Tilda
When Coop doesn’t come back up with breakfast like he planned, I take a quick shower, throw on some jeans, a thermal top, and a sweater, and head downstairs. At the last second, I grab the pouch with the beacon charm and GPS Hattie gave me. When an outdoorswoman gives you, a city girl, something like that, you take it. Outdoorsy people strike me as almost mystical sometimes, odd happy nature wizards who chew on coffee grounds and spit them out to predict weather patterns. They can transport themselves and others through places with wild animals and zero roads, armed only with endless stories and magical backpacks that produce whatever they need in any emergency. Oh, and weirdest of all? They enjoy it. So yeah, she gave me what amounts to an amulet in my eyes, and I’m keeping this sucker close.
Coop sits slumped over in a rocking chair near the Christmas tree, half a dozen cats napping all around. I grin, memories of last night filling me with all kinds of delicious memories. I kick his foot, careful to dodge the sleeping horror hisses. “You didn’t fall asleep on me now, did you, sir? Because you made some promises you definitely have to fulfill today….”
When he looks up at me, I fall to my knees beside him and grab his hands. “Coop? What is it? What’s wrong? Is it Owen?”
His eyes swim in tears, and his throat is working reflexively, like he’s trying to speak but can’t get anything out. I put my hands on either side of his face. “Whatever it is, we can work through this. Together. Tell me what you need.”
His tears break free and fall onto my fingers, and his voice comes out quiet, broken. “I don’t know. How do I help Owen when the only thing I know to do with my own grief is bury it in distractions and work? He’s so angry. Frankly, so am I.”
I touch my forehead to his. “Oh, Coop. He has a right to be. And to be confused. And scared. And so do you. Just because he lashes out doesn’t mean you’re not helping. He needs this; take it from me. Bottling up anger only ends up saddling you with ghosts, right? And a wise man once told me those suckers are pretty hard to fight.”
He lays his hand gently at the base of my neck, then kisses me softly. “I love you, Tilda Balistreri.”
Shock rams through me. I stare at him, my mouth open. He traces my jaw with his thumb. “I’m gonna go talk to him. If you have any last minute words of wisdom, or maybe some armor laying around, I’ll take anything at this point.”
I scramble to my feet. “I do have something! Hattie gave it to me. It’s an avalanche beacon, because I guess I look like the kind of woman who can get lost in a greenbelt. But it looks like a cute little charm. Just a sec.”
I cross over to the tree, pull down the Santa ornament, and untie the blue ribbon. Slipping the beacon on it, I walk back over to Coop and press it into his palm as he stands. “Come bearing gifts. Tell Owen it’s for Toast. Maybe it’ll open doors or build you a shaky little bridge for now. And remember, he’s gotta let that stuff out. If ever there were someone who could help a kid find his way through a storm, it’s you. Good luck.”
Not really knowing what else to do but full of too many big emotions to count, I swat him on the rear without thinking. His eyes open wide, then he gives an awkward laugh. “You and me, Flinch. We’re gonna finish this after.”
I step back, make shooing motions towards Owen’s door, and give him a double thumbs up. He stares down at the ribbon and beacon, then closes his fist around it and nods. As he heads down the hall, I sink into the rocking chair to wait.
And to think about the fact that Cooper St. James just told me he loves me.