Me & Timothy Cooper (5 page)

A lot.

H
owever, h
is smile
soon
faded. “But no, that’s not it.
It’s Justin.”

He and his mom never talked about his little brother. It was still too painful, but something about
Southern’s
apology stabbed at his brain. He regretted his mom’s expression before he spoke.

“We have to do this project,” he said, “Southern and I. We’re supposed to talk to each other and write what we’d change or keep about the other person.”

“That bothers you?”

He sighed. “Yes and no.
Writing about her.
No.”

His mom’s eyes softened.

“Telling her about me.
Yes. She said I didn’t have to talk, but I feel like I do because what happened to him changed me. Is that wrong?”

Silence stretched between them and
growing uncomfortable
with it
, h
e rolled over.

She ran a hand down his back. “You have to tell her whateve
r you think God wants you to
.”

“How do I know what that is?”

She tugged
at
his shoulder, and he flattened on the bed. “When the time comes, you’ll know.” She bent over and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”
She smelled nice.

“Love you too,” he said.

She stood to her feet. “What’
s the story with the swimsuit?”

He stifled a laugh, but couldn’t
do the same for
his smile. “We made a deal.”

Her
face straightened
. “Do I want to know?”

“Let’s just say she owes me a swim.”

His mom
shook her head. “No, I don’t want to know. Night, Son.”

“Night, Mom.”

His gaze wandered to the ceiling and around the walls, past posters and trophies
,
and
other
odds and ends.
A room like
his brother’s.
Same size.
Same shape.
S
imilar
collection of stuff.
Only Justin never had the chanc
e to grow up
in his
.

Shutting his eyes, he pictured him, but the image wavered. He couldn’t even remember his brother’s
face?
He opened the drawer of the bedside table and felt around inside. His fingers closed over the smooth
wood of a small picture frame. Extracting it, he looked
into eyes not
at all
like his.

Because
Just
in
had taken after their father.
Brown hair.
Brown eyes.
And that tiny cleft in his chin.
Yet in some ways they’d been so alike.
Cereal.
They’d liked the same cereal, and they’
d
hated raisins. They’d preferred peanut butter without jelly. And they’d both wanted to follow in their dad’s footsteps someday.

He traced the oval of his brother’s face with his thumbs. It wasn’t fair. Not fair that he didn’t get to
go to school, attend summer camp,
make
plan
s
for his future. Not fair that he couldn’t
meet a girl like Southern, maybe fall in love.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said.

His
brother gazed
back, unspeaking, unblinking.
Flipping out the stand, h
e set the pict
ure on the table
. He then reached for his cell. Calling up the screen, he tapped in
Southern’s
number.
You awake?

It was several minutes before he received a response.

Yes. Thought we said goodnight.

He grinned.
Was thinking
abt
our deal.

Goodnight, Tim.

CHAPTER 6

All conscious thought left his brain with a whoosh. Taylor
Lawton
stood in his kitchen in a nightgown.

She balanced herself on the crutches.
“You’re burning your eggs.”

Shoot.
He scooted the pan from the burner, in his haste burning his
palm
. He sucked in his breath.

“Here,” she said. Hobbling over, she took hold of his h
and and moved him to the sink, a
ll the while
hopping on her good
leg.

The cold water soothed the fire
now
p
ulsating on his skin. Or did it?

She raised her face and their gazes met. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

But she had no idea how startling she had looked standing there. His mom might have meant well buying the gown, but she’d never been a teenage boy. Short of Taylor wearing a
burkha
, he saw what was underneath.

“It’s okay,” he said, which sounded lame given the red patch now shining on the palm of his hand. He tapped the faucet off and wrapped his hand in a dish towel. “You should sit down. I’ll fix breakfast.”

She nodde
d, the motion sending her
slightly-mussed hair wafting around her face.

Hot
.

The crutches clunked against the counter as she climbed onto a stool. Rotating the seat, she lif
ted her leg to the adjacent
cushion
.

“I hope you’re not serving me burnt eggs.”

He smiled and jabbed a fork into the mess in the
pan. “No, I’ll eat those.” They
weren’t that burnt, and he hated waste. He slid the eggs onto an empty plate and
retrieved two more eggs from the refrigerator.

“Where’s your mom?” she asked.

He wiped out the pan with a paper towel. “Asleep. She was up late talking to my dad
on
Skype.”
He coated the pan with nonstick spray and replaced it on the burner.

“He’s overseas?”

The eggs gave a satisfying sizzle
as they hit the hot pan
. “Afghanistan. It’s his second tour.”

