2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Cooper

A ll she added was. "Look, I've got to go. I can't talk right now." And she ran away. I didn't go after her. I'm almost never right about things like this, but I saw a movie once, where someone was calling someone and they didn't answer, only to find out that it wasn't her name, and that recall was eerie. Stunned, I walk back to the music room, knowing full well that if I leave third graders alone for more than about thirty seconds, utter chaos will arise, despite my efforts to make proper humans out of the troublemaking critters.

Part of me wants to ask little Nicole a couple of questions about her mama, but my own mama's voice is screaming inside my head, telling me how wrong that is. After all, the little girl is so sweet, I wouldn't want to scare her off. As I return to the classroom, I see that she's settled in with the others, with one other little girl in particular, who is always the friendliest one, and thank God for that.

"Oh, I see you've made a new friend already. Good for you."

Nicole smiles proudly.

"Now, anyone who plays the cymbals also gets to play the xylophone." I tell her. "Seeing as the cymbals only have one spot in each song, the cymbal player also gets the job of filling in some of those gaps with the xylophone." Nicole's face lights up. I'm sure that's her proper name, and I can't help but wonder what this family's story is. But I don't know that I'll ever find out.

Later that day, when I'm back at Mingles, I don't see Stella anywhere, but I'm reluctant to ask, fearing that they will either take me as having a crush on her, or for being nosey like the old bitties in this town. And if I want to gain any trust in Stella, I'll have to keep what happened earlier today confidential. Nobody changes their name and moves to a new town for nothing.

I'm so curious as to where she is that it starts to make my skin crawl, and then I see her walking in through the back. With her inclination to flee, I avert the chances of that happening, by walking straight up to her and leading her into the lunchroom, closing the door behind us.

First, I give her the chance to share with me why such a beautiful girl changed her name, before querying her on the subject. But I can tell by her gaze pointing towards the floor, that she isn't about to share any details.

"Bean likes you." Is all she manages.

So, we're starting on safe territory. I suppose that's acceptable, considering I know nothing of this woman, aside from the fact that she has an eight-year-old daughter, and she uses a pseudonym. "She's a good kid. Loves playing instruments. Someone I can relate to."

"I was saving up to buy her a drum kit for Christmas, as a matter of fact. That's why I kept looking up at yours the other night."

And now I feel like a fool. Here I thought the secret woman was potentially ogling me. Little did I know that she was checking out my drum kit. "Don't waste your money, darlin'. I've got enough parts of drum kits, I could put one together for her in an hour."

"You don't have to do that." She says, giving me a quick glance. I can't tell if the look on her face means that my offer could be dangerous, or that she's too proud, or embarrassed.

"You would actually be doing me a favor. I've got so much junk, and my landlord keeps warning me to get rid of some of it. If I don't do something soon, I could get evicted. And that would mean I'd have to move out of town, or back with Wade, in his little armpit of a basement apartment, because nobody else in this town would put up with the noise I make."

"I once got kicked out because Bean screamed too much when she was a baby." She volunteers, lifting her head only slightly.

"Where was that at?" I ask, trying to see if she'll allow me to dig a little bit.

But she's not stupid. She knows it' s a test. "I should get back. I asked Blake if I could leave a few minutes early, my babysitter has a date tonight."

"Oh, sure." I stammer. I try to ignore the nagging voice inside my head that's dying to know what this girl's story is, and normally it's pretty easy to do that, but for some reason, this woman, whoever she is, is under my skin. I let her go, and I don't bother her for the rest of the night, but I'm not proud of what I do next.

Standing in Blake's office, I'm staring at the metal file cabinet behind his desk, noting the lock on it. The inch of dust on every surface is telling that nobody ever comes in here. The light is constantly left on, but this room is nothing but something that we pass by each time we go from the back of the bar to the front. So, when Blake sees me standing there, contemplatively, he walks in. He closes the door behind him.

"What's on your mind, son?" He asks. My first thought is to hand him the C note that I have in my pocket, that I'd earmarked for gas later, but it dawns on me that Blake is an honest man, and likely not up for bribes.

