by Lois Richer
“I do? How does your mom think?” Jesse kept his eyes on his driving to hide his curiosity about that answer.
“She doesn’t think rules are important.” Again this sounded like something Noah was quoting.
“She doesn’t?” Jesse gaped. “Are you telling me your mom doesn’t think it’s important if you make your bed or clean up your room or feed your dog?”
“Those aren’t important rules.” Disdain oozed from Noah’s voice.
“They kind of are,” Jesse countered as he drove into Emma’s driveway. “Your dog would die if she didn’t get food. If you don’t make your bed you don’t rest very well. And if you don’t clean up your room, how can your laundry get done?”
He switched off the car, waiting for his passenger to digest that.
“I already do all those things.” Noah unbuckled his seat belt. “Anyway, a messy room isn’t a sin. Hurting someone is.”
“Maybe a messy room hurts your mom.” Jesse got out and held open Noah’s door. “You don’t want to do that.”
The boy’s jaw set in a stubborn line that Jesse struggled to understand. They walked toward the house, where Noah waited while Jesse unlocked the door. Something was going on.
“Because she already hurt a lot after your dad died, right?” Jesse hinted, unable to decipher the tension on the boy’s face.
Noah shrugged, as if Maddie’s suffering didn’t matter. He set his backpack on the foyer bench, then motioned toward the laundry room. “Are we feeding the puppies now?”
“Judging by all the racket they’re making, we’d better.” Funny how Noah’s impassive face lit up when he talked about those puppies. “You like feeding them now, don’t you?’
“Uh-huh.” Noah turned on the tap until hot water steamed out. Then he half-filled a pan with it.
“But you didn’t before. Why now?” The kid behind that blank expression intrigued Jesse.
“’Cause they need me.” Noah didn’t even spare him a glance as he retrieved a tray of dog bottles from the fridge, opened the laundry room door and set them on the dryer.
Jesse set the pan of water beside the tray and placed the bottles in the water.
Without being asked Noah began to deftly replace the soiled papers with clean ones folded precisely in triangles. “I like triangles.”
“I know.” Jesse helped him, silently folding each paper in exactly the same way, waiting because he sensed that there was more this child needed to say.
“I’m important to the puppies.”
Meaning Noah didn’t feel important to anyone else?
But Maddie loved her son and she showed it. Puzzled, Jesse followed Noah as they took out the garbage. When they returned to the laundry room, he was surprised by the sound of the boy’s soft chuckles.
“Look at them. They’re greedy.” When Jesse didn’t immediately sit on one of the stools, Noah frowned. “Aren’t you going to help me?”
“Of course.” Breaking free of his thoughts, he picked up a dog, sat down and began feeding it the warmed milk. “Noah, what did you mean? You’re important to Cocoa. She needs you.”
“Cocoa doesn’t need me, she just needs somebody to give her food and water.” After that astute assessment, Noah began humming as his thumb rubbed rhythmically against the puppy’s shiny coat.
“Cocoa is new to you and your ranch. It takes time to get to know each other. But your mom needs you. You must know that.” Jesse took a chance and spoke his thoughts. “Both she and Cocoa would probably like it a lot if you hugged them, like you’re hugging that puppy.”
“Really? Why?” Noah lifted his head to stare, as though he’d never thought of such a thing.
“People and dogs like contact. Cocoa would like to be petted, have her tummy rubbed, given doggy treats. She wants you to pay attention to her, to need her. I’m sure your mom would like a hug, too. Everyone wants to feel like they matter to someone. Don’t you?” Jesse wasn’t sure where the words came from. He never was. He only knew something inside him compelled him to speak.
“I guess.” Noah’s glance slid to the puppy Jesse held. “Did you used to have a dog?”
“I’ve had several.” Jesse let him remove the full pup. Oddly, Noah didn’t hand him another animal to feed, but kept on feeding them himself. “One of them was named King, a black Labrador. He loved carrots.”
