Page 76 of Cattle Stop

Rented a car, ’cause it’s not like she owns one, and she’d even let him choose the radio stations the entire way back. Because his mom couldn’t pick him up herself. Wouldn’t, he’s thought more than once.

Whit asks, “When you said you took the subway back to your house—”

“Apartment, please, don’t be ridiculous—”

“Was your mom supposed to come get you from the train?”

Cooper huffs out a breath. He doesn’t want to fucking talk about this. Living it was bad enough. He starts down the sidewalk, but Whit just jogs to keep up with him.

“Did she just…not?” Whit asks.

“I grew up in the city, I think I could navigate a subway or two.”

“She didn’t?”

“Look, my folks are different than yours, okay? Leave it at that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, she was too.”

Mom had left a note for him and everything before she got up to leave for work the next morning, arriving home again long after he’d jerked his bedroom door shut tight, like it hadn’t been all summer since she’d last seen him and another day wouldn’t make a damn difference.

Cooper swipes the metro card but the light doesn’t flash. He swipes it again, harder. He has enough on it for at least one damn ride. Whit’s hand covers his, warm fingers and that broad, big palm. Gently, he turns the card around.

Right.

Cooper was holding it the wrong damn way. How embarrassing.

He swipes it again and steps back to let Whit walk through ahead of him, and then does it once more for himself. Plenty left, he thinks dully as the small screen flashes the remaining balance.

Cooper shoves the card into the back of his wallet. There’re pieces of hay caught in there. He touches one, then folds the wallet carefully closed and slips it back in his pocket, before he follows Whit’s wide shoulders through the crowd.

Chapter Fourteen

Cooper’s head pounds and his eyes feel scratchy as Whit steers the truck past Caroline’s house and the turn for the farm comes into view.

“I’ll go see how Penny’s doing with the milking,” Whit says as he parks in his usual spot next to Drew’s Jeep.

Crazy that they only left that morning, and here they are back again within the same day, afternoon light slanting over the barnyard and Socks strolling by with his typical unconcerned saunter.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” Cooper says.

Though when he gets inside the farmhouse kitchen, he just pulls open the fridge and stares at the carton of eggs and bottles of beers. Eat something, he tells himself. His head hurts. Probably not enough water, and really, that was too long a trip to make in one day.

Drew definitely would have to hire someone or see if there’s already deliveries traded between the market in Albany and down in the city. But still. That’s a problem that can be solved. Success, Cooper thinks, though he can’t even begin to get excited about it. He should make himself a snack, head out to the barn, and find Drew to smack him on the back. He pulls in a long breath and blows it out again, gently letting the fridge door fall shut.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Cooper closes his eyes, and the old, well-worn, desperate wish claws up his throat, that he’ll pull his phone out and find a text from his mom, So sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I’ll drive up to the farm and see you tonight, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But no, it’s Whit.

Penny finished everything and she likes her cupcake, he’s written. Cooper drops his phone on the counter. It buzzes again. Buttercup made it back, he says hi. Cooper locks the screen and flips the phone over, facedown.

A bird lands on the windowsill with a skitter of wings and a soft chirp against the screen before it flies away again. Outside, gravel crunches under truck tires. Someone’s here, but Whit doesn’t come inside.

Good, Cooper thinks. He picks up a snap pea from a full bowl on the counter and chews on it slowly. He left his work pants on the floor before leaving for the city, and they’re still lying upstairs in a crumpled heap. Cooper really fucking doesn’t want to hear about him making a mess in the bedroom from Whit.

Outside, there’s laughing, big and loud. That’s Drew’s laugh. His normal, goofy, too-noisy laugh that he makes when his face turns bright red and rivals his hair. Like a goose, Cooper told him once, and Drew had only laughed harder, until he snorted. There’re more voices than just Drew, Penny, and Whit now. He can hear the slam of a car door, Sadie’s tags jingling as she jogs around, and the rapid patter of Spanish.

Through the window, Cooper sees Drew with his head tipped back, his entire body shaking, lit up by the evening golden glow of summer. Beside him are Penny and Whit, and they’re all standing around a small sedan.