Page 35 of Offside and Off-Limits
I know every single one of the members well. Sitting beside Bernice is rheumatoid arthritis sufferer Jason Rodriguez with his wife, Tasha, who comes faithfully each week as his support person. Those two are so cute, always holding hands and checking in with one another. Both of them are in their forties and have been together since high school.
#RelationshipGoals
Sitting beside the Rodriguezes tonight is Owen Thompson, and I slip into the spare seat beside him, flashing him a smile. He looks at me with weary eyes, and I know it’s been a struggle for him to get here tonight. We both suffer from CFS, and whereas I’ve been mostly on top of my symptoms for well over a year now, he’s in the thick of it all. I give his forearm a quick squeeze and he slides his eyes to mine with a brief smile.
“Welcome, Clara,” Bernice says, and I hold my hand up in greeting and smile out at the familiar faces.
“Sorry I’m late. Work ran over and then I had to drop the kids at Keira’s,” I tell them.
“It’s fantastic that you've got this new job working for the Ice Breakers,” Jason says.
Marianne Chatfield, a single mom living with fibromyalgia, clasps her hands together and beams at me. “I think it’s just wonderful, Clara. You’re so clever with the internet. You must be a real asset to that new team.”
The rest of the group murmurs their agreement.
“You’re so kind. Thank you.” I flush with pride. To many of the members, social media is a foreign land, populated solely by tech-savvy teens. I could have five followers of @CFSMomLife, and they’d think I was a runaway success.
“Are you pacing yourself? You need to pace yourself,” Carmen says earnestly. “I learnt that very early on with my ankylosing spondylitis,” she adds, referring to the inflammatory arthritis that primarily affects her spine.
“I'm doing my best, although it’s a steep learning curve in my job right now. I'm making sure I've got my nutrition right, that I'm sleeping, and I'm trying not to let little things stress me out,” I reply, and instantly my mind turns to Cade Lennox. Not that I would categorize Cade Lennox as a “little thing” exactly. More like a huge, hulking, masculine presence that skates across my mind on the regular in his oversized hockey player feet.
Without his shirt.
“Good for you, Clara,” Bernice says with an encouraging smile. “You’re a real success story for the group.”
“It’s been a difficult journey, which makes this all the sweeter.” I’ve come a long way since I was first diagnosed in those dark early days, when the man I thought I could rely on skipped out on me and the kids, leaving me to fend for myself. If it wasn’t for Keira selflessly moving back to Maple Falls to care for me, I don’t know what I would have done.
Which is why I will buy her Neesha’s cupcakes for the rest of my life.
“I can't wait until I can hold down a job again, but I can’t imagine being able to do it right now,” Owen says, his voice as thin as smoke in the morning air. “It’s out of my reach.”
“We hear you, Owen,” Bernice says. “It’s tough to see others doing the things we’d like to be able to do ourselves. The things we once could.”
“Can you give us the inside track on the team?” Jason asks, his gaze crackling with interest. “We wantallthe info.”
“She can't do that. She would have signed a non-disclosure agreement. Isn't that right, Clara?” says Martin Townsend, Crohn’s Disease sufferer and box production business owner who has an opinion on most things.
“An NDA? Why? It’s not like these new hockey players in town are anything special. They’re just oversized men with too much testosterone who are freakishly good at pushing a puck around the ice and getting into fights,” Marianne sniffs, her arms crossed in distaste. “They don’t do a real job that requires real secrecy, like the CIA.”
I press my lips together to stifle a smile as an image of the Ice Breakers in black suits and dark sunglasses springs to mind.
That could be a fun video.
“NDA, CIA. What is it with you and your acronyms?” Martin replies, but all Marianne does is hold up her hand as though she can’t be dealing with him.
Those two have never gotten on, but I have a theory. They bicker so much because they’re secretly into one another, but they’re both too stubborn to make the first move.
“Have you signed an NDA, Clara?” Martin asks.
“I have,” I admit.
Marianne’s eyes have widened in triumph. “See? Told you.”
Martin harrumphs as he leans back in his chair, his arms crossed.
“Shall we start the check-ins?” Bernice asks, although it’s not really a question. Checking in with the members is how we start each of our sessions. “Let’s start with you, Marianne. What kind of day is it today for you?”
“I was going to say green, until Martin was so rude to me. Now it’s a bright, glowing red,” she says, glaring at him through her glasses.
