Chapter 8 Cooper #2
“It’s certainly possible.”
“Good. I hope so. I’m tired of being short.”
I wisely suppressed a laugh. “You’re nine, Chase. If you’re like me, you’ll do most of your growing when you’re in high school.”
“Ugh! That’s forever from now. What if I don’t get taller and no one wants me on their team and—”
“Whoa. Where’s this coming from?”
Chase wiggled on the cushion, pushing his wayward hair aside to meet my gaze. “I got picked second to last in kickball yesterday. It was embarrassing, and I want to squish stupid Gabe Poophead like a bug ’cause he told everyone I was a la-bility.”
“Liability,” I corrected absently. “That’s not cool of him.”
“I know! I’m still mad. Gabe’s dad is shorter than you by like…five feet. I think I can beat him.”
This time I did chuckle. “It’s not a competition, buddy. Everyone grows at different rates, but yeah…I have a feeling you’ll eventually end up being taller.”
He nodded, obviously pleased with my assessment. “That’s what Frank said, too.”
“Ahh.”
My good humor fizzled like a dying balloon.
Don’t ask me why. Frank Daleo wasn’t a bad guy.
He was goofy and surprisingly sweet for someone who vaguely resembled a hitman.
No kidding. My ex’s bald, stern-faced, and gravelly-voiced new husband could have been mistaken for one of Tony Soprano’s goons.
But Frank was just an insurance salesman from Scranton who’d relocated to Fallbrook soon after meeting Sarah.
That was three years ago now, and like I said…nice guy. I was happy for Sarah and relieved that she hadn’t married an asshole. I didn’t worry about the kids when Frank was around. He was cool and deferential and yet…sometimes I resented him.
Like now.
Right in the middle of a perfectly nice father-son chat, I got Franked.
“He thinks I’ll be big and if I’m not, I can sell ice cubes in Alaska,” Chase continued, unaware of my inner reverie. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Okay, that was funny.
Humor restored, I snickered and tousled Chase’s floppy hair. “It means you’d make a good salesman someday.”
Chase made an ew face. “No, I want to be a football player or an astronaut or a logger, so I can work at the mill with you. Don’t tell Frank, but I think his job sounds boring.”
I made a zipped-lips motion. “I won’t say a word.”
“He has to be on the phone a lot and go to meetings…like everywhere.”
“Everywhere, huh?” I stacked the comics on the table, sorting out the ones we were going to purchase. It was time to get going, drop Chase off, and head back to the office.
“Yeah, he went to San Diego last week.”
Screech.
Why would an insurance salesman from Vermont need to physically go to San Diego for his job? That seemed weird.
“San Diego?”
“Yeah, we wanted to go too, but…school. And you have to take a plane, and remember how scared Ivy got when…”
I nodded and hummed along to whatever he was saying, but my brain was buzzing.
Something was going on. I had no idea what it could be, but California coming up in conversation with each of my kids within a week was a strange coincidence. I didn’t like it.
“Come on, Den. You got this, baby!”
I shot a side-eyed glance at the cowboy perched on the edge of my sofa with his fists clenched, willing the hockey players whizzing by on the ginormous flat-screen above my fireplace to put the fucking puck in the net.
“Take a deep breath, Hank. They’re up four to one,” I chided, taking a swig of my beer.
“Logically, I know this, but I can’t relax. He’s looking good, though, huh?” Hank commented, eyes glued to the screen.
Reg agreed. “He looks like a one-man wrecking ball.”
That was a bit of an understatement. Denny Mellon was arguably the best player in the NHL. He was known for his speed and agility, and he was currently the league’s top scorer. He was also an out bisexual man, married to Hank Cunningham, my boss and heir to a milling empire.
Hank’s father had founded Rocky Mountain Mills a few decades ago and, much to the board’s confusion, had expanded his reach by purchasing a family-owned and operated mill in Vermont. No one had thought Hank would last a year. Including me. And certainly not Reg.
Reg and his fellow officers had established a betting pool to predict the day Hank would hop on the first plane back to Denver, but that hadn’t happened. And while Reg hadn’t been happy to lose five hundred dollars to a rookie cop from Pinecrest, he’d begrudgingly become good friends with Hank.
As for Reg and me, we’d been best friends since sixth-grade when I’d moved to Wood Hollow.
Being the new kid in town hadn’t been easy.
I’d lost my dad, my friends, and my home in one fell swoop.
