The Rescue

The minutes passed, and her mind wandered. She watched pine trees whistle by, one right after the other, still amazed she was in the truck with him. From the corner of her eye, she could see him concentrating on the road. As she'd noted initially, Taylor wasn't typically handsome. Had she passed him on the street in Atlanta, she wouldn't have given him a second glance. He didn't have that pretty look some men had, but there was something about him she found ruggedly appealing. His face was tan and lean; the sun had carved small lines in his cheeks and around his eyes. His waist was narrow, and his shoulders were heavily muscled, as if from years of heavy load bearing. His arms looked as if he'd pounded thousands of nails, which no doubt he had. It was almost as if his job as a contractor had molded his appearance.

She wondered if he'd ever been married. Neither he nor Judy had mentioned it, but that didn't mean anything. People were often reluctant to talk about past mistakes. Lord knew she didn't bring up Brett unless she had to. Still, there was something about him that made her suspect he'd never made the commitment. At the barbecue, she couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be the only one who was single.

Up ahead was Charity Road, and Taylor slowed the truck, making the turn and then accelerating again. They were almost home.

A minute later Taylor reached the gravel driveway and turned in, gradually applying the brakes until the truck came to a complete stop. Pushing the clutch in, he let the car idle, and Denise turned toward Taylor curiously.

"Hey, little man," he said. "You wanna drive my truck?"

It took a moment before Kyle turned.

"C'mon," he said, motioning. "You can drive it."

Kyle hesitated, and Taylor motioned again. Kyle moved slightly before Taylor finally pulled him into his lap. He placed Kyle's hands on the upper part of the steering wheel while keeping his own hands close enough to grab it if necessary.

"You ready?"

Kyle didn't answer, but Taylor slowly let the clutch out and the truck began to inch forward.

"All right, little man, let's go."

Kyle, a little unsure, held the wheel steady as the truck began to roll up the drive. His eyes widened as he realized he really had control, and all at once he turned the wheel hard to the left. The truck responded and moved onto the grass, bouncing slightly and heading toward the fence before Kyle turned the wheel the other way. The turn was erratic, but eventually he crossed the gravel driveway to the other side.

They were moving no more than five miles an hour, but Kyle broke into a wide grin and turned toward his mother, a "look what I'm doing" expression on his face. He laughed in delight before turning the wheel once more.

"He's driving!" Kyle exclaimed. (Eez dryfeen!)

The truck rolled toward the house like a big figure S, missing every tree (thanks to Taylor's slight but necessary adjustments in course), and when Kyle laughed aloud for the second time, Taylor winked at Denise.

"My dad used to let me do this when I was little. I just figured Kyle might like it, too."

Kyle, with Taylor's verbal--and manual--guidance, pulled the truck into the shade of the magnolia tree before finally stopping. After opening the driver's-side door, Taylor lifted Kyle down. Kyle scrambled to keep his balance before starting toward the house.

As they watched him, neither of them said anything, and at last Taylor turned away, clearing his throat.

"Let me go get your bikes," he said, and jumped out of the cab. As he moved to the back of the truck and opened the rear latch, Denise sat unmoving, feeling slightly unraveled. Once again Taylor had surprised her. Twice in a single afternoon he'd done something kind for Kyle, something considered normal in the lives of other children. The first time had caused her to stare in wonder; the second time, however, had touched her in a place she'd never expected. As his mother, she could do only so much--she could love and protect Kyle, but she couldn't make other people accept him. It was obvious, though, that Taylor already did, and she felt her throat close up just a little.

After four and a half years Kyle had finally made a friend.

She heard a thud and felt the truck tilt slightly as Taylor climbed into the bed. She composed herself before opening her door and jumping down.

Taylor lowered the bikes to the ground, then hopped out of the bed in one easy, fluid movement. Still feeling less than steady, Denise glanced toward Kyle and saw him standing by the front door. With the sun peeking over the trees behind him, Taylor's face seemed hidden by shadows.

"Thanks for driving us home," she said.

"I was glad to do it," he replied quietly.

Standing close to him, she couldn't escape the images of Taylor playing catch with her son or letting Kyle steer the truck, and she knew then that she wanted to know more about Taylor McAden. She wanted to spend more time with him, she wanted to get to know the person who'd been so kind to her child. Most of all, she wanted him to feel the same way.

She could feel herself beginning to blush as she brought her hand to her forehead, shading the sun from her eyes.

"I've still got a little time before I've got to start getting ready for work," she said, following her instincts. "Would you like to come in for a glass of tea?"

