Me & Timothy Cooper

by Suzanne D. Williams

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Timothy Cooper needed to know about me? Timothy Cooper who never spoke to me one day before today. Timothy Cooper whose car this was, whose house this was, whose shirt I was wearing. Timothy Cooper.

  I eyed his naked chest, my mind in a whirl, and traced the thin line of blond hair descending to his naval. Distracting.

  “Well, what was it, Southern? What’d I say?”

  Southern. Where in the world did he pick that up from? I knew I had a twang sometimes, but no one had ever called me out on it.

  “You … you … nevermind.”

  It seemed pointless to bring up his interest in me. After all, before today, we’d never said one word to each other, so it didn’t mean anything. He was probably being nosy.

  He smiled crookedly and climbed from the car. Moving around the front, he opened my door and scooped me from the seat.

  I let out a squeal. “What are you doing?”

  To balance myself, I threw an arm around his neck, and he leaned back, forcing me harder against his chest. God help me.

  “I’m carrying you.”

  And my mouth wouldn’t quit talking. Why did he bring this out in me?

  “This because I can’t walk or because you’re male?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Both. What is this point number three against males?”

  I smiled. “So far.”

  He flipped his keys onto his forefinger. “Third key. Stick it in the lock.”

  I did as I was told, and he toted me into the lobby. Okay, it wasn’t a lobby, just a foyer, but it was big enough to be a lobby. Everything about the house was huge. Huge entrance. Huge staircase. Huge living room. Huge kitchen with a huge center island.

  And his mom, not huge, standing in the middle. She was pretty, and he looked like her.

  “Afternoon, Mom.”

  She stood there uncertainly, her hand on the top of the open refrigerator door. Huge refrigerator too, the size of two of ours.

  It came to me perhaps her son entering the house shirtless toting an unknown female who was wearing said shirt was a bit unusual, so I attempted to smile. But my ankle really was hurting badly and so I imagine it looked more like a scowl.

  “Tim?” she asked.

  He carried me through the kitchen into an attached family room and plopped me onto a chocolate-brown leather couch. He shoved a pillow behind my head.

  “Southern’s hurt her ankle. Can you take a look?”

  She padded over the terrazzo tiles and knelt at my feet. Her fingers gently probed my flesh, and I winced. It hurt.

  “Be best to have an x-ray,” she said, “to make sure the bones aren’t broken. But I suspect it’s only a sprain. One thing’s for sure, you won’t be walking on it.” A smile rose on her face. “He do that to you?” She inclined her head toward Tim.

  I smiled back. I liked her already. “No. Why, is he in the habit of injuring people?”

  She laughed and then looked at Tim. “Should I ask about the shirt?”

  I should have been nervous around her. This was, after all, Timothy Cooper’s mom. But I wasn’t. She was the kind of person who made you relaxed right from the start.

  “Mine was a casualty of the accident,” I supplied in his defense.

  This seemed to satisfy her because she didn’t ask anything else. Then again, she was a woman and had to know the trick.

  She stood to her feet. “I’ll get you an ice pack.”

  As she walked away, Tim called out to her back. “She needs a place to stay tonight. I was thinking she could use Justin’s room.”

  Justin Cooper. His little brother. I had heard rumors about what happened, me being relatively new in town and so not here at the time, it was one of those things you never asked about. Not knowing the full story, however, didn’t stop my guilt. I was there, and he was not. Maybe staying in his room was wrong. I really should go home, but how I’d navigate once I was there was beyond me. I wasn’t even sure I could make it to the bathroom safely.

  She never flinched. “You’re homeless?”

  I smiled because that sounded like something Tim would say. “No, my parents are out of town. I’m sure I can manage fine, but he wouldn’t take me home.”

  “No, he wouldn’t, and you can’t manage. You have to stay off that foot.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  I laid my head back on the pillow and met Tim’s gaze. His blue eyes stared right through me, and I was back to wondering why he knew so much about me.

