Page 25 of Cooper

“Do you know what my real name is?” She asks, matter-of-factly, like we’re on some kind of talk show or something.

“It’s Nicole, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh. Well, she said that my name sounds like ‘Nickel’, you know, like a coin?”

I nod.

“Ever since then, I’d rather not use that name.” She says, pleased with herself.

“I’ll bet you it’s only because that girl had a name like Iswalda or something stupid. She probably hated her name, too, so she figured she’d make fun of someone’s name that’s nicer than hers.”

She smiles. “Do you like the name Nicole?”

“That’s a fine name. But I like nicknames, too. Everyone seems to call me ‘Coop’. I’m surprised nobody’s called me ‘Chicken Coop’, but I’m sure some day someone will.”

That gets a giggle, as we turn over the pancakes, noting how perfect they turn out. “I sure hope these things don’t taste like Christmas trees.”

She giggles easily, covering her mouth, and it’s as sweet as sin. “You’re funny.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. And this place that mommy used to take me to in Florida, where we used to live, made pancakes so big me and mommy used to have to share them.”

In the back of my mind, I’m thinking that if London is overhearing any of this, that she might think I’m grilling the child for information, so I converse carefully. “Yeah? Is it warmer in Florida than it is out here?”

“Yes. But I like it here. Especially living next door to the horses. We never had any animals before. I want a kitten so bad, but mommy isn’t sure how long we can stay.”

“You can stay as long as you want to, darlin’.”

“Mommy isn’t so sure about that.”

“Well, you have my permission, but your mama can make up her mind when she’s ready.”

She helps me place the pancakes on plates, and we sit down at the table, while I pour us both some orange juice in awaiting glasses. “Do you know my daddy?” Bean asks me, with her mouth full.

“I can’t say that I do, sweetheart.” I tell her honestly, covering my full mouth with my hand.

“I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes. I was hoping I could see him for Christmas, but mommy says no.”

“Is he away somewhere?” I ask, feeling like a shit, the moment it comes out of my mouth, but it just slips, and it’s too late.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but my daddy is in jail. He did something really bad, and that’s why mommy won’t let me see him.”

My heart pumps out of my chest. I lose my appetite immediately. Chewing slowed, I set down my fork, and swallow down the mouthful with effort. “I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’.” Is all I can manage. Lord knows what this asshole did. He better pray to God that he didn’t touch either of them, or he’ll be goddamn thankful that he is where he is, because he’d be a dead man. I had hoped that she was just divorced from the guy, that maybe her current situation was more to do with witnessing a random attack or something like that. It never occurred to me that it could have something directly to do with him.

I know I can’t ask her anymore. It’s not fair, and certainly not right, and if London overhears, she’ll hate me for life. I’ve already said too much.

“Mommy's afraid that the bad men will come after us. That’s why we have to use different names.”

I almost want to tell her to stop. I pray to God she isn’t so trusting of anyone else. “Bean, there’s a reason why your mama told you to keep these things a secret. Now, it’s important that you don’t tell anyone else, okay? She probably won’t like it if she ever finds out how much you’ve told me already.” I advise her gently but with strong eye contact, so she knows that I mean business.

“Okay. Am I in trouble?” She asks, looking around, as if London is right behind us, eavesdropping.

“No, love, you’re not in any trouble.” I squeeze her hand gently. “I just worry, that’s all.”

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