Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“I’ve been doing it all day,” I confessed.
Another moment of silence passed. Was she wondering where we would be? What we would be to each other?
“I better get going,” she said. “Have fun tonight.”
“You too. Tell your family I said Merry Christmas.”
“I will.”
“I’ll be in touch in the morning.”
“Okay.”
We hung up, and I wandered downstairs toward the aroma coming from the kitchen. My dad glanced up from his cutting board on the kitchen island, where he was slicing Roma tomatoes. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I slid onto a counter stool. “What are you making?”
“Baccalà.” He poured the tomatoes into a large cast iron skillet on the stove, then added chunks of cod and a small dish of olives. Finally, he squeezed two lemon halves over the simmering skillet before adding the lemon halves too.
My mouth watered. “Smells good.”
“Thanks. Hey, open the oven for me, will you?”
I did as he asked, watching as he slid the skillet inside and closed the door. After setting a timer, he looked at me. “So what’s up?”
“Nothing.”
He cocked one eyebrow. “Try again.”
“Really, it’s nothing.” I rubbed my triceps.
“Shoulder bothering you?”
“A little.”
“Any word on the contract?”
“Not yet. Probably February or March.”
“Think Chicago will renew?” He began to clean up after himself.
“I hope so.”
He turned the faucet on and began handwashing the cutting board and knives. “The guy who owns the gym I go to, Bayside Sports, told me he’s thinking of buying the old Blue Lake Arena, where you used to skate.”
“Oh yeah?” I smiled, a thousand happy childhood memories on the ice running through my mind. “That old place is still standing?”
“Barely. It needs renovation. For a while, the rumor was that a minor league team was going to play out of there, but that deal fell through. They ended up in Ohio.” He reached for a clean towel and carefully dried a knife. “Now there’s talk of tearing it down. But Tyler Shaw—the guy who owns Bayside—thought maybe it would make a good training complex.”
“For kids? Like camps and stuff?”
“Yeah. Teams, groups, one-on-one. Whatever. He doesn’t know a ton about hockey training because he was a baseball player, but he knows I have a son who plays professionally and grew up playing around here, so he asked what I thought.” He shrugged, setting the knife aside. “But I don’t really know what that kind of program should look like, either.”
“I know exactly what it should look like. I can talk to him,” I said.
“I didn’t want to volunteer you without asking.”
“It’s fine. You can give him my number.”
“He’ll probably try to hire you to run it,” my dad said with a grin.
I shook my head. “I’m not ready to retire yet.”
My dad picked up another knife and began to dry it. “How are things with Mabel?”
“Fine. I decided I’m gonna go pick her up tomorrow. Weather is supposed to be bad, and I don’t want her driving in the snow.”
He nodded. “Mom said she went down to visit you in Chicago.”
“She did. We had a good time.”
I could tell he had questions, but he kept his mouth shut.
“It’s complicated, okay?” I blurted.
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, focusing on his task.
“Well, I can feel you over there judging me.”
“Judging you for what?”
I frowned, rubbing my temples with a thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know. Never mind.”
“I’m here if you need to talk about anything.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I got off the stool. “What time are we leaving?”
“Mom says to be there by five-thirty.”
“Okay,” I said, heading out of the kitchen. “I’m going to get dressed.”
But when I got back up to my room, instead of pulling out my dress clothes, I lay down on the twin bed closest to the window. It was the same bed I’d slept in as a kid, the bed where I’d dreamed of playing professional hockey, where the only thing that mattered was being the best. Maybe I thought being back in that place would bring back those feelings.
But it didn’t. Instead I lay there thinking about Mabel, counting the hours until I’d see her tomorrow and imagining her face when she got her presents. She’d probably say she couldn’t accept them, but I’d convince her.
Maybe after I drove her back to Cherry Tree Harbor, I could stay the night with her. I wouldn’t really have a reason, since my flight back to Chicago on the twenty-sixth wasn’t until the afternoon. I just wanted more time with her. I’d sleep on the couch. The floor. A nearby hotel. Whatever she wanted.
I didn’t even know what the fuck to call these feelings for her that churned and billowed and bruised me on the inside, but they refused to let up.
I just wanted to be with her.
TWENTY
mabel
When I woke up Christmas morning, my room was suffused with a soft light that I knew meant one thing—the world outside was white.