Taylor pushed his hat up higher on his head. "That sounds good, if it's okay."

They rolled the bikes around to the back of the house, leaving them on the porch, then walked inside, pushing through a door whose paint had cracked and peeled over the years. The house wasn't much cooler, and Denise left the back door open to help circulate the air. Kyle followed them inside.

"Let me get your tea," she said, trying to hide the sudden nervousness in her voice.

From the refrigerator she pulled out the jar of tea, then added a few ice cubes to glasses she retrieved from the cupboard. She passed Taylor the glass, leaving her own on the counter, conscious of how close she was to him. She turned to Kyle, hoping that Taylor wouldn't guess what she was feeling.

"Do you want something to drink?"

Kyle nodded. "He wants some water." (Eee wonse sum wonner)

Thankful for the interruption of her thoughts, she got that as well and handed it to him.

"You ready for a tub? You're all sweaty."

"Yes," he said. He took a drink from his small plastic cup, spilling part of it down his shirt.

"Can you give me a minute to get his tub ready?" she asked, glancing at Taylor.

"Sure, take your time."

Denise led Kyle from the kitchen, and a few moments later, beneath the distant murmur of her voice, Taylor heard the water start up. Leaning against the counter, he took in the kitchen with a contractor's eye. The house, he knew, had been vacant for at least a couple of years before Denise had moved in, and despite her best efforts the kitchen still showed signs of neglect. The floor was warped slightly, and the linoleum had turned yellow with age. Three of the cupboard doors were hanging crooked, and the sink had a slow drip that over the years had left rust marks on the porcelain. The refrigerator, no doubt, had come with the house--it reminded him of the one he'd had as a kid. He hadn't seen one like it in years.

Still, it was obvious that Denise had done her best to make it as presentable as possible. It was clean and well kept, that much was clear. Every dish was put away, the countertops had been wiped down, a ragged washcloth was folded neatly in the sink. Over by the phone was a stack of mail that looked as if it had already been sorted through.

By the back door he saw a small wooden table with a series of textbooks arranged across the top, held in place by two small flowerpots, each housing a small geranium. Curious, he walked over and scanned the titles. Every one of them had to do with child development. On the shelf below was a thick blue binder, labeled with Kyle's name.

The water shut off and Denise returned to the kitchen, conscious of how long it had been since she'd been alone with a man. It was a strange feeling for her, one that reminded her of her life from long ago, before her world had

changed.

Taylor was perusing the titles when she picked up her glass and made her way toward him.

"Interesting reading," he said.

"Sometimes." Her voice sounded different to her ears, though Taylor didn't seem to notice.

"Kyle?"

She nodded, and Taylor motioned toward the binders. "What are those?"

"Those are his journals. Whenever I work with Kyle, I record what he's able to say, how he says it, what he's having trouble with, things like that. That way I can follow his progress."

"It sounds like a lot of work."

"It is." She paused. "Would you like to sit?"

Taylor and Denise sat at the kitchen table, and though he didn't ask, she explained what--as far as she could tell--Kyle's problem was, just as she'd done with Judy. Taylor listened without interruption until she was finished.

"So you work with him every day?" he asked.

"No, not every day. We take Sundays off."

"Why is language so hard for him?"

"That's the magic question," she answered. "Nobody really knows the answer to that."

He nodded toward the shelf. "What do the books say?"

"For the most part, they don't say much. They talk a lot about language delays in children, but when they do, it's usually just one aspect of a bigger problem--like autism, for instance. They recommend therapy, but they're not specific in what kind of therapy is best. They simply recommend a program of some sort, and there are different theories as to which is most useful."

"And the doctors?"

"They're the ones who write the books."

Taylor stared into his glass, thinking back on his exchanges with Kyle, then looked up again. "You know, he doesn't talk all that bad," he said sincerely. "I understood what he was saying, and I think he understands me, too."

Denise ran her fingernail through one of the cracks in the table, thinking it was a kind--if not completely true--thing to say. "He's come a long way in the last year."

Taylor leaned forward in his seat. "I'm not just saying it," he said earnestly. "I mean it. When we were throwing the ball back and forth? He was telling me to throw the ball, and whenever he caught it, he would say, 'Good job.' "

Four words, essentially. Throw it. Good job. Denise could have said, That's not much if you think about it, is it? and she would have been right. But Taylor was being kind, and right now she didn't really want to get into a discussion about the limitations of Kyle's language abilities. Instead she was more interested in the man sitting across from her. She nodded, collecting her thoughts.