Page 66 of Pickled
“I found out she’d lied to me.” The words came out easier than I’d expected. “I handled it badly and said some things I regret.”
Lisa was quiet. Which I appreciated. Other than Ace and Goldie, I hadn’t discussed what had happened with Piper. Ace and Goldie both wanted me to talk to Piper, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“I’m angry, don’t get me wrong, but I also feel guilty about walking away without really listening to her side of things. At least trying to understand why she felt like she couldn’t be honest with me.”
“That’s valid.”
I used my feet to rotate the wobble board, keeping focus on the eye chart on the wall. “Hockey’s simple. This feels like overtime that never ends.”
Lisa nodded. “Sometimes the hardest part isn’t forgiving the other person. It’s forgiving ourselves for not being who we thought we were in a crucial moment.”
“Exactly.” The relief at having someone understand was overwhelming. “I thought I was this emotionless guy who didn’t care about stuff. Turns out I’m just as shallow as everyone else.”
“Are you? Or were you reacting to feeling deceived?”
“Both, probably.”
Screams from kids doing cannonballs into the pool distracted my gaze from the neuro chart to the big window.
“You can stop.” Lisa put her hand on my forearm. “May I offer a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Hockey took up so much of your life. Without it, you have too much free time on your hands, and rumination isn’t a good thing. There’s a tournament here in a couple weeks. Big prize money, serious competition. It might be good for you to have a goal, something to focus on besides replaying old conversations.”
“A tournament?”
“The Azalea Bay Open. Twenty-five thousand for first place in doubles. Teams from all over Florida.” Lisa scribbled some notes onto her tablet with her fancy pen. “It would give you something to channel all this energy into.”
The idea sparked something in me. Competition. Purpose. My inner athlete woke up and said yes.
“I’d need a partner.”
“I might know someone who could complement your game. Former tennis player, really strong fundamentally.” Lisa paused. “Would you be interested?”
“Hell yeah, I’m interested.”
“Great. Let me make some calls and set something up.” Lisa shoved the wobble board back to its place next to the reformer.
I unzipped my hoodie, preparing for the outdoor heat. “Thanks, Lisa.”
“Gideon.” She spoke as I had my hand on the door lever. I paused.
“This might sound too woo-woo for you, but it might help your recovery to get some answers from that woman.”
“That does sound woo-woo, but I’ll think about it.”
Walking to my car, I thought about what Lisa had said. I’d built up a lot of respect for her but wondered if I’d have been better off seeing the physiotherapist downtown. She was starting to sound a lot like Goldie.
Instead of heading to my car, I retrieved my paddle from the locker room and went to the courts. Without the rink, the courts were one place that I could put all my focus into a sport and forget about the outside world.
Margie was leaving the court next to mine, and she stopped on her way by. “You’re brooding, honey. That’s never good for the game.”
Another one? What was with these women? “Nah, just thinking about hockey.”
Margie eyed me. “Want some unsolicited advice from an old lady?”
“Sure.”
