Miss Shelby-whoever-she-was definitely didn't want company. And he couldn't shake a strong feeling he had that she feared it.
His phone rang, and he smiled as he hit the screen and put it to his ear. "Hey, Wonder Woman."
"Hi, Cooper. Whatcha doing?"
"Waiting for my favorite sister to call. What else would I be doing?"
"Ha." Phoebe snorted. "I'm your only sister."
"Still my favorite, though. What's going on back in the big city of Boston tonight?" He pulled the phone away to check the time. "And what in the world are you still doing up so late?"
"Ugh. Nothing. Everyone except me is at Sarah's party. And I'm fourteen, Coop. I don't have a bedtime anymore."
Cooper pictured her, curled up in her second-floor bedroom, at least one cat purring at her feet. Fourteen-going-on-thirty-that was Phoebe. And while the rest of the family had shut him out, she'd refused to stop talking to him. Granted, she never did it when Dad was awake to overhear her, but still, she was making the effort, and he loved her for it.
"Who's Sarah?"
"Popular beeyotch. She's dating Bryan, remember? And he broke up with Felicity two weeks ago, but they'd been going out for three months and he did it right before the dance, which is so mean, right?" She stopped and took a frustrated breath. "I already told you all of this. Do you not even listen to the travails of my ninth-grade self?"
He laughed. "Travails?"
"Had to throw in a word that made me sound a little less like a freshman hormone."
"Gotcha. Well done. Speaking of your superior intelligence, did you hear about the math thing yet?"
She paused. "Oh, y'know. These things take forever to find out."
Cooper felt his eyebrows furrow. Something in her tone was too casual. "You found out, didn't you?"
"It doesn't matter, Cooper. Not like I can go, even if I made it."
Phoebe had applied four months ago to some special advanced-math program that would supposedly give her a straight shot at an MIT scholarship, but she'd done it against Dad's wishes. And honestly, Cooper could see where his father was coming from, just a little bit. Why get her hopes up, if there was no way the family could afford the program, anyway?
But now she'd made it. He knew it.
"What'd you score on the test?"
"I'm not telling you. It's embarrassing."
"Embarrassing because you bombed it? Or embarrassing because you're officially the nerdiest chick at St. Mary's now?"
She giggled. "The second one."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah." He could hear the pride in that one word. "I kind of aced it."
"No shit."
"Yes shit."
"No swearing." He laughed.
"You did it first!"
"So what's the plan?"
"I don't know." Her voice sobered. "It's really expensive. I applied for a scholarship, but I don't know if it'll come through."
"Well, if you need a reference, I know a good cop who could give you one."
The words were out of his mouth before he had time to process them and realize that nobody in her right mind would put his name anywhere near a reference box.
Not anymore.
"Thanks, Cooper. I know you would."
"I'll help you pay, Phoebe."
"Right." She snorted. "You don't have a pot to piss in."
"What?"
"Never mind. Forget I said that."
He started pacing the small patio area behind his cabin. "Did Dad say that?"
Asshole.
"It wasn't one of his finer moments, if that helps." He could feel her cringing on the other end of the phone, wishing she hadn't said it in the first place. "I'm sure he didn't mean it, Cooper. He was just mad."
"Well, there's something new and different."
"I know." She sighed. "But he does love you, you know."
Cooper closed his eyes tightly, picturing his father on the last day he'd spoken to him … seeing the fierce set of his jaw, the flush of color in his face, the disbelief and anger in his eyes.
"He does, Cooper. This whole thing-it just brought back all of the other stuff, from when Uncle Rick died."
"I know, hon. I know." He lied smoothly, because who was he to contradict his little sister? She believed it to be true because she wanted it to be true, and he wasn't going to pop that balloon.
Let Dad do it.
"So when are you coming home?" Her familiar question … the familiar slice of pain that went with it.
Home wasn't home. Not anymore.