It had been an awkward age to feel untethered, angry, and out of place, but all that had changed the second Reg La Rue had invited me into his circle of minor miscreants who smoked cigarettes in the woods and talked about boobs.
Later, Reg and I came out as bi to each other and added dick to our conversations. And eventually, we’d both married women, had kids, got divorced, and were now single.
Reg was a great guy and a decent looking one—tall, fit but with a little frosting around his middle, salt-and-pepper hair, and rugged features. Reg cared about his hometown and took his pledge to serve and protect seriously. That goodwill was amplified to the nth degree for close friends.
“Denny’s on fire.” I plucked at the paper on my beer bottle. “Anyone want another?”
“No, thanks. I—oh! Would you look at that! We won.” Hank held his hand up for a round of high fives and stood. “I gotta run. I have to check on the horses and let the dog out.”
“Same.” Reg hefted himself off the sofa and gathered the empty beer bottles. “I’ll put these in the recycle bin for you, Coop. Later, Hank.”
“See ya.” Hank headed for the door. “I’ll be in early tomorrow to go over our notes. I want to practice my speech before we meet with the investor.”
I furrowed my brow and followed him to the door. “We? You want me at the investor meeting?”
“Don’t look so surprised. Of course I do.” He picked up his leather jacket from the bench in the foyer and shoved his arms in the sleeves. “This is big-time, Coop. We have to wow them with our knowledge and expertise. They’ll need more than my pretty face to convince them to give us their money.”
“They need my ugly mug too,” I deadpanned.
Hank patted my cheek and winked. “At least you know how to chop wood.”
I swatted him away and opened the door. “Out.”
“See you tomorrow,” Hank called on his way to his truck.
Reg came up behind me just then and slugged my shoulder, his standard-issue hello or good-bye. “Thanks for the beer and the company. I’ll talk to you in—who’s that? Are you expecting someone, you sly dog?”
I squinted at the headlights slicing the night and illuminating my driveway. “Sarah.”
Bile rose in my throat and panic set in. We didn’t do unannounced visits. Ever.
“Huh. She’s smiling. It can’t be too bad,” Reg said, sensing the shift in my mood.
Sarah stepped out of the van and waved. My blood pressure normalized somewhat, but I was wary. Something had to be wrong.
“Hey, Reg. How you doin’?” she called in greeting.
“Not bad. How about you?”
I stood on the periphery while my best friend and my ex made small talk.
Sarah McMurry Daleo was a medium-sized woman—not short, not tall, not thin, not overweight—with shoulder-length blond hair, a heart-shaped face, and a small nose.
She wasn’t beautiful, but she had a certain sparkle…
a gift for connecting with people. If she inquired about your day, your family, your friends, you’d think she really wanted to know everything you were willing to share and then some.
I’d liked that about her. I still did, but I didn’t always trust her now.
Reg fished his keys from his pocket and called out another good-bye as he headed for his truck, leaving me with the woman I’d once thought I’d spend the rest of my life with.
“Is everything all right? Are the kids—”
“They’re fine.” She fiddled with her purse strap. Yep, she was nervous. Not a good sign. “Sorry to show up like this. I was going to text you, but I was in the neighborhood visiting a friend. You remember Camille?”
“Yeah.” I crossed my arms.
“Anyway, I…” Sarah’s smile drooped as she bit her bottom lip. “Can I come in for a minute?”
I inclined my chin and motioned for her to follow me inside. “Want something to drink?”
She sat on a barstool and unbuttoned her coat but didn’t take it off. “If I didn’t have to drive those narrow roads in the dark, I’d take a beer, but alas…I’d love some water. Thank you.”
I slid a glass of water in front of her and waited.
Maintaining a polite middle ground where no one spoke their mind was one of the hardest parts about coparenting with an ex.
It was unrealistic to communicate only about the kids.
Our personal lives seeped in and upset boundaries all the fucking time.
I noticed when she got a haircut, bought a new sweater, or changed her perfume.
The sorts of things you should have immunity from with an ex.
I didn’t love her anymore, and I was glad our marriage had dissolved with a minimum of fuss. But damn it…I wished we didn’t have to do this fucking dance for the rest of our lives.
“The kids are fine and you seem fine, so…what’s up?”
Sarah drew a shaky inhale and blurted, “Frank is looking for a new job within his company. We might be moving.”
I was too stunned to speak at first. “Moving.”
She tapped her fingers against the glass. “The firm has offices around the country. Rutland is the closest, then Burlington. There’s also an opportunity in Ann Arbor and St. Paul, and…San Diego.”
“California.”