Twelve stories reported on how the economy sucked.
I was reading a human interest piece about a hamster that saved a family of seven from a house fire when my mobile sounded.
Katy.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hey, Mom.”
We’re Southerners. It’s how we greet.
“You’re up early.”
“It’s a gorgeous day. I’m going to Carmel to play tennis.” Katy’s lighthearted mood surprised me. Last time we’d talked she was in a funk.
“With Smooth?” I had trouble picturing the dreadlocks and do-rag on the country club courts.
“With Lija. Smooth’s got a gig in Atlanta.” Derisive snort. “His ass can stay there for all I care. Or Savannah, or Raleigh, or Kathmandu.”
There is a God who answers our prayers.
“How’s Lija?” I asked.
“Terrific.”
Katy and Lija Feldman have been best friends since high school. A year back, following Katy’s much-delayed college graduation, they’d decided to try rooming together. So far, so good.
“How’s work?” I asked.
“Mind-numbing. I sort crap, Xerox crap, research crap. Now and then I file crap at the courthouse. Those jaunts through the halls of justice really get the old adrenaline pumping.” She laughed. “But at least I have a job. People are being dumped like nuclear waste.”
Okeydokey.
“Where are you?”
“At the town house. Gawd. I hope we can stay here.”
“Meaning?”
“Coop’s returning from Afghanistan.”
Coop was Katy’s landlord and, from what I could tell, an on-again, off-again romantic interest. Hard to know. The man seemed perpetually out of the country.
“I thought Coop was in Haiti.”
“Ancient news. His Peace Corps commitment ended two years ago. He was in the States ten months, now he’s working for a group called the International Rescue Committee. They’re headquartered in New York.”
“How long has Coop been in Afghanistan?”
“Almost a year. Someplace called Helmand Province.”
Was Coop’s reappearance the reason for Katy’s sunny mood? For Smooth’s heave-ho?
“You sound happy about his homecoming.” Discreet.
“Oh, yeah.” The
“Really.” My tone made it a question.
“Play your cards right, Mommy dearest, I might bring him by.”
A blatant dodge, but since Katy was so excited, I decided to press on for details.
“What’s this awesome gentleman’s actual name?”
“Webster Aaron Cooperton. He’s from Charleston.”
“You met him at UVA?”
“Yep.”
“How is it that young Mr. Cooperton holds deed to a town house in Charlotte?”
“He finished school here.”
“Didn’t like Charlottesville?”
“Wasn’t invited back.”
“I see.”
“He’s really nice. Loads of fun.”
I had no doubt of that.
“And the town house?”
“His parents bought it for him when he transferred to UNCC. As an investment. They’re beaucoup bucks up.”
