Page 9 of Her Goal
Delaney rushes in, her big baby belly leading the way and calling, “Where’s the fire?”
Heidi, balancing a toddler on her hip, simultaneously pours the winger’s wife some lemonade. “You look thirsty.”
“Always.” Delaney takes a big gulp.
Cara paces in front of us like she’s about to lead a police procedural before turning on me.
Me?
She asks, “What do we know about the garden gnome?”
Stunned silence turns into confusion for everyone except for yours truly. My cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink.
Then Cara’s eyes bulge, cartoon-like. “Your hair!”
It’s my time to smirk and thank my lucky stars because that was perfect timing. Demurely, I smooth my hand down my strands. “Oh, this? Valentina said it was time for a change.”
In reality, after I realized a few pieces of my hair had fallen loose from my disguise early this morning, I begged my sister to chop it. Instead, she dyed my hair Barbie Doll blonde.
It isn’t so much that I want to go incognito, but that I want to have more fun … and possibly catch the eye of a cute hockey guyas we start a new season. The color update is enough to detour the conversation for the next ten minutes as the girls talk all things hair.
Before I can make a hasty escape, the gnome topic returns to the table.
Meg, married to our former star forward, says, “Actually, I vaguely recall Micah mentioning that whenever Badaszek gets really ticked off, he brings up how someone stole his wife’s favorite garden gnome and that nothing is sacred in this world.”
I swallow thickly. Rightfully, I should’ve returned Howie to the Badaszeks. But it’s technically a Roboveitchek problem and I wasn’t about to get caught on the coach’s property.
Hands laced, Gracie’s shoulders climb to her ears. “Gnomes are so cute.”
“Not this one,” I mutter. It’s creepy. Has shown up in my dreams. Is possibly haunted.
Ella says, “I read an article once about a gnome liberation effort. A gang was going around taking them from people’s yards and—? Actually, I don’t know what happened next.”
Leaving them at the end of your bed to scare you in the middle of the night? Or in your locker? Or the backseat of your car?
Howie would show up in my shower, under my bed, everywhere. I’d put it on the Roboveitchek’s stoop and days, weeks, or months would pass and I’d forget about it. Then the creepy little thing would appear and scare the living daylights out of me.
Finding it wrapped in Hudson’s jersey confirmed that the mean-spirited pranks had his name written all over them. Not literally because that would be incriminating. However, he can do the dirty work of explaining to his coach and neighbor why he was in possession of the precious gnome.
Cara says, “Pierre texted that one of the guys came across a garden gnome at Robo’s new house.”
“Aren’t they still there?” Whit checks the time.
“For another hour or two.”
“I made Bundts for the new player welcome party,” Jess says proudly.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
Cara arches her eyebrow. “Pierre texted with concern when the gnome came out and promptly disappeared. Said some of the guys got weird about it. Hid it. Asked me if I knew anything.”
Cara knows all about the gnome itself and everything about me … except this. And maybe a couple of other tiny related details.
“Anyone want to share about the hockey garden gnome?” Her eyes alight on me.
Flapping my hands instead of talking with them as I’ve been told I often do, I say, “The eagle has landed. To be sure, it may have been a pigeon. Or a duck. A turkey, perhaps.”
Everyone stares at us, trying to puzzle out what’s going on as I ramble nonsensically about birds in reference to the text exchange earlier, because I don’t want anyone else to know about my history with the Roboveitchek brothers. No matter which way you spin it, I look like a loser and a reject.
