Throb(58)

“Well, aren’t you handsome,” she says to Cooper.

He smiles amused and walks to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Monroe. It’s nice to meet you.”

Typical Mom. No filter between her thoughts and her mouth. Although she can sometimes embarrass the hell out of me, it’s one of the things that I love about her most. “Mom, this is Cooper Montgomery. This is my mother, Lena Monroe.”

“Call me Lena,” she smiles at Cooper and he nods. “Are you a friend of Kate’s, Cooper?”

“I am.” Cooper looks at me, squints slightly, then adds. “Boyfriend.”

“Well, I’m glad Kate brought you around then. You must be pretty special. Kate doesn’t bring many men around.” My plan was to show Cooper why I’m doing what I’m doing, so it would be easier for him to understand as I head into the last few weeks of the show. I forgot Mom would alternate between interrogating Cooper and sharing embarrassing stories.

“What do you do for a living, Cooper?”

“Mom,” I politely warn. “We just got here. Why don’t you give Cooper at least ten minutes before you interrogate him? And where’s Kyle?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. I make movies. I own a production company.”

“He’s in his room taking a nap. He gets tired after his therapy.” She turns to Cooper. “Are they adult films?”

Cooper chuckles. “No, ma’am. Regular mainstream movies. No adult films.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No children yet.”

“Do you play cards?”

“Once in while with some old friends.”

“Well, don’t play with my daughter. She’s a shark. Just like her father.”

“I could have used that advice a few weeks ago.” Cooper smiles.

“Are you superstitious?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

“Mom,” I warn because I know what’s coming next. “I’m not superstitious either.”

“Hmm … mmm,” she responds patronizingly to me, but leans in to whisper to Cooper, though I can hear every word. “If I was a betting woman, I’d bet there was a four-leaf clover still tucked behind her license in her wallet. And a lucky penny hidden somewhere too.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes, but never deny my mother’s accusation. She peppers Cooper with questions for another fifteen minutes until Kyle yells from his room. I excuse myself and go to help my brother into his chair.

Kyle is a quadriplegic. Five years ago I picked him up from a soccer game on a sunny Friday afternoon in May. His team had won, Dad was on a winning streak, and I was about to move into my first apartment with Sadie. Life was good, the future was looking even better. Driving down the highway that connects Malibu to Santa Monica, the radio was blaring and Kyle laughed at my attempt to sing along in tune with Gwen Stefani. His smile is the last thing I remember from the thirteenth of May.

Later that night, a policeman explained to me what happened. A surfboard dislodged from the top of a Volkswagen Rabbit and went sailing into the windshield of the car behind it. The driver swerved, lost control of the car, and veered into oncoming traffic. And head on into us. Somehow I walked away with only a broken arm and a few cuts and bruises. My brother wasn’t so lucky—he never walked again—paralyzed from the neck down.

The first few years were really rough. Kyle was a 14 year old trapped inside a cage of a body that would never set him free. I, on the other hand, was free to move about, while my mind was caged with guilt over being the one who got to walk away. I was the driver, what if I had swerved faster? Did the blaring music distract me? No matter what the witnesses said, I needed to replay that night over and over in my mind in order to know for sure it wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t remember a thing. Every time I tried, I saw my smiling face singing. Then I woke up in the hospital. Being told the news of Kyle’s condition replayed over and over in my head, taking the place of what I couldn’t remember.

Until recently there was no prospect of recovery … but a new drug running in a clinical trial has given him a modicum of hope. Some early studies have shown that certain rehabilitation programs increase the effectiveness of the drug. I spend a few minutes with Kyle before helping him into his chair and we both return to the living room.

“My sister either thinks you’re superman or she doesn’t like you very much … leaving you alone with Mom,” my brother says as Cooper walks over to meet him.

“My cape’s in the car.” Cooper smiles. “Nice to meet you, Kyle.”