“Carrots?” Noah’s laughter echoed in the room. “I don’t think Cocoa likes carrots.”
“Maybe she hasn’t tasted them yet.” He watched Noah continue feeding, moving easily from one pup to the next until all the animals were fed. “You’re very good with these guys.”
“They don’t understand what happened.” Noah studied the animals now crowded together in a ball to nap. He slid his fingers over the satiny coats. “They’re alone and they’re scared.” After a long silence, he added, “Sometimes I get like that.”
“Me, too,” Jesse admitted very softly.
“You get scared?” Noah’s head jerked up. He frowned at Jesse’s nod. “Why?”
“Everyone gets scared when they don’t know what to expect. It doesn’t matter if you’re a kid, an adult or a puppy.” Though Noah kept his gaze on the small animal cradled in his palms, Jesse knew he was listening. “When I get scared I pray.”
“Why?” Noah’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Because God doesn’t want me to be afraid.”
“Why?”
“You ask tough questions, Ark Man,” he teased, then shrugged. “God doesn’t want me to be afraid because it shows I don’t trust Him to take care of me.” Jesse could see by Noah’s face that he needed to clarify. “It’s like you and the puppies. At first they were probably afraid of you, but then they learned that they could trust you.”
“But why does God want me to trust Him?”
“Because He’s our father. He’s going to take care of us, so He doesn’t want us to fuss about everything.” Jesse found a parallel. “Just like your mom wouldn’t like it if you were always bugging her about having enough food to make supper.”
Okay, given Maddie’s less than stellar cooking skills, maybe that wasn’t the perfect example. Noah’s wrinkled nose said he was thinking the same thing.
“Your mother doesn’t want you to fuss about having enough groceries because she already knows you need food to eat. She wants you to trust her to make sure you’ll have it.” Jesse rose, but kept his eye on the little boy.
“Dad always said Mom would forget her head.” Noah put down the puppy and followed him from the room.
“I don’t think that’s true.” Jesse couldn’t let that negative comment pass without a challenge. “From what I’ve seen, your mother is very careful about remembering everything.”
Noah didn’t look convinced.
“She remembered my truck had a flat tire and loaned me her car so I could get it fixed,” Jesse explained. “She remembered to make me promise I’d have her car back in time to take you for your swimming lesson, even though she’s managing Emma’s store.”
“She doesn’t usually forget swimming,” Noah admitted.
“Because you’re the most important thing to your mom. She would never forget anything to do with you.” Jesse knew that was true. “She loves you too much for that.”
Deep in thought, Noah left to wash his hands. By the time he returned to the kitchen Jesse was scouring his grandmother’s stock of groceries.
“What are you looking for?” Noah followed every movement with his big knowing eyes.
“One last ingredient—ah.” Jesse triumphantly located a can of pineapple in the back of Emma’s pantry.
“What’s that for?” Noah asked.
“Pizza. Want to help make it?” Jesse almost laughed out loud at the look of shock on the boy’s thin face.
/> “We eat pizza at a restaurant. I don’t think you can make pizza at home.” There was a warning in Noah’s serious response.
“Homemade pizza is the best, son.” Jesse grinned at him. “And my pizza is way better than any a restaurant makes. Want to help me?”
“I don’t know how.” There was that worry again.
“I’ll show you.” He winked, striving for some lightness.
“I’m not allowed to use the stove.” Noah frowned. “That’s a big rule.”
“I’ll do the oven part. You and I can make the pizza and when your mom comes to pick you up, we’ll surprise her with our creation.” Jesse wondered if the boy’s father had ever taught him to consider his mother. “Having something hot and ready to eat will be nice for her after working so hard, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” Noah wore a confused look. “What do we do first?”
“The crust.” Jesse grinned. “Gran keeps some of that made up in the freezer, so all we have to do is get the other stuff ready while we wait for it to thaw. How would you like to grate some cheese?”
