Chapter 8 #4
"Great word," Candace said.
"Yeah. But Scrabble is only as good as the letters you get."
Candace considered his observation for a moment.
"Well, it certainly helps when you draw letters that fit what's already on the board."
He looked at her.
"But the way you win Scrabble is learning how to make the letters you draw useful, even if they aren't the ones you wish you had."
Cooper studied her for a moment.
"What?" Candace asked.
"You're doing that thing parents do."
"What's that?"
"You talk about the thing you're doing, but you're trying to say something else."
She lifted her brow. "What do you think I'm trying to say?"
He looked down at the board, moving one of his remaining tiles back and forth with his finger.
"I don't know. Something about how you have to work with what you get.
Kind of like I don't always get to choose what books to read in class.
I have to make the best of boring stories sometimes. " He shrugged.
Candace looked at the word he had played.
EXCUSE.
"That's an interesting word," she said.
"It got me good points."
"It did."
"And it used the X."
"Also true."
Cooper smiled. "Sometimes people need one."
"An X?"
"An excuse."
Candace waited.
"Not a bad excuse," he said quickly. "I mean, not like when someone says they forgot their homework, but really they didn't do it."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean like..." He frowned, searching. "Like a reason it's okay that something isn't perfect. Or like, if you said you were too tired to bowl, but really you wanted to watch a movie because your wrist hurts. Stuff like that. Like it's not a lie. Not really. It's just?—"
"An excuse."
He nodded.
Candace sat back and studied him.
He smiled.
"Coop?"
"Yeah?"
"I hope you know that I like spending time with you."
Cooper frowned. "Yeah, I know."
"And when I say I can't do something?—"
"Mom," he said, sounding slightly exasperated. "I know when you say you can't be with me it's because you can't."
She nodded.
"I didn't mean that you make excuses not to be home."
She nodded again.
"You worry too much."
"Do I?" she asked.
"Yeah. About all kinds of things."
Candace sighed.
"See?" he said, giggling. "Now, you're worried about worrying!"
She finally laughed. "You think so?"
He challenged her with a stare. "Yep."
Candace shook her head. "Maybe you should be president."
"Nah."
"Not even when you grow up?" she asked, the game momentarily forgotten.
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"You'd rather try to catch dragons."
He looked back at her.
"Wouldn't you?" she asked.
"I know they aren't real. But they're fun to think about."
She smiled.
"I don't know what I want to do."
"Well, that's okay. You have plenty of time," Candace said, although the conversation reminded her that time moved quickly.
"Yeah. I guess. I think I might be a teacher."
"What would you teach?"
"I don't know. I like history."
"I know."
He shrugged again. "There are no time machines, so I can't be a time traveler."
"Where would you go?" she asked.
"Maybe to Ancient Rome. Or maybe Egypt. Someplace like that. Just for a while."
Candace nodded. "You know, you could write about ancient places and dragons."
Cooper laughed. "Mom, no one writes about dragons in Ancient Rome."
"They don't?"
He laughed harder.
She grinned. "That doesn't mean you can't," she said.
He looked at her.
"No woman has been the president until now. That didn't stop me."
"Yeah, but that's different."
"It is," she agreed. "But not as much as you think." She smiled. "Someone has to be the first to do everything, Coop. No one could fly in a plane until someone imagined one. Then someone had to design it and build it before they could fly."
"That's different, too."
"Not really," she said. "Everything people make and everything people do starts in their imagination.
Maybe you can't bring dragons to life. Maybe you won't invent a time machine.
You could certainly write a story about a boy who takes a time machine to find dragons in Ancient Rome.
There's always a way, Cooper—a way to make what matters most to you a reality.
Even if that reality is only something people experience in the pages of a book. "
Cooper smiled. "How come you never wrote stories?"
"What makes you think I never wrote stories?" Candace asked. "My stories aren't about ancient civilizations or mythical creatures. But I tell stories every day. And when I was your age, I used to write all kinds of stories. They were usually about the future, though, not the past."
"Like with a time machine?"
"No. But now that you say it, I'd love to write a story with a time machine."
"So you could know what happens next?"
"Some days, that would be helpful."
He offered her another shrug.
"You don't think so?" she asked.
"Maybe. Time machines are tricky," he told her. "Like if you change one thing in the past, you might change the whole future. Maybe if you know what happens next, it will change the past somehow. I don't know how it all works. I just think it's better that time machines are make-believe."