  “About our date,” I said.

  He tilted his head.

  “Here’s the thing … my parents are gone for longer than tonight.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “Oh?”

  My attempt to smile was feeble, the pain in my ankle swamping over me.

  “Like how long?”

  His mom returned, and I yelped at the weight of the ice pack. I looked past her toward Tim. “Like ‘til Sunday night.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Sunday night?” Tim stared at her. Her parents left her alone for an entire week?

  She read his thoughts. “Yes, but my Grandma is supposed to check on me. They’ve done it before, and …”

  They’d done it before? His mind swam with the idea. Her parents were in the habit of leaving her alone. What if something happened? Like spraining her ankle. Then what was she supposed to do?

  “I’ll be okay by tomorrow,” she said.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “You will not be okay by tomorrow. You think you’ll get up, and it’ll all be gone?”

  Evidently that’s exactly what she thought because the confusion on her face raised itself before him. Fortunately, his mom stepped in.

  “Southern?” She hesitated.

  “Taylor,” Taylor supplied.

  His mom smiled. “Taylor, your ankle won’t be right for the next week, much less twenty-four hours. We can’t let you go home to stay by yourself. You’ll stay here.”

  “But …” Taylor blurted.

  “But nothing,” Tim shot back. “There’s no argument. You stay.”

  “I need clothes.”

  That was an issue, for sure, and she was in no shape to go retrieve them. Neither was he going to retrieve them. Dig around in her underthings? No way. He looked to his mom who sighed.

  “Give me your address and the key, and I’ll go.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Taylor asked, “I don’t want to put you out. This is so much trouble.”

  His mom patted her on the shoulder. “No trouble at all.”

  Taylor unzipped her purse and produced the key. “There’s another thing,” she said. She swallowed nervously. “My clothes are all dirty and …”

  “And?” his mom asked.

  “And I don’t have, you know, anything decent to sleep in.”

  She looked at him when she said it, and his mind went right where it shouldn’t.

  ***

  Whatever he was thinking about my statement was most likely accurate. I slept in whatever I found and often that was nothing more than my underwear. That I had just confessed this to Timothy Cooper’s mom hit me the minute I said it, but I didn’t want her to spend fruitless hours trying to find what wasn’t there. I also figured as his mom she’d want to protect her son from whatever this strange girl he’d brought home was up to.

  I wasn’t up to anything … yet … but she wouldn’t know that.

  The thought of staying at Timothy Cooper’s house pounded in my brain once she left. And for an entire week. I was still marveling at this when he got up and wandered into the kitchen. He waved a canned soda in the air to get my attention.

  “Want one?”

  “Sure,” I called. He brought it to me and returned to the kitchen to fetch his own. Then he went through a doorway on the far side.

  “Be back in a sec,” he said.

  I popped the top and sipped the cold drink, taking in my surroundings. Through the window I could se
e a swimming pool surrounded by large round stones, which piled up to a waterfall on one end. Water ran over the stones, through thick green ferns into a dark pool.

  “My dad’s doing.”

  I glanced up. He’d donned a shirt, and I was mildly disappointed. “Why is the water black?” I asked.

  “It’s not, that’s the color of the pool lining. Makes it look natural.”

  “It’s very pretty.”

  “We can take a swim, if you like.”

  I tilted my head to better see his face. Did Timothy Cooper just invite me to swim in his pool? Then again. Why did he invite me to swim in his pool?

  He held his hands up, palms outward. “Honest Abe, I meant nothing by it. Boy, you’re suspicious.”

  I sighed. I should apologize. “I’m sorry. I’m finding this day hard to believe.”

  He sank down in a large arm chair. “Why’s that?”

  And I decided to be truthful. At this point, what would it hurt? “Because you’ve never talked to me before, yet here I am.”

  He drained his can and crushed it with his fist. “Did you want me to talk to you?”