“I don’t know—”
“I’ll show you,” Jesse interrupted, grabbing a grater and then a hunk of mozzarella cheese. “Just like this, only watch your fingers. I don’t like fingernails in my pizza,” he joked.
Noah didn’t crack a smile as, after a pause, he settled into the task. With serious concentration he carefully grasped the cheese and touched it lightly against the grater. When nothing happened he frowned and began to set it down.
“Push a little harder. You can’t hurt it,” Jesse encouraged.
Though clearly uncomfortable, Noah tried again and quickly got the hang of it. He created a huge pile of shredded cheese, far too much for one pizza, but the boy’s satisfaction at completing the job was obvious.
“Good work,” Jesse praised, when the last bit of cheese was gone.
“I liked doing that.” Noah looked surprised, but Jesse didn’t give him time to dwell on it.
“Now we need to chop up some meat for our pizza. Want to do that?”
“With a knife?” Noah’s forehead pleated at his nod. “Knives are a major cause of household accidents. What if—”
“I’ll show you how I do it.” Jesse picked up a small knife and demonstrated how to cut a crisscross pattern on the slices of ham. “We don’t want big chunks,” he added, then held out the knife. “Here.”
“Okay.” Noah exhaled heavily as if preparing to do battle. He accepted the knife tentatively, then with great precision began cutting the meat. “I like triangles,” he said firmly.
“Triangles are perfect.” The more Jesse worked with this child, the more confused he became. Aside from gesticulating wildly when he was upset or frustrated, Noah did not usually exhibit the deep withdrawal he’d seen among the autistic children he’d studied during his college years. Noah was certainly high functioning and he didn’t usually rage or have tantrums, so why had his father insisted on so many rules?
“Is that enough for the pizza?” At his nod, Noah set the knife down with relief. “I didn’t get cut.”
“No, because you were careful. Nice triangles.” Jesse decided to voice a question that had been rolling through his brain. “Noah, do you have medication you need to take?”
Surprisingly, the boy made direct eye contact. “I’m not sick.”
“No, of course you’re not.” Jesse backtracked, scrounging for a change of topic. “Is that your mom’s car I hear?”
While Noah went to open the door for her, Jesse flattened the dough onto a pizza pan and tried to think it through. Maddie was a wonderful mother. She left nothing to chance. She’d said Noah was diagnosed at three. She would have had the diagnosis confirmed. She’d certainly know every detail in regard to her son’s behavior. Hadn’t his father?
“Hi, honey.” The sound of her musical voice sent a rush of excitement through Jesse. “How was swimming?”
“Good. We’re making pizza.” A flicker of pride filled Noah’s words.
“Really? You’re making pizza?” She appeared in the kitchen doorway and stared.
“Jesse is.” Noah shoved his hands in his pockets. “I helped. I used a knife to cut triangles.”
“Your favorite. Wow.” Maddie sent Jesse a grateful look before she crouched in front of her son. “What else did you do?”
“Cut up cheese with no fingernails.” In spite of his flat tone, Noah’s eyes sparkled. “And we fed the puppies.”
“You’ve certainly had a busy time.” Maddie brushed her hand over his head as if she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes glowed with love. “Thank you for helping. But we’d better leave now so Jesse can enjoy his pizza.”
Noah frowned. “But—”
“You can’t go,” Jesse interrupted. “The pizza is for all of us. It’s our dinner. Noah and I made it to share with you.”
“But you’ve already done so much,” she protested. “I don’t want to impose—”
“You aren’t. There’s more than enough pizza.” He held her gaze. “Besides, I think Noah should taste what he helped make.”
“Would you like to stay for pizza?” Obviously uncertain, Maddie looked at Noah, who didn’t return her look. But the up and down jerk of his head was hard to misunderstand.
“Okay then,” she said with a chuckle. “Thank you, Jesse. We’d love to stay for pizza.”
