Page 99 of You Can Make Me
Cooper
Four months later…
I clicked the finish button on the e-document and it was done.
My condo now belonged to a client of Audra’s who was going to be the next pretty face at KCAL. The brass gave me a year’s severance, which was gracious after everything they’d already done for me throughout my convalescence.
Sam was on call to consult on my next steps when I was ready, and she and Gene did their best to accept that I needed to leave LA, at least for the time being. She hated being on bed rest, so it gave her tasks to keep her mind off what awaited them. Her pregnancy was high risk, so she followed doctor’s orders and stayed in bed. I promised I’d come running if she needed me. We’d all had enough loss, and the promise of a baby kept us moving forward.
I’d been staying in Walter’s guesthouse since the night my life was irrevocably changed. Kal and Dane did their best to helpme accept that I’d done the right thing for Denny, and that the best thing I could do for him now was to live the life he wanted for me. One free of pain, and one where I served my fellow humans the best way I knew how.
By telling the truth.
I started that service by working to untangle the web that Kal’s uncle left behind after his charlatan ways brought about the deaths of cancer patients in 1930s Iowa. Kal had been working on finding the names of the patients from the notorious Muscatine clinic, but he was new to using the internet, and I was a whiz. In a few short weeks, we had family trees, we had birth and death records, we had land deeds…and we even located money his uncle had hidden in accounts using assumed names.
I put Kal in touch with an attorney who could potentially help him redirect that money to the families of the victims.
I made Walter’s dining room table my workplace, and I poured over records while Dane, Kal, and Ryan rehearsed for their upcoming tour. They went into the studio with Ryan’s producer, Scott, down the road in Laurel Canyon, and recorded their debut album. Ryan Wells and The Travellers were set to begin a six-week tour of Southern California, Arizona, Nevada, and up the West Coast into Washington. Their sound was unique, compelling, and undeniably phenomenal.
I interviewed them extensively and sold the piece toRolling Stone—take that, Dad—and I helped Walter hire a security team to travel with the band when he couldn’t be with them.
With Denny and Dax both gone, Gene and Walter had all of their appendages full trying to train replacements and wrap up the remainder of the missing persons cases connected to not only Virgil Evans, but also John Soto, the retired CHP officer who had abducted Denny. I wrote another piece about those cases, and my father connected me with the producers ofDateline, who bought the story. It felt weird to not see my story through to the screen, but that was not my mission any longer.
Walter also put me in touch with his cousin Elia and her wife, Roz, who operated a private investigation project where they worked incessantly on finding missing persons. Walter tearfully told me one night over beers that he’d planned to push Denny in that direction, so I thought it only fitting that I offer my services to Roz and Elia in Denny’s place. I might not be former law enforcement, but no one was better than me at investigations like the ones they were conducting. I could work remotely with whatever time I had available, and discovering the truth of these cases gave me the slightest bit of comfort.
I continued my physical recovery, and at ten months after my attack, the doctors were pleased with my progress. I still used the cane, mostly to avoid a fall that would further impair my damaged brain. The migraines still creeped in when I overdid it, and I knew the struggle against pain would be a constant battle. I’d eventually found a dermatologist I could trust and went under the laser to resurface my scars. They’d never disappear completely, but I was okay with that. I was the strongest, most capable Cooper I could possibly be, considering.
There would be no peace for me, though. Only existence. Determination. I had several conversations with Charlene, who reminded me of my purpose every time. I assured her I would keep going as long as I had breath in my body, because that’s what Denny would have wanted me to do. She was a tough old broad, tough like Denny had been. When I needed tough love, she channeled him. It was eerie how her words sounded just like his. If that was as close as I could get to him, I’d let her give me what for.
I pulled down the metal door to my storage unit and slid the padlock into place. The contents of the shed were for future Cooper to deal with. Remaining in the home that was supposedto be the place where Denny and I would build a life together was not an option. I’d clawed my way through the stages of grief, knowing he’d be disappointed if I threw away all of his hard work rehabilitating me after my injuries by curling up into a ball and ceasing to contribute to society.
It was time to move forward.
I packed up the basic necessities and hit the road in Denny’s Mustang. It was the only thing I had left of him besides his clothes, many of which I kept with me, and his few keepsakes, which were now in storage, along with my plaques and trophies, books, music collection, and furniture. I shipped my Mini Cooper to my parents’ place, as they had an open bay in their four-car garage. I wasn’t ready to part with it yet, but driving the Mustang made me feel alive, much as it had done for Denny.
First stop was Las Vegas. They say you can’t go home again, and while I didn’t think that was necessarily the case, I planned to be there only long enough for my parents to see that I was surviving, to see Ryan Wells and The Travellers embark on their next journey, and then I would start down a new path of my own.
I drove the Mustang out of my parents’ home in the Henderson community just outside of Vegas and toward the Strip. The guys were playing at the House of Blues, which I passed by, as I had a stop to make first. I planned to be there with plenty of time before they went onstage, but first, there was another place I needed to check off my nostalgia tour.
I turned into the Circus Circus parking lot as the sun was melting into a bright pink and orange puddle above the hills. I parked out front and wandered into the casino. It was just as old and funky as I remembered. I climbed the steps toward the arcade and smiled wistfully when I thought of teenaged Cooper testing my baby gaydar, searching for someone to try out my newly awakening feelings on, but a tall, dorky, know-it-all kidwasn’t going to get much action in a place like this. At least, not the kind of action I’d been looking for.
The announcer introduced the top-of-the hour performers, a group of hip-hop clowns. They danced and used squirting flowers on the crowd. They acted clumsy and then burst into moves that would rival those seen in the top dance battles. The music was cheesy, and their face makeup was creepy, but the nostalgia factor was off the charts.
They weren’t the Galliers, with their graceful acrobatics and death-defying feats, but they entertained the heck out of the crowd. Parents clapped when they finished and then chased down wayward toddlers. Teenaged girls giggled and whispered, daring each other to go up to the performers. And boys rolled their eyes, claimed they could dance hella better, and then challenged each other’s arcade game prowess.
Not much had changed.
Ihad changed. I’d done my best to find my spark, the part of me that got excited about human interest stories. But my spark was like the flint on a lighter that wouldn’t catch no matter how many times you flick it.
Lighter.
That made me think of Denny, and his cigarettes he’d tried to keep hidden from me.
I’d seen him outside the cabin we’d hidden in for months, and while I’d been perturbed he was dabbling in cancer sticks, I also knew that I hadn’t given him much choice. The man had been a saint. He’d been so patient with me, until I finally realized what a fool I’d been and he gave me a chance to win him back.
That chance had been snuffed out way too soon.
I didn’t allow myself to spend time wondering where he was, if he was okay, and whether I’d ever get to hold him in my arms again. It hurt too much. I wasn’t merely going through themotions with life, because I knew he would hate that, but I was only half alive. It was enough for the time being.
