Page 86 of Cattle Stop

“Well, you know you’re always welcome to come down here to visit.”

“Funny story, I did. Yesterday. For lunch.”

The fly buzzes past again. Heat shimmers off the field and the sky’s hazy, humidity like a blur between him and the far stand of trees.

“Cooper,” Mom says.

“You can’t even make it to lunch? Practically downstairs from your building?”

“Cooper. Please.”

This is how Cooper’s always felt, like he could boost himself up to sit on his mother’s desk and still not be seen. There was no real change between the school year when he lived in a tiny apartment with Mom versus when he was up here at Two Pines. Either a handful of square feet to trip over each other or miles of highway were the same too-far distance. All it took was Mom boxing up his bedroom and replacing his childhood bed with a desk, and there he was, wiped away. Not all that different, in the end, than stacks of photographs he’s not in.

I tell you everything important, Whit had said to Drew, and fucking hell, Cooper would like to make that list at least once in his life.

Cooper swallows and his throat is too thick. “Can I talk to Terry?”

“Cooper—”

“Now, please?”

“Kid,” Terry says after a shuffle of the phone, the soft murmur of her voice and Mom’s.

“The fucking cows won’t walk down the lane I built for them.”

“Cooper,” Terry says, and her voice has all the warmth Mom’s never does.

“And Whit’s real, real clear there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Coops, hey, I love you.”

“I’m having a shitty day.” Days. Weeks.

Though no, that’s not right, is it? This has been the best summer since—since forever. Since he was back at Two Pines for this length of time. And then messed up, laying a big goddamn mistake of a kiss on Whit.

Fuck, he thinks when it just makes his chest ache that much more.

“I’m sorry,” Terry says.

Cooper drags his wrist beneath his nose. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Everyone cares about you.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

Terry lets out a long breath. “Yeah.”

Leave her, Cooper used to think, spinning out fantasies of living with Terry in some house with a yard and warm sunlight, no clicking of computer keys to fall asleep to. He might as well have staged that imaginary house here at Two Pines, while he was at it. Maybe he would’ve made the hallowed pages of Whit’s photo albums, though, then again, maybe not.

“What can I say, Coop? You deserve better,” Terry says.

He wipes off his nose again. “Whatever.”

“You do. That friend of yours, Whit, he—”

“Oh God, don’t.”

“If you’re going to tell me it’s not like that, I’m here to say that it should be. If he had any sense, he’d be chasing after you. Your mom would be too. And I know you and your mom have a tough time, but can’t help but love the dummy.”