Page 48 of Save the Drama for your Mama
“This box only has seven diaries.” Cooper turned to me. “The year I was born is missing. So is the year before and the year after.”
“Huh . . .” I blinked, trying to make sense of the mystery, but drawing a total blank since I didn’t have all the information. “Alfredo was right, which means your mother was hiding something. Something big, if she went to all that trouble.”
Romeo tilted his head back and howled.
Then there was a loud clunk in the wall that made us both jump.
“Okay—what was that?” I asked, grabbing Cooper’s arm and squeezing it hard.
“The pipes—this old house creaks and groans occasionally,” he said, glancing around the room. “Unless it was my mom.” He chuckled, then glanced down at my hand still clamped onto his arm. “You’re cutting off my circulation.”
“Right . . .” I reluctantly loosened my tourniquet fingers from the bicep I used to anchor myself to reality.
“Moving on to Plan B,” Cooper said, blowing off the sound and the dog howling like it was nothing. “Alfredo said a picture is worth a thousand words. We just need to figure out what he meant by that.” He pulled the picture of James and his mom out of his shirt pocket and analyzed it. “I don’t see any clues here, do you?”
I took the picture, studying it, but I kept seeing the same thing: An early 1900s Craftsman-style home, palm trees in the background, and the vintage black license plate on the car. Nothing else, except the two of them.
“It must be another picture,” I said, looking around. “But where could it be?”
“Anywhere—let’s search for frames, photo albums, or loose pictures. Let’s split up to cover more ground.” He pointed to the left side of the attic. “You start over there, and I’ll start over here with these boxes.”
“Good plan,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
We each took a side and started rummaging.
“Lots of old clothes and jewelry over here,” I said as I sifted through the first box. “Ooh, some funky retro dresses!” I held one up to myself and strutted around humming “Staying Alive.”
Ignoring my gyrations completely, Cooper proudly said, “My mom loved her vintage styles. The seventies were her fave.” He had a fond look plastered on his face as he continued his search for photos, except he found nothing but random stuff. “Recipes, financial documents, old copies ofReader’s Digest,” he said. “We need photos.”
“Hang on . . .” I uncovered a big photo album, opened it up, and started flipping through pictures of a young Cooper dressed up in various theater costumes. “Aww, look at you as the Artful Dodger inOliver Twist. The top hat and suspenders are adorable on you.”
Cooper chuckled. “Yeah, that was a fun role. I was thirteen.”
I turned the page to a production ofThe Music Man. “And here you are all decked out as Winthrop. This is precious. How old were you here?”
Cooper smiled at the memory. “Nine.”
I paused on a headshot of a young Cooper in glasses. “You were enchanting as a kid. I bet you were a real heartbreaker and had all the girls fawning over you.”
“Not even close . . . I was pretty shy, actually,” he said.
“I find that hard to believe.”
Cooper shrugged. “I enjoyed being on stage, but off stage I kept to myself.”
“You mean little Cooper didn’t have girls chasing after him and writing love notes?” I teased. “I’m not buying it.”
“I’m serious—I was a bit of a wallflower.”
“Well, you grew out of that, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody,” I joked, then wondered why I said that.
Cooper arched an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”
“I’ll let you decide,” I said with sass.
I couldn't imagine him as anything but the charming lead actor type, but I guessed everyone has layers you uncover. Unraveling Cooper’s story bit by bit was proving to be fascinating and enjoyable.
I turned the page in the photo album, then stared in disbelief at the next photo. “You were inAnnietoo?”