"My daddy once told me that when someone's in trouble, that you should try to help."

Blake walks over to the desk and takes a seat, gesturing with his hand for me to sit in the guest chair in front of the desk. "Sounds like your daddy was an honorable man. What did you need from this here office?"

Blake is no fool. I think we both know what I'm after. I've worked for the man for many years, and I've been friends with him for even longer. The fact is that this is the oldest bar in town, and it's the place where everybody comes to have a good time. Another fact is that I've never done wrong by Blake. There is a mutual trust that me and the band and Blake have, and anything that I've ever shared with the man, he's kept private.

But even with that being said, I realize that Stella, or whoever she is, wouldn't be terribly pleased if I shared the one secret that I've learned about her, with anyone. It's like we're reading each other's minds. Blake draws in a deep breath, reaching into the drawer on the right-hand side, he pulls out a tiny key on a ring, and sets it on the desk. "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?"

I give him a nod in thanks, and he leaves, closing the door behind him. It's strange, but my heart swells, thinking about how much that man must trust me, since this is a huge violation of privacy, and if anyone of authority ever got wind of what we've done, Blake and I would both be in a heap of trouble. But over the years, if Blake has taught me nothing else, he's taught me that sometimes in life the lines of right and wrong need to be blurred for the greater good.

The woman is going to think that I'm a stalker. But as I sit in my truck, waiting to see movement in the house, I realize that in this neck of the woods, someone sitting outside her house keeping watch isn't such a bad idea. This is the side of town where one comes when they've got nowhere else to go and are up to no good. Her car is in the driveway but it's so late, I want to make sure that she's up, before I go and give her a stroke by knocking on the door at this ungodly hour. What possessed her to move here is beyond me. I can only imagine where she must have come from if this is her decided arrival point.

Finally, I see movement in what I'm guessing is the kitchen area, and I go and softly knock on the door. It takes a few moments, but I hear her open the door, and stick her head out. I'll note that the metal bolt securing the door to the doorjamb is left on, and I want to give her a thumbs up. "I sure hope you don't answer your door to just anyone at this late hour." I tell her as she opens the door.

"What are you doing here? And how did you find out where I live?" She asks, her voice sleepy. "Is Blake okay?"

I nod. "I'll get into all that later. Yes, Blake is fine. I just…I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in for a minute?" I look for a security panel on the inside of the door. "Do you have security in this thing?" I ask, unimpressed.

"I've lived here for four days. So, no. But I am talking to the owner about having something installed." She says, hair up in a ponytail, in her fluffy, two-piece pyjamas with a kitten pattern, looking as adorable as hell.

"Look, I know it's none of my business, but you've got yourself a place on the wrong side of town, I'm afraid."

"It's what I could afford. And the landlord did not make me sign a lease, so I'm welcome to give him a month's notice, should I want to move out." She explains, moving to the side, giving me room to come in, which sort of shocks me. I figured she'd tell me it was late. Plus, I hope she doesn't get into the habit of letting strangers into her house at even stranger hours.

"Can't say I blame you there. I pay next to nothing for rent in exchange for keeping the landscape maintained, doing the odd fix here and there."

"But you're a teacher. Don't you make good money doing that?"

I smile, noting that she's already got a Christmas tree up, even though she said herself that she's lived here for four days. "You'd be surprised how little a music teacher makes. But I love it, and daddy always says that it doesn't matter how much money y'all make, so long as you're happy."

"What does your daddy do?" She asks, pulling two mugs out of the cupboard, not bothering to ask if I want something. It's like she's doing it by rote, or out of pure exhaustion.

"He's a carpenter."

"Well, then, he probably loves what he does. Nobody I've ever known went into a trade without loving it first."

Suddenly, I just blurt it out. "How come Stella's not your real name?"

Her back is to me. I can see her gaze go downcast, like she's ashamed.

"You in some kind of trouble?" I ask, concern laced in my tone.

