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“Happy?” I stick my tongue out at her.
“Yes, very. Now, come give your mama a hug.” I step up and wrap my arms around her. “I am so happy to have you home, Coop.”
“I know, Ma. I’m happy to be home, too.” And honestly, I mean it. When we pull back, her eyes focus on the ink on my chest. When I left, I was still only eighteen and had pure skin. Now, I have seven tattoos on my body. This one that has her undivided attention, though, is the one on my chest over my heart—a baseball surrounded by angel wings and the number twelve written in the ball’s stitching.
It was my first tattoo. I got it on the one-year anniversary of Tanner’s death. She places her warm hand over the ink. There’s no way she can’t feel how hard my heart is beating right now.
I see the emotion blanketing her expression. Her eyes glass over, and she quickly drops her hand and moves to the sink with her back toward me.
Clearing my throat and swallowing my own emotions down, I close the distance between us. She’s wiping away her tears when I place my hands on her shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Cooper,” she sniffles.
Was my mother like everyone else in this town?When she saw me, did she see a killer? That was one of the many reasons I left. I was the driver, so I was responsible for the death that shook this town.
“He was just so young. I wish I understood the plan that God had for him.”
“Me too,” I whisper. I feel my own tears threatening to spill over.
I think I know exactly where I should go today.
“Hey, Ma, is it okay if I borrow your car?”
She uses her dish towel this time instead of the base of her hands to wipe under her eyes. “Sure, but I can do ya one better.” I follow her to the back door, where the hook with the key rings hangs, and she grabs a set off there. My hand trembles slightly as she places it in my hand. It was the one Riley had given me when I had gotten my driver’s license. On one side of the metal plate, etched in Riley’s handwriting, reads, “Drive safe, handsome,” and on the other, “I love you.”
Oh, the irony of the words “drive safe.” Maybe I should have had this key chain the night of the accident.
“Is that what I think it is?”
She nods. “Your father couldn’t sell it, so he uses it occasionally for lumber loads. It’s parked out back by the field.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.” I stare at the keys as I process the fact that they kept my truck, not even knowing if I would ever return. It stirs more emotions in me that I have not had enough caffeine or alcohol to deal with just yet.
My mother places her palm over mine and encloses my fingers around the keys.
“You don’t have to say anything, but like I said before, time is ticking before the ladies get here.”
“Oh, shi—shoot. Got it, Ma.” I kiss her cheek and quickly spin on my feet.
Before I reach the stairs, I hear her shout, “And maybe think about getting a shave and a haircut, too.”
I swear I hear Tanner say, “Toot toot,” but I know it’s just in my head.
Thankfully, I showered last night after dinner. After throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a lightweight Knights hoodie from my suitcase, I grab the black hat and sunglasses off my desk. I stand in front of the mirror as I slip the shades on and twist the ball cap around so it’s now backward.
It’s not the best disguise, but it’ll do for now.
I make it downstairs in record time and slip out the back door just as I hear the front storm door creak open and female voices chattering throughout the house.
Phew, talk about a close call.
I walk back to where Ma said Dad had parked my truck—a 1971 Ford F-250 custom pickup with a two-tone paint job of red on top and white on the bottom, although the fade over the years and rust has made it look more of a cream color.
“Hey, old girl. Miss me?”
Once seated in the driver’s seat, I run my hand over the worn dashboard. So many memories—good, like purchasing this truck with my own money and the long summer nights that my dad helped me fix up the V8 engine, making out with Riley in the truck’s bed, or cruising around with Tanner after practice. Also, some bad, like Riley and I having our first fight in the cab of this truck. Then again, it wasn’t long after that fight that she was in my lap, making up. So I guess all memories aren’t too bad.
I turn on the engine and sink back into the seat to listen to her purr—it’s music to my ears. Leaning down, I reach under the bench seat and feel around. I wonder if— “Yes,” I chant, pulling out the container of cassette tapes. The thing I always loved about this truck was that it was truly old-school. No Bluetooth connection, not even a CD player. I pop in one of the cassette tapes and chuckle as the cab fills with country music.
