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I sigh. “Because then he’d know I was trying to get to know him!”
Raising her brows, she says, “O-o-kay.”
“So, I went onto Facebook and he doesn’t post personal stuff. There’s nothing really on Google. What are my other options?”
“Easy, I found a ton of stuff under his mother’s Facebook.”
“Wait, you stalked him already?” I ask.
“Hell yeah, the other day at your house.” Sheridan starts batting away the large blood suckers. “I’ve got to go inside. See you in the morning?” she asks without waiting for a response, and I watch her run all the way to her front door.
“Sure thing!” I yell as she disappears.
Searching for my phone isn’t easy in the dark, but eventually I find it. Sher was right. Marissa Cooper is very active on social media. There are hundreds of photos telling the story of her everyday life, and a huge part of that is Dean.
There is Dean with his dad on a Jeep ride somewhere in Daytona Beach. Then he’s there for his brother’s birthday. On a boat holding a huge cobia.
“So he’s a fisherman, too.” I’ve always wanted to go fishing.
I scroll further back in time. There’s a long period where he’s attached to a brunette. The posts say her name is Kelly Hein. She’s pretty. Young. Much more age appropriate. If I can guess correctly from the dates on the pictures, I’d say he dated her for about two years. There are pictures of them hiking, at restaurants, and even one of them at Maxx. Going by this, I’d say he’s not a philanderer.
Beyond that, I find several photos of Dean and his dad with old cars. There he is in front of a Chevy truck with the hood lifted. His face is full of grime. The pride displayed from his smile tells me he’s just fixed whatever was wrong with it.
Then there’s another one where he’s accepting an award, standing in front of a beautifully restored Mustang. So, he does know cars.
The last post I read, is one about six years ago, where he’s standing with his arm wrapped around an older African American woman. They are in what looks like a kid’s classroom, or playroom, with several children in the background.
It reads, “Dean Cooper with Denita Hall, at K.T. Myer Home for Children.” There are several of these posts. In some he’s helping in a garden, or carrying the children, playing with them.
He helps out with little orphan kids, too. In other words, he’s perfect. There is literally nothing wrong with this man. He can work with his hands, fix things, owns his house, loves his family, fights for what he wants, and helps out in orphanages.
And though it seems his mother isn’t humble about his accomplishments, he is.
Usually, when I come out, the stars bright above are my therapy. I love to see the large palm fronds swaying in the evening, and the giant dragonflies hunt over the hood of the car.
But tonight, as “Eternal Flame” by the Bangles comes on the radio, setting the perfect soundtrack, all I see are my inner thoughts.
I look at the photo again, at his beautiful face, and I have to wonder, if he weren’t my direct competition, would I be open to a relationship with him? If things were different, could I finally let myself be with someone?
Not only am I insanely attracted to him physically, but everything I’ve seen of him so far has only served to make him harder to resist.
Then my eyes move over the children in the picture, and my mood changes. All those little ones without a family. Abandoned. Turned away by the very people meant to protect them. Like that small blonde girl sitting at the edge, looking up at me. I simply can’t believe someone would have given her up?
Then again, someone gave me up.
This car that I’m sitting in now is a memento of that. Liz swears that my dad asked her to give it to me, yet there is no proof other than her word. She’s never lied to me, but this I have a hard time believing. While my dad wasn’t as hard on me about my failures, he never stopped my mother from making me feel inadequate. Maybe he felt inadequate, too.
Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if only I could have gotten it right. Although really I don’t know exactly what I did wrong to begin with.
My phone rings. It’s a Facetime call from Aunt Jackie. I swear the woman can sense my inner turmoil.
“Hey, Aunt Jacks,” I say into the camera.
“Hi sweetheart. I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?” she asks.
“Doing great,” I say laughing. She’s pointing the camera to an empty chair. For some reason, she doesn’t realize that she’s not just on speaker.
“Are you getting ready for the next challenge Monday?”
