Friday, February 20, 2015
Itasca, Minnesota
Caden’s skates sent up a swoosh of ice crystals as he skidded to a stop amid the Rams defenders, then took off after the puck. “Go, Caden!” Molly shouted, pumping her fist toward the arena’s rafters.
“That’s my boy!” Evan shouted, beside her, gloves thudding as he clapped. The crowd roared as Caden took a shot. The puck bounced off the goal—the crowd moaned—and the Rams were all over it, slapping it toward the rink’s other end. “That’s okay, buddy! Next one!” Evan shouted.
The game was a great one, but, oh, this part was not good. Not good at all—how it felt to be standing beside Evan. That warm-blanket feeling of comfort, spiked with the old attraction like a too-sweet punch with Fireball whiskey. How could he feel so familiar, when she hadn’t seen him in so long? His curly dark hair was a bit longer, starting to show a little gray. But his blue eyes, the scent of his aftershave, the bump on the bridge of his nose from when he’d broken it in a long-ago Maine pond hockey game, were the same. Just as he had told her: the same.
Of course, they must’ve attended a couple hundred of Caden’s games together, before. Evan, who’d grown up playing hockey in Maine and played defense for Colby, had been the one to insist on getting Caden on skates almost before Caden could walk—and probably, in the end, the fact that Minnesota produced far more NHL players than any other state had influenced him to give up the fight about Caden moving to Itasca. And now Caden was playing varsity—just a few minutes a game, but still—as a freshman for one of the top teams in the state.
Evan was already dreaming of the 2018 Olympics, Molly had found out since his arrival this afternoon. “And the moon is made of cheese, right?” she’d said. “A little pressure on the kid, maybe?”
Evan had shrugged. Grinned. Then, she’d learned that he’d followed every game—every play—online, and could recite their son’s entire junior high and high school (so far) career, minute by minute, shot by shot.
She’d actually been there for every play—but she couldn’t do that. Couldn’t remember.
She’d met him first at Cecily’s house, having canceled her three o’clock. He’d brought his suitcase inside, and she’d shown him where the thermostat was, the snow shovel, the coffee maker, the Wi-Fi password—all the essentials. Then, it was off to the hospital to visit Cecily. Liz, Cecily reported, had been there earlier, but “looked like death warmed over. I told her to go home, get some rest. It wouldn’t do for her to get sick, too.” As for Cecily herself, she’d been out of bed once each day, had even taken a couple of steps with a walker. Thank God, Molly thought.
“As good-looking as ever,” Cecily pronounced Evan. “And remind me why the two of you split up?”
“Grandma, please.” Yes, it was great to see the spark back in Cecily’s eyes, but—seriously. Cecily knew every detail of what had gone wrong between Molly and Evan, because Molly had told her.
Evan shifted in his chair. “Well, it wasn’t because I didn’t love her, I promise you that,” he said, which gave Molly a visceral start.
Cecily had laughed. “Ah, matters of the heart,” she’d said, then leaned back in her pillows and sighed.