She nods, but her back is still to me. "You could say that."

I'm not sure if she's going to expand, so I test the waters, and try to dig a little. "You married?" I ask, in a ‘level with me' voice.

"Divorced." She says, so low I almost can't hear her. "What about you? Although, I don't imagine you're married, otherwise I'd hear your wife pounding on my door in about the next ten seconds."

I notice that she hasn't got a southern accent, but I don't dare ask where she's from. She's definitely not from the Carolinas. "No, I'm not married. Never have been. I've lived alone all my adult life."

"Kids?"

I frown, shaking my head. "Nope. Although my mama keeps telling me that my life would be complete if I had a wife and some kids. Even though my brother's got four of them, and my sister's got two."

"Six grandchildren." She observes, as the kettle comes to boil, and she pours the water into two awaiting mugs, with tea bags in them. I watch her bring the mugs to the table, and then she goes into the fridge, bringing out a small pitcher of milk, adding it to the little tray on the two-seater table, with a sugar bowl and spoon. Stella adds a teaspoon full of sugar to her tea, and a drop of milk. I follow suit, doing the same.

I change the subject. "Can you at least tell me what your real name is?"

I detect a weak smile in her eyes. "It's London." A pause and loss of eye contact. "But you can't ever call me that in public."

Something about her sharing that makes my heart ache. "That's a beautiful name. How come you're using Stella?"

A swallow. "I can't tell you that, Cooper. I'm sorry, but I can't."

I lift a hand. "It's okay, darlin'. I'm not here to give you trouble."

Her head cocks slightly. "Then why are you here?" But she's not asking in a negative tone, it's just out of curiosity.

I take a moment to think about how to answer. "I was worried. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Another pause. "When I figured out that you were using an alias, it hit home. Never knew anyone that did that for real before."

She nods.

"Do your folks know where you are?"

"My folks are dead. I don't have any family except for Bean."

"I'm…sorry to hear that." I cover my hand over hers, expecting her to flinch, but she doesn't. "Were y'all close?"

She chuckles softly. "No. Not since I married my ex-husband. They hated him."

My hand is still on hers. I get the feeling that she doesn't have anyone and hasn't had any support in a long time. My heart sinks. "Why'd you marry him then?"

"Oh, my parents hated anyone I associated with. They were devout Christians, and everyone was the devil, in their eyes. I was born when my mother was in her mid-forties, and I don't think that they knew what to do with me. It's just thanks to God that I had my Aunt Carol, or I don't know what would have become of me."

"Where's she now?"

"She's got Alzheimer's. She's living in a home in Pennsylvania."

"That where you're from?"

She shakes her head. "No. She moved out there just before she got sick. My cousin lives there. He's looking after her."

I look around, hand still on hers. The house is as clean as a whistle but as shabby as hell. It looks like she's scrubbed every inch of the place, but the dog-eared corners in the carpeting, scratched baseboards, chipping paint on the windowsills and torn wallpaper, is telling. "You need a hand fixing this place up?"

"Like I told you, Cooper. I've got nothing. I'm not looking for charity, either, I'm just being honest. The only reason why I was able to pay first and last month's rent here is because I sold my car."

"You mean you had a better car?"

She nods. "It wasn't much better, but…it was worth something. I stayed in a forty dollar a night hotel while my car got sold and I bought a cheaper one. Fortunately, this place was ready to move in."

My tone is flat as my gaze keeps looking at every surface and cranny within reach. "Can't imagine why."

A strange sound comes from her throat. When I look at her, I realize that the poor thing is about to break down in tears. I rise immediately and pull her to me, grasping her neck with one hand and her lower back with the other. The woman weeps in my arms, like a floodgate has just been opened, like she hasn't shed a tear in months, and has been holding every one of them in, painfully. Her sobs are long but soft, and I'm not sure if she's keeping quiet for Nicole's benefit, or for mine. Either way, I hold her tight to me, and let her cry.

...and soon something else happens that I would never expect.