Candace smiled. "Whatever you do when you get older, you should definitely keep telling stories."
He grinned.
Candace returned to her tiles. She contemplated the board, then laid down her tiles, starting with the S in Excuse. S-P-O-R-K. She looked up and smiled.
"Spork?" Cooper asked. He laughed until his sides hurt.
"It's a word," Candace said.
He kept laughing.
"It is!" she said.
"I just think it's funny."
"A funny word?" Candace asked.
"Funny that the president played SPORK."
"Coop, believe me, I have eaten with many sporks."
That did it; he fell over, giggling uncontrollably.
There it was—the little boy Candace had fallen in love with instantly.
She enjoyed their thoughtful conversations, the way his mind worked through questions and problems, and watching him gradually blossom in ways that allowed her to glimpse the man he would become.
But he was still ten. Caught between answering important questions about who he wanted to be, what he would like to accomplish, and still needing to believe that somewhere, maybe there were once dragons.
And maybe he was right about time machines. Maybe it was a blessing they didn't exist.
Candace could imagine the temptation to travel backward and make different choices. To soften hard moments. To avoid injuries and losses. To stand in rooms she had left too soon, or arrive sooner in rooms where someone needed her. To see what Cooper might become before he was ready to become it.
But time did not offer that mercy.
Or maybe that was its mercy.
It moved in only one direction, asking people to live inside the moment they had been given, not the one they wished they could recover or the one they feared might come next.
Cooper wiped at his eyes, still laughing.
"What do you say we take a break and have some ice cream?" Candace suggested.
He stared at her. "Will you need a spork?"
He fell into laughter again.
Candace shook her head, laughing with him.
She pulled herself up and held out her hand. "Come on. I suppose we could ask Kevin to order some," she said as she led Cooper toward the kitchen.
"Some what?" he asked.
"Sporks."
Cooper laughed so hard he snorted.
Candace winked. What could be better than eating ice cream with a spork? The thought made her giggle. It was a reminder that life is lived in moments. And Candace was sure this was a moment she would never forget.
Arlington, Virginia
"How was your visit with Candace yesterday?" Helen asked.
"Honestly, it was exactly what I needed. Probably what she needed, too."
"I'm glad that you have her."
Cassidy smiled. "Me too." She sighed.
"Cassidy?"
"I just—I'm worried about Jane."
"You haven't talked to her much lately, have you?"
"No. Believe me, I understand. I know how it felt when I learned my father was still alive."
Helen nodded. "But there's more to the betrayal for Jane."
"I think so." Cassidy shook her head. "You know, I've been walking in this crazy world my father helped create for years. I still can't wrap my head around it."
"I don't know if anyone can."
Cassidy looked at Helen.
Helen nodded.
"Helen, I know it hasn't been easy for you. In some ways, I think everything has been hardest on you."
"I don't think that's true."
"Maybe not. You lost your husband. Jonathan came into Alex's and Nick's lives, and it caused so much friction. I know that's been hard."
"It has."
"I know. It's such a mess, Helen. Every time I think we're moving past it, something happens, and it all starts again. I suppose that's because it never ended."
"I'm not sure it ever ends, Cassidy."
"That's reassuring."
Helen chuckled. "You know why I say that."
Cassidy sighed. "I wish I could say I didn't. I do. We have to choose something different. I know that. I don't know how to do that with so much at stake."
"I understand. But there's always something at stake. And there is always someone who wants to cause hurt—even if they think it serves a greater purpose."
"Helen?"
"I've been thinking a lot about Alex's father."
Cassidy smiled gently.
"I miss him, Cassidy. For some reason, I seem to miss him more lately."
"I think that's understandable."
Helen looked at her.
"I love having you here," Cassidy said. "And I know Alex and the kids do, too. I also know that you miss my mom. And Dylan. And it's taken you even farther from Nick and Barb."
"Cassidy, I want to be here."
"I know that, too."
"I need this time with Alexis."
Cassidy smiled.
"I missed too much. I let too many things hurt her when I should have tried to stop them."
"You mean with her father?"
Helen nodded.
"I don't think you can take that on," Cassidy said. "I understand. At least, I think I do. Raising kids with someone isn't easy."
"He hurt her so much, Cassidy."
"He did. But Alex also pushed every one of his buttons—deliberately."
Helen blinked.
Cassidy shrugged. "She's admitted that a few times. She wanted to prove to him that she could do anything—especially the things he didn't want her to do."
Helen chuckled. "I'm surprised she admitted to that."