  My fingers numbed holding the cold aluminum. How to answer that? Yes, and I sound desperate. No, and I’m lying. “Did you want to talk to me?” I asked instead.

  He smiled. “Is this going to turn into another point against males?”

  “That all depends on your answer.”

  His eyes lit. So he enjoys this.

  “Let’s say we each ask one question as part of our project,” he said. “And we have to answer. No getting out of it.”

  I adjusted my head on the pillow. “Okay. You go first.”

  He set his crushed can down on the end table. “Who have you always wanted to go out with?”

  Oh, that was unfair. A lump arose in my throat the size of Mt. St. Helens, and I inhaled a shaky breath. “Truthfully?” I couldn’t look at him and say it. No way.

  “Lie to me. But I’ll know it’s a lie.”

  My gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. “Does my answer mean you noticed?”

  He laughed. “Answer the question first, Southern.”

  “Why if you noticed, did you not speak to me?”

  He held up a finger. “Nope. You can’t ask your question yet.”

  I exhaled loudly. He wasn’t letting this go. “I wanted you to talk to me,” I said. That was a less painful admission, and I thought he’d be happy with it. But no.

  “Not what I asked.”

  “Can we really go swimming?”

  He was grinning. I looked at him, but I shouldn’t have.

  “Yes, you got a suit?”

  And I saw my trump card glowing before me. I pursed my lips. “I do. Black. Bikini. Text your mom to bring it, and I’ll make a trade with you.”

  I could almost hear the thoughts whizzing around in his head. First, dare he text his mom about that? Second, dare he make a trade, not knowing what the trade was? Third … well, those were the images now floating through his brain.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll text your mom, and you answer my question.”

  “Deal.”

  I lifted my phone. “What’s the number?” I brought up a blank message and punched her number into the keyboard. Tim says we can swim. Can you bring my suit? Third drawer, left. I hit send. “Done.”

  He was sweating bullets at this point, but faced me squarely. “So what’s the question?”

  “Timothy Cooper, do you like me?”

  His face cleared and the grin returned. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Do. You. Like. Me?” I repeated the question.

  He stood to his feet and crossed over in front of me. Taking my empty can, he paused overhead. “More every minute.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Tim’s mom said nothing about her trip to my house, her rummage through my dirty clothes, or my text for the suit. She did bring it, however. She also offered to do some laundry, for which I was grateful. I told her I was deep in her debt, and she laughed.

  Tim made no mention of swimming in the pool, though I caught him eyeing my things. I figured that would come later in the week and had no doubt he’d make me pay up on our deal.

  For supper, his mom ordered pizza, and Tim propped me up on the couch to eat it. I was beginning to enjoy all the pampering, especially from the boy who’d earlier said he liked me. Then my phone rang, and I realized it was my parents. This meant only one thing. Grandma couldn’t find me.

  “Hello? Hi, mom. Yes, I’m fine. Where am I? I’m at a friend’s, a friend from school. Yeah, I should have called Grandma. I’m sorry. What friend? Uhm …”

  And I stalled.

  “How is your trip so far? Really? You saw Jack Niklaus? That’s great. What’d we have for supper? Pizza. We had pizza. Listen, mom, I … uhm … I may stay the night. I’m not sure I feel good sleeping at home alone. No, no reason, I’m fine, really.” I held the phone away from my ear for a moment as she rattled on.

  Tim shook his head, smiling.

  “Parent? Yeah, she’s here. You want to talk to her?”

  No, no, no. That wasn’t good. I couldn’t expect Tim’s mom to be dishonest, and I had no choice but to hand her the phone. It would soon hit the fan, as they say.

  “She wants to talk to you.”

  Tim’s mom took my phone and pressed it to her ear. “Hello? Is this Taylor’s mom? My name is Nancy Cooper. You’re daughter’s welcome to stay here. In fact, we insist, and it’s no trouble at all. What’s that?”

  She looked directly at me. “My son, Timothy.”

