Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Then he shouts: “Fuck your paradise.” He turns and continues on. I watch as he disappears down the road and around the corner.
I have a strange feeling that this might be the last time I ever see him.
“My dad’s not really the police chief.”
I turn around, nearly forgetting I’m not alone. “Huh?”
“It was all bullshit. Total bluff. Just scaring him away. That old camera probably hasn’t worked since 2002.”
“Oh. Wow. Well … thanks.”
The guy crosses his arms. “Cooper, huh? Your man? The fellow you care so much about? The one who’s been taking care of you? He’s Cooper? Bartender Cooper?”
I lift an eyebrow. “You know him?”
The guy gazes off for a moment, takes a deep breath, then lets out a sudden laugh. “Oh, this world … this funny, hilarious little world we live in.” He shakes his head. “No, it’s not time for me to leave Dreamwood, not until I do this one final thing. And it’s certainly not time for you to leave, either, honey.” He turns his bright eyes onto me. “You just gave me my purpose back. I’m here to do something, and thanks to you, I am not chickening out this time.”
Finale - Cooper
I drive down Cassanova Street, looking.
I go down Boardwalk four times and Main Street five. I go down Evans Street, Finnegan Street, and Artist Row. I drive past every park. I even get out of the car and look around Cottonwood Cove, certain I might find him in that secluded little nook no one goes. I scan Holiday Street and sit at the entrance to the Hopewell Harbor, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of him somewhere. I roll down Gould Street, thinking I might find him walking to my house. Yorke Street. Salazar Street. Montehugh. I even go halfway down the causeway to the mainland.
My calls go straight to voicemail.
My texts go unanswered.
It’s been three hours. I know he wants his space. He’s in a strange mental state. The old woman seemed to trigger something inside him. He’s spooked. He’s afraid and he’s doubting himself and his place here.
And now I’ve lost him.
“No, he doesn’t have any gigs tonight that I know of,” says Vann over the phone. “Why? Is he okay? Do you need me and Toby to go looking for him?”
“I already looked around for several hours. I’m …” I rub my eyes, sitting in my car in the parking lot of the Easy Breezy. The sun’s setting. “I’m probably overreacting. He went out for a walk a while ago and hasn’t come back.”
“Are you worried something happened? Dreamwood’s a pretty safe place, isn’t it? I know I haven’t been here that long, but I heard the police are basically twiddling their thumbs all day long seven days a week, except for maybe the occasional drunken disturbance.”
I force myself to chuckle at that. I feel so sick. “It’s a safe place. Few sketchy characters now and then. A regular druggie I’ve kicked out of the bar a few times in the past. I just …” I just have this terrible feeling Sean has hitched a ride out of Dreamwood, leaving me and this life and all his new friends behind. But that’s a bit of an overshare, so I say: “I’ll just wait for him at the bar. Thanks, Vann.”
I hang up before he says goodbye and stare numbly at the back of the bar, confounded. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel in frustration. I pull my phone back out and try calling Sean again. Straight to voicemail. His phone died, I decided. He didn’t charge it last night. It’s dead. He can’t call me even if he needs to.
But what if he doesn’t need to?
What if he doesn’t want to?
What if he’s gone …?
I get out of my car and head for the back door. As soon as I reach it, out comes Mars with a bag of trash. She sees the look on my face and deflates. “No luck finding him?”
I frown at her. “What’re you doing here? Alana said you’re sick with a fever.”
“Have you never played hooky with your own parents to dodge doing work for them?”
“So … you dodged working at the taqueria in order to do work here …? That makes no sense.”
“It’s more fun. Even if tonight is deader than corduroy, crop tops, and Julius Caesar.” She passes by me, tosses the trash into the dumpster, then returns to the door. “If my dear mama asks, I was never here.”
Like mother, like daughter. “You got it.”
She tugs open the door, then stops and looks at me. “I know I was kinda hard on him. Like, at first. I didn’t trust him. Didn’t like him. Scoffed at the mere idea of you doing anything nice for him.” Her lips twist into a pout. “I wish I had been nicer at the start.”