While the pie baked Jesse squeezed some lemons for lemonade to go with it. Noah got involved on his laptop, so Jesse handed Maddie a cup of fresh coffee. He noted the way she arched her back to stretch it. And closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for a second wind before facing the duties ahead.
“Busy day?” he asked.
“Very.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” He was confused.
“Oh yes. It’s just that restocking isn’t the easiest task.” Maddie winced as she tilted her head to one side.
“Why is that?”
“Some of the shelves are too high and there aren’t enough.” She savored her coffee for a moment, then continued. “Emma’s been talking of having someone build a better shelving system, but I guess that will be on hold for a while now.”
“Not necessarily.” Since Maddie was running his grandmother’s business, Jesse figured he owed her any assistance he could offer. At least that’s the excuse he gave himself. “I could build some shelves for you. I built those for Gran.” He inclined his head toward the oak bookshelves he’d made several years ago to form the reading nook Emma had wanted.
“They’re lovely, but I wouldn’t want to interfere. Besides, it’s your grandmother’s business and she should be the one to decide...” Maddie’s refusal died away when he shook his head at her.
“You got her email this morning, right? The one where Gran said to do whatever you needed to in order to make Quilt Essentials more functional? Besides, I’d like to help.” He added ice cubes to the pitcher of lemonade and set it on the table. Then he grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil from Emma’s kitchen desk. “Describe your shelves.”
After a pause Maddie slowly began to explain her idea for a display unit. Her excitement grew and she talked faster and faster. Hiding his smile, Jesse sketched quickly, trying to turn her words into a picture.
“So this unit has four sides, all accessible?”
“Exactly.” Her eyes sparkled. “I could really use it to display fabrics for the Easter quilt classes we’ll be starting soon.”
“What’s an Easter quilt?” Jesse asked.
“A quilt that depicts the story of Easter in frames, kind of like stained glass windows. We’ve had a lot of interest in it ever since I hung the prototype.” Her cheeks flushed and she tilted her head as if embarrassed. “I never thought anyone would want a class. I only wanted to make
something to show potential for a new line of fabrics.”
“Are you talking about the picture quilt I saw in the stockroom window, the one with the yellow trim? It had an empty tomb for the centerpiece?” Jesse gaped when she nodded. “You made that, pattern and all?”
“Well...yes.” Maddie shifted uneasily under his stare. “It wasn’t hard.”
“It looks as if it has tons of pieces.” The intricacy of that work had made Jesse assume it was a commercial quilt, sent from one of Gran’s suppliers. “Are you sure you can teach someone to make that in—” he checked the calendar on the wall above the desk “—what? Eight classes? Easter’s just over eight weeks away.”
“You don’t think I can do it.” Her face fell and she resumed her familiar habit of knotting her fingers in her lap, her voice hesitant. “Maybe it is too big for a short class. I showed two of the other employees how to make it and they managed, but if you think—”
“What do I know about quilting? You have to teach it, Maddie,” he said quickly, having just realized how he’d negated her ability. “Every quilter in town will sign up.”
“I don’t know. There are twelve panels,” she mused aloud. “They’d have to complete more than one a week to finish in time.”
Jesse mentally kicked himself. Thanks to him Maddie was now doubting herself. He started backtracking.
“Aren’t some panels easier than others?” he asked. “So if they did two panels a week they’d have lots of time.”
“That’s what I thought, but maybe that’s pushing it. I don’t want anyone disappointed. It would reflect badly on Emma’s business.” Maddie sniffed suddenly. “I’m no cook, but is something burning?”
Muttering an unflattering expletive about himself, Jesse raced to the stove and threw open the door, lifted out the pizza and switched off the oven.
“Is it burned?” Noah studied the pie critically, a certain resignation in his voice, as if he was used to eating scorched food, but had been hoping to escape that fate.
“Just one teensy part and I’ll cut that off.” His pride smarting, Jesse snatched the pizza cutter and swiftly rolled it to make eight big slices. “See, Noah. Triangles. Now let’s see if it’s any good,” he invited.