “First chance you get, give me a call.”

  “Will do. Now change into some dry clothes before you catch your death.”

  “You’re too young to talk like an old poop. Now go. Anyone you want me to call?”

  If she meant Bianca, he could answer in a syllable. “No.” Bianca was one person he needed to tell in person—the good news about the school building and possibly the bad news about his mom. To help him cope as only she could.

  Deidre was shivering, and he was torn between staying to make sure she got into warm, dry clothes and racing over to the hospital.

  She’d refused to give in to technology, so he doubted Deidre had stored her most-called numbers in her cell phone.

  “Where’s your phone book?”

  “In the kitchen drawer. Right under the phone.” She followed him into the kitchen. “Why?”

  He’d found Brooke’s number and dialed it before Deidre stepped up beside him.

  “Hey, Brooke,” he told the answering machine, “Logan Murray. I’m at your grandmother’s house. She got soaked to the skin this morning, and now she can’t stop shaking. I’m going to throw a blanket around her, but I can’t stay. Family emergency. I’ll call Griff, let him know, too. But I thought you should know.”

  Logan hung up and, after taking one look at Deidre, said, “Is there an electric blanket on your bed?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business what’s on my bed, but yes.”

  He scooped her up and carried her to her room, where he gently deposited her in the bedside chair. After tossing back the covers, he removed her shoes and the damp sweater and moved her to the bed.

  “You stay put until Brooke gets here, you hear?” he said, flapping the blanket into place. “Or Griff. Or Brooke’s better half.”

  “Hunter has been a lovely husband to my granddaughter,” Deidre said, “but he is not her better half!”

  “If you say so.” Logan moved Deidre to the bed, removed her shoes and pulled up the covers. “I’ll be back in five,” he said, setting the blanket to Medium.

  He’d make her a cup of tea and dig through that suitcase she called a purse to find her cell phone. With any luck, Griff or Brooke or Hunter would be here before he brought the tea and phone to Deidre. In the off chance they didn’t, at least Deidre would have a way to call for help if she needed it. And hopefully, she wouldn’t need it.

  While he prepared the tea—one milk, two sugars, just as she’d taught him when he’d lived here—he redialed Brooke and left a second message. He left a message in Hunter’s voice mail, too, as an added precaution.

  He put the tea on her nightstand. “Promise me you won’t get up.”

  “Why? There isn’t a blessed thing wrong with me.”

  He disagreed as he took in her wan complexion and chattering teeth.

  “Just humor me, will ya? I need to get to the hospital, but I can’t leave knowing you could take a header down that Gone with the Wind staircase of yours.”

  She huffed. “Oh, all right. I promise to stay in bed. Now go. Or I will get up…and kick you out myself!”

  Logan was halfway to the road when Hunter’s pickup truck met him going the other way.

  Both vehicles stopped, side by side on the driveway, drivers’ windows open.

  Logan brought Deidre’s grandson-in-law up to speed, explained why he couldn’t stay and hurried down the road. It was a thirty-minute drive from there to Johns Hopkins Oncology. He wasn’t much of a praying man, but he prayed now.

  Because despite months of preparation and dozens of lectures from her doctors, he didn’t know how to say a final goodbye to his mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE STAFF RELAXED the rules because Nancy’s condition was grave and allowed the family to drag chairs in from the hall. And all but one was occupied.

  After leafing through every dog-eared magazine in the waiting room, Logan built a tower from alphabet blocks in the kids’ corner. Then, cross-legged on the floor, he played every game on the activity cube. Then he made a cafeteria run, and after delivering coffee and soda and bags of chips and cookies, his mom’s tray table, nightstand and windowsill resembled grocery store display shelves.

  Logan sat on the radiator, pretending to watch The Price is Right on the fuzzy TV hanging from the ceiling. Peripheral vision allowed him to see that even Sam had sensed the seriousness of the situation and sat quietly playing with a handheld video game. Susan’s iridescent knitting needles flashed purple and pink as yarn whispered from her tote bag. He couldn’t make out the title of Sandra’s novel and Sally was reading something on her Kindle. But only his dad, snoring softly in the pink recliner beside the hospital bed, looked even remotely comfortable.

  “Could someone get me some ice chips?” Nancy croaked.

  “I’ll get it,” Logan offered, and darted into the hall. He knew exactly where to find ice but took his time getting to the little room down the hall.

  A freckle-faced nurse, going the other way, said, “Can I help you find something?”

  He held up the green plastic cup he’d grabbed on the way out of his mother’s room. “No, thanks. Just getting some ice for my mom.” With a nod, he indicated his mom’s hospital room.

  “If you or your family needs anything, let us know.” With that, she disappeared around the corner.

  He stopped at the water fountain near the elevators and took his time slurping from the watery arc. For an instant, he considered sticking his face into it. But that was a dumb idea because sadness and grief couldn’t be washed away that easily.

  “Can’t be washed away at all,” he muttered.

  “What can’t be washed away?”

  Bianca? Impossible. She’d be at the station this time of day. Straightening, Logan turned, expecting to find he’d imagined her voice.

  Instead, there she stood, smiling sweetly and carrying a plate of chocolate chip cookies. If he’d ever been more relieved to see a person, Logan didn’t know when.

  “How’d you find out, you know…?”

  “Grownup phone tag,” she said. “Deidre told Griff, who called Brooke, who called me. Griff says to tell you he’ll come straight over here from the courthouse.”

  “Put that down.”

  Her eyebrows and the plate rose at the
same time. “What? This?”

  He took it from her, put it on the seat of the nearest chair and gathered her close. “Thought I was hallucinating or something,” he whispered into her hair. Then, holding her at arm’s length, he said, “I can’t believe you’re here. What about Drew?”

  “Mom offered to scoop him up from school.” She shrugged. Grinned slightly. “I know, I know…hard to believe, but I said yes.”

  “It won’t throw him off, having someone else pick him up?”

  “She’s going to tell him, before he has a chance to wig out, that she’s treating him to ice cream. So I think he’ll be okay with it.” The grin became a smile. “Sweet of you to worry, though.”

  Logan cupped her face in his hands, thumbs tracing the contours of her freckled cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he repeated.

  Bianca tilted her head. “Why are you so surprised? If it had been my mom, you would have come, right?”

  “In a heartbeat. Because…we’re friends.”

  Liar, he told himself. He’d be there for her, and he was glad she was here for him, and friendship had nothing to do with it. Because, despite Griff’s warnings and his own reservations, he’d fallen for her. Hard.

  Something came over him as he acknowledged that simple fact, and it compelled him to press a kiss to her forehead, her chin, the tip of her nose. His mother’s room overflowed with supportive, loving family members…who watched his every move with a wary eye, wondering which disappointment or defeat would be the one to send him spiraling downward again. In their shoes, he’d do the same. But that didn’t make it easier, knowing his battle with the bottle had forever fractured their faith in him. His descent into the hell of alcoholism had been all over the news for a while there. Surely Bianca had read all about it. And yet…

  …and yet, here she was.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said as Sandra stepped into the hall.

  “Logan? Mom is asking for you.”

  He grabbed Bianca’s hand, an unspoken invitation to follow, but she resisted.

  “This is family time. I don’t belong in there.” She picked up the cookie plate and put it into his hands. “I only came to deliver these. Something to nibble on while you’re…”