Page 26 of Pucker Up
“Oh, Mortie. I can’t wait to squeeze him.”
Mom hadn’t seen Morton since he was a puppy. “What do you mean, squeeze him?”
“I’m heading your way. It’s been so long since we’ve spent time together. I want to see you.”
I loved my mom, but she had done this before. I knew better than to get excited for her visit. If you looked upflakein the dictionary, Fern Lauper’s photo would be next to the description. The past two times she’d been on her way to see me, something had presented itself to her, either in the form of angel numbers or an animal, and she had felt compelled to follow that trail. I was used to coming second to 11:11 or a random crow.
“I’m excited to see you too, Mom. I hope you make it this time.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’ll be there. I had this dream last night—”
My cell phone buzzed in my messenger bag. I squeezed the office phone between my ear and my shoulder as I rummaged around to find it. “Mom, I’ve got to go. It’s my advisor.”
“Okay, Marigold. I’ll see you soon. I love you, and you’re going to get the approval.” The line went dead and the dial tone buzzed loudly into my ear. A lot of my mom’s “visions” could be written off as coincidences, but that one… I shook my head. I didn’t have time to think about it. I dropped into the creaky office chair and accepted the call from Roger.
Dad’s SUVwas in the driveway when I got home from my walk with Morton. “Dad?” I opened the door and shouted his name. It was not like him to be home so early. Morton nudged the door open and I stepped inside the house.
“Goldie?” Dad shouted from the basement. “I’m down here.”
I unclipped Morton and he followed me down the narrow basement stairs. The old house cost my dad well over three million dollars and I could barely stand up in the basement. The TV flickered, casting a glow onto the overstuffed L-shaped sofa where my father was sitting. He had a notebook on his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear.
“What are you doing home so early?” He had been running evening practices throughout the week and would usually watch game tapes at his office, not in the mancave on Neville Park Avenue.
“I cancelled practice tonight.” His eyes were glued to the action on the screen. “The team seems to be getting worse with all the extra sessions. Maybe they need a break.”
It was then that I noticed the dark circles under my father’s blue eyes. He was only forty-four years old, and usually could pass for late thirties, but today he looked—I gulped—old. The team was killing him. “Maybe you’re the one who needs a break.”I sat next to him and put my feet on the comfy ottoman. Morton wedged himself between us and rested his head on my dad’s leg.
“Hi, buddy.” He patted Morton’s head. “Don’t worry, Goldie. I’ll get a break soon enough. I’m pretty sure that they’re going to fire me, and I don’t blame them.”
My parents were throwing me all the curveballs. First, Mom pops up out of nowhere, and now my usually upbeat and positive father was downtrodden, hiding from the world. It wasn’t uncommon for coaches to get fired, but my dad had the best track record in the league. They’d be crazy to fire him, but I didn’t want to tell him that. After all, hockey management wasn’t always known for being rational. “What are you watching?”
Dad unpaused the game on the screen. “What do you see?”
I pulled the wool blanket from the back of the sofa and curled my legs under me. Growing up, I had spent hours like this, cuddled up next to my dad, watching players do their thing. It took me a few minutes, but I figured out what my dad was looking at—the big player. “Number eight, he’s everywhere. He’s watching everyone. It’s like he knows where every player is at every minute of the game.” I hadn’t ever seen anything like it. The player passed the puck to the defensemen behind him, who was ready and wound up to raise the puck, just enough to rocket it through the goalie’s five hole. “Nice.” I nodded in appreciation.
“A thing of beauty.” Dad paused the screen just as the player who earned the assist turned, arms raised in the air. Dark eyes sparkled and the guy had a huge smile on his face. It was Gideon Bailey. Although, it didn’t look like the Gideon Bailey I’d seen. This version was vibrant.
“Now, watch this.” Dad pushed some buttons and fast-forwarded through a different game, Chicago versus Vancouver. I watched intently, knowing that my dad wanted me to see something. Luckily, it was easy to spot.
“That guy. There. He’s doing the exact same thing, but he’s…faster.”
Dad sighed. “That’s Ace Bailey.”
“That’s Ace Bailey?” I took the remote from his hand and reversed the tape. Ace lowered his hands and the puck hurtled backwards towards the defenseman’s raised stick, and then back to Ace’s blade. We watched the play three times, my dad commenting about his edges and the speed he maintained while deking around the other players. Ace knew exactly where his defenseman was without looking. Where Gideon’s tape looked like it had been pulled from a playbook, classic and executed perfectly, Ace’s was scrappier, faster, and more creative. Gideon was going through the motions, but Ace was feeling it.
Goose bumps prickled my forearm and when Ace’s goofy grin filled the screen, a warmth spread across my chest. “He’s better than his brother.”
Dad smiled. “Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. If I could get those brothers to play to even half of their ability, we’d be on our way to the playoffs.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I wish I knew, but the animosity between the two of them is killing their passion for the game. They’re poisoning the atmosphere in the dressing room. I still think I need to get rid of one of them.”
Ace was staring at me from the screen. “Which one?”
Blowing air out from between pursed lips, Dad shook his head. “I wish I had the right answer. We spent so much money on them, management is likely going to get rid of me before they drop one of the Bailey brothers.” Dad let the Chicago game play and the comforting voice of the announcers filled the basement. “What do you think? If you were going to get rid of one of them, which one would it be?”
I sat a little taller and bit my lip. The rational answer was to keep Gideon, his record said it all. Ace was more of a wild card. “I’m not sure, Dad. I wouldn’t want to make a call like that without knowing them better.”
