7. Cooper
7
Cooper
L eah’s eyes slit, then draw up to mine. Those green laser beams are set to kill. And yet her tone is delighted …
“Declined,” she says with a smile.
Declined . Well, crap. I cram my eyes shut. “Oh, you know, I forgot. I’m not using that one anymore. Ah, here—” I dig into my wallet and pull out my new card, the one that doesn’t know about Cooper’s messed up life. I hold the card out to her, and this time it runs with success.
Leah isn’t thrilled to see me. But I got curious after seeing her the other night. I went back to our table and asked Mitch and Andrea all about her. They told me she’d just opened her own business, one not that far from where I work.
So, here I am, trying to dig myself out of a prom night grave. Sure, I’m doing it with chopsticks, but I’m still digging. Supporting the woman’s business seemed like the perfect way to redeem myself. But declining cards and a seething Leah might be giving me another sign—as in, the grass has grown, the tombstone is in place, and there’s no coming out of this grave.
I swallow and peer at Leah, that frown still in place. Surely the woman doesn’t sneer at all her customers.
“Here you are,” she says as I peer around the shop.
It’s cute. Like my nieces, Alice and Lulabelle, kind of cute. The quaint space is painted pale pink with a white lacy border around the top of the walls. There’s room for one round table and two metal chairs—Arnold has decided to claim the spot. It’s right next to a glass cooler of individual milks and juices. My gaze draws back to the black-and-white framed photo to the left of the cash register. A girl with wide-rimmed glasses, flour on her cheeks, and a huge gap-toothed grin stands beside an older gentleman. Both of their hands are covered in goop as they knead out dough. It’s Leah. Sure, her teeth are too big for her girlish face, crooked, too, with gaping spaces, but that’s her smile. I don’t know the man—but he looks grandfatherly.
It’s a simple, sweet space, with the scent of cinnamon, sugar, and pure happiness.
She slaps the receipt into my hand, breaking the trance her little shop has created.
Behind me, Arnold hums with delight, enjoying his breakfast and this place. I don’t blame him; Leah’s shop is a welcoming space. And yet, it’s clear I’m not welcome. I wish Arnold would leave. I’d rather not have an audience as I attempt a conversation.
“Uh,” I say, needing to speak, needing something to be said between us today. “Do you have anything to drink?”
She tilts her head, and one sprig of chocolate-brown hair falls from the thick bun on top of her head. “Something like… café con leche?”
I clear my throat, feeling guilty for having asked a question. But I don’t know why. Why do Leah Bradford’s expressions always make me feel like I’ve done something wrong?
“What about chocolate milk?” I spin around. “Hey, Arnold, do you need milk or something?”
“Coffee,” he says. The man never even thanked me for his roll, yet he has no problem telling me what he wants to drink. A little gratitude goes a long way, Arnold.
“I’ll get the coffee. You can choose your own milk,” she says, waving to the standing refrigerator behind me. The case is packed full. I take two small jugs of chocolate milk back up to the counter and pass my working card to Leah to run once more.
When it’s clear this is all the conversation I’m going to get today, I take my rolls, and my chocolate milks, and I head out, leaving Leah and Arnold in the warmth and sweetness of the cinnamon roll shop.
I peer back before starting my walk to Schumacher he wants his lawyer to speak Spanish, so get on it.”
“I’m on it,” I tell him, though isn’t Barney asking me to perform the impossible? Learn Spanish—by tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this. N o one can do that, Barney!
And yet, I keep trying. I don’t know how to give up.
“You better be. I’m taking a chance on you, Bailey.” Barney gives me a squinted glare, then drops his hands to his sides. That’s enough order-giving for him today.
Barney is the only person in Coeur d’Alene who knows my situation. Not even my saint of a mother knows. And Barney reminds me daily that he knows I’ve been to the depths of legal despair—and that he’s “taking a chance on me”.
“Right,” I say, shoving the box of Leah’s rolls into Barney’s hands. I take my milk and charge off to my six-foot-by-six-foot closet of an office. I slump into my broken swivel chair and breathe out a sigh.
In Seattle, I had a huge office—big enough for a large desk, a fancy, cushioned swivel chair, two cozy client chairs, a six-foot-wide bookcase, and plants—lots of them.
Bluewave Law Office—their reputation preceded itself. I had clients waiting for me on day one. They were standing in a metaphorical line—for me . Because if you work at Bluewave Law, you’re good at what you do.
My salary had a lot of numbers in it—year one. So, I could be picky with my apartment, with its furnishings, with the car I drove. I sent Mom gifts. I bought Meredith and Levi one heck of a wedding gift—unlike Owen and Annie’s or Miles and Delaney’s. That’s what two of my brothers get for getting married while I was still broke and in college.
Sure, I didn’t put much down on my school loans that first year of work—like I should have. Because that’s just one more area where Cooper Bailey failed in life. No, I bought things for myself and for others. I made the minimum payment. I was so sure there would be plenty of funds from that hefty salary to pay those pesky loans off whenever I wanted.
And now, I’m here .
With Barney.
At Schumacher & Associates.
Small-town law.
Learning Spanish just to keep one of a handful of clients and a paycheck so small that I moved back into my childhood bedroom.
Awesome.