“He ever
get
to come home?
”

“Sometimes, but only for a few days.
He’s not schedule to return this time until close to Thanksgiving. Then we’ll miss him at Christmas.” He stirred the eggs around and searched in the cabinet for a plate.

“That must be hard.”

He smiled at her.
“This part of the project?”
He handed her the plate with a fork.
“Orange juice?”

She nodded.
“Maybe.
But only if you want to talk about it.”

However, t
hey didn’
t talk for a few minutes
as she ate her egg
s
.

“I always want to talk about my dad. Here …” Crossing the room, he lifted a photo from a display case and set it
on the counter
.
“My dad and my mom.”

His dad wore his dres
s uniform, his hair cut short. A
n American flag
was raised
behind them. His mom had on a white skirt and navy blue blouse with a red pin-striped scarf around her neck.

“He’s handsome. Must run in the family,” she said.

He stared at her
. Was that a compliment? Then again, he’d seen her looking at him often enough in school. Why hadn’t he talked to her before now? The timing just never seemed right, always something got in the
way
. This could be destiny – her being here like this instead of how it normally would be.

“What about your dad?” he asked. “
What’s he do
?”

She pushed aside her empty plate.
“Sales.
Dad could sell ice to an Eskimo. He had to attend some conference in Reno. Mom went along for the ride.”

“I thought she worked two jobs.”

“She does.” Taylor pushed her hair off of her neck. “But her boss at one job is also her best friend, so all she has to do is ask and they replace her. Her boss at the other can usually be persuaded.”

He dragged his gaze from her neck to her face. “You don’t care that they leave you alone?”

“I care, but …” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’ve learned to deal with it.”

Deal with it. She shouldn’t have to deal with it.

“They always call and check on me.”

He smiled. They’
d definitely done that, but still that sounded like an excuse.
“And your Grandma?”
he asked.

“She calls too, but she mostly wants to know if I have clean under …” She coughed. “Clean clothes.”

Too late.
She might have switched words, but his brain filled in the blanks. At this rate, it would be a long week.

“We should get dressed,” he said,
at last,
not making any effort to move.

She didn’t appear eager to jump up either.
“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“How am I going to get my books to class?”

Her question broke the spell they were under. “I’ll
carry
them.”

“How will that look?
You following
me around all day.”

He set their plates in the sink and ran water over them. “How do you think it’ll look?”

“Hmmm ….” She drew out the sound.

He turned a
round
and leaned back on the counter, the sharp granite edge pressing into his back.

“Let’s see. We sle
pt in the same house. We arrive
in the same car. And you’re
carrying
my stuff. That’ll look like we’re … you know, an item.”

A grin worked its way onto his face. “You object to that?”

She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “
Me
and Timothy Cooper an item.” She slid her leg from the stool and reached for the crutches.
“Nope.
I don’t object to that at all.”

He stood there frozen as she limped away, more than a little entranced by her walk … and the blasted nightgown.
Then with a laugh headed for his room.
This would be a very interesting school day.

***

The whispers started the minute we climbed from
his car. I grilled him about his
automobile
on the way there. Being the typical girl, I didn’t know beans about engines or half of wh
at he told me. But I figured
his transportation
was the envy of half the boys at school and it interested him
, so it was worth it. Plus, there was the project, and t
he more info I had, the more I could decide to write about.

He came around the car and helped me stand,
then
took my books like he’d said he would. The
girls
all stared at me, envious. Timothy Cooper was quite a catch. The
boys
all seemed proud of him, as if he’d accomplished something. That was a little bizarre to my thinking.
Ultimately, I was just me – boring old Taylor
Lawton
.
Too well-rounded for my age and not that friendly.

I say not that friendly, but I did speak to people. Yet in all the years living in town, no one had bothered to make good friends with me. I grew used to it
eventually
and functioned basically on my own, sitting on the outskirts at events and making conversation only where it was required. But now, with Timothy Cooper carrying my books, I was the center of attention.

And he, the cad, was enjoying himself. He made a production of it, deliberately pacing himself at my side, helping me in the doorways to my classes, and sitting my books on my desk
with a flourish
. He even opened my locker and retrieved things for me. When I shed myself of
him in third period, Lisa
Mait
on
, the same girl who’d thrown a wad of paper at Mrs. Walker’s
butt
, leaned over to get the scoop.

“So tell me,” she purred, “What’re you and Mr. Yummy doing together?”

Mr. Yummy.
He was that.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

She tapped her fingers in rapid succession on the top of her desk. “Do tell.”

I debated on what to say. She wasn’t my friend-friend, just an acquaintance, so I didn’t know what rumors she’d start. On the other hand, Tim was spreading his own. I’d seen more than one high five exchanged when he thought I wasn’t looking.