  I heard the eruption clear from my seat on the couch and more when Tim’s mom removed the phone from her ear as well. She was smiling though as she handed it back to me.

  “Mom? Deep breaths, mom.” She was hyperventilating. “Yes, he’s a boy. Yes, I’m at his house. Yes, mom …Yes … Yes, we talked about that. I remember. Well, mom … No, wait let me explain.”

  I rushed out my words. “I hurt my ankle, and Tim’s mom is a nurse … was a nurse, so he brought me here to have it looked at. She says I sprained it, and I figure he can get me to school so it’d be easiest. Besides, we have to do this project together and he’d be coming over anyhow. At least here we’re supervised.”

  That sounded like a good reason to me, but my mom was insane at this point.

  “Project, Mom. For school. Mrs. Walker’s class. Oh, for heaven’s sake, he’s taking me to church Wednesday, that should make you happy. You and dad can’t leave anyhow or dad will miss his conference, and Grandma can’t come get me.”

  The phone finally fell silent, my mom having exhausted her arguments … and me as well.

  “Mom, you can call me anytime, or text. Texting is better, you know. Yes, I’ll call Grandma. Of course I won’t tell her I’m at a boy’s house. Bye, Mom. Give Dad my love.”

  I let out a screech and tossed the phone to the end of the couch. I then turned to face them.

  “She didn’t take it well?” he asked.

  I frowned. “What do you think, Sherlock?”

  He laughed.

  “I think,” his mom said, “that it’s time for bed. Somewhere in the garage I have an old pair of crutches. Those should help you get around at school tomorrow.” She signaled Tim, and he disappeared from view. “I’ll go fix the bed.”

  She started to turn, but I stopped her. She’d been awfully nice to me, and I really was disrupting their lives.

  “Mrs. Cooper,” I said. “I … I’m sorry for all this trouble. I want you to know I’m grateful.”

  She rested her hands on her hips. “You’re welcome, Taylor. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  Finally?

  She must have seen the word written on my face because she smiled softly as she left.

  ***

  The crutches were a bit too tall, but they served their purpose. I practiced crossing the room, much to Tim’s amusement, and then stumped down the hallway toward the bathroom. His mom had left
my things by the bed in his brother’s room and a night gown over the toilet. I eyed the gown and the attached price tag. She’d gone shopping. That was funny to me in a warped sort of way.

  The gown was modest with a scooped neckline and adjustable straps. It also fell to my knees. Pretty without being revealing. Like what a mom concerned about her son would buy. I didn’t blame her, and in fact, was surprised she hadn’t sprung for something that encircled my neck and descended to my ankles.

  I even did her a favor and wrapped myself in the towel after putting it on. As I’ve already said, I was curvy.

  Mom always blamed this on Grandma. “Comes from your father’s family,” she’d say, “definitely not from mine.”

  Tim was nowhere to be found, so I scooted along the hallway as best I could until I stood in the entrance to his little brother’s room. It looked like he lived there still, like at any minute he’d come sprinting through the door and ask why “some girl” was inside. And I hesitated to enter until a voice spoke in my ear.

  “It’s okay.”

  Tim.

  It didn’t seem okay. What was okay about a boy dying young? I stumbled inside and halted beside the bed.

  “Does it bother you to come in here?” I asked. My legs trembled beneath me, and I fell onto the bed with a whump. Tim lounged in the doorway.

  “Sometimes. But then so do baseball games.”

  Baseball. That would confirm the story I’d heard.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Don’t be. I’ll tell you about it sometime, but not tonight.”

  “You don’t have to,” I blurted. It was so personal. How could I ever ask him to share it with me?

  His face took on a curious expression. “It’s part of who I am. He’s me. If we’re supposed to learn about each other, then that has to be in it or I’m incomplete.”

  “But …”

  “Goodnight, Southern,” he said, and he flipped the light off and pulled the door to, leaving me in the darkness.