Page 26 of Lighting the Lamp
Chapter Ten
Alise
The phone buzzes against the cluttered desk. I don’t even have to look to know who’s calling me. The vibration alone carries a sense of urgency that only one person can summon without a single word. I swipe at the screen to answer, cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I keep tapping out inventory numbers.
“Hey, Auntie Mel.”
“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, like you’re not thirty seconds from screening my calls,” she says without preamble, the familiar warmth of her voice cutting through the sterile buzz of the rink office. “I can’t stop worrying if he’s breathing. Eating. Standing upright with both eyes facing the same direction.”
Beau has been back home in Redwood Falls for a few weeks, and to say we’ve all been hovering is an understatement. But none of us more than Auntie Mel. I have a feeling that his only reprieve is when he comes to the rink to coach the U14 team.
I roll my eyes skyward, even as my lips twitch. “Yes. No. Maybe. You know Beau.”
“Oh, I do. That boy has the emotional communication skills of a decorative throw pillow and the pain tolerance of a warhorse. But he’s still my baby, and I can’t stop worrying. I’vegone as far as placing my hand on his chest when he’s sleeping just to make sure he’s still breathing.”
“It’s okay, Auntie Mel,” I respond, my voice softening around the edges. “Everyone is worried about him. Ramona even drove down to be at practice today.”
“Doesn’t the team have a game?”
“Yes, but not until 7:30. Beau is leaving practice early today so they can make it by the first puck drop. It was the only way Cooper would stop pestering him about coming.”
“Cooper is being so overprotective. Beau needs to be there for his team. And I already know what you’re going to say. Pot, meet kettle, but Beau is sitting on a bench at the game, not trying to corral a gaggle of teenage boys.”
I glance out the window. Beau’s a blur of navy and white, moving across the ice like he’s got something to prove to gravity itself, flying by as if it’s just a regular Tuesday afternoon.
“That’s true, but either way, he’s fine. I promise,” I say, my voice hitching slightly on the lie. “Back on the ice today.”
“Back on the ice?” she repeats, scandalized. “Did he grow a second heart when I wasn’t looking? Did I miss the miracle transplant? Because last I checked, you don’t just bounce back from a cardiac episode like a stubbed toe.”
I close my eyes and press the phone tighter to my cheek. “He said the doctor cleared him for light activity. He promised he’d take it easy.”
“He says a lot of things. Like ‘I’m fine’ when he’s got a 103-degree fever. Or ‘I can handle it’ while ignoring a whole ruptured tendon. What’s next? Playing goalie with one lung and a popsicle stick?”
Despite myself, I snort. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”
“And you always let that boy get away with murder when he pouted at you,” she huffs. “Lord, give me strength. That boywouldn’t know easy if it smacked him upside the head with a pillow and a cardiologist’s note.”
“You want me to write that on a Post-it and stick it to his water bottle?”
“No. I want you to tell him to call his mother before I show up with a folding chair and park it in front of the net until he does.”
“Now that I would pay to see.” I grin, biting my lip.
There’s a beat of quiet on the line before her tone softens. “How are you holding up, baby girl? You sound tired.”
I lean back in my chair, pressing the heel of my hand into my temple. “I’m okay. Just… managing.”
“Hmm. I hear that tone. That’s the ‘managing everyone but yourself’ tone.”
My smile falters slightly, but I don’t respond because she’s right, as always. I glance down at the piles of papers littering my desk—half-filled out payroll forms I was supposed to have input before 5:00 p.m. today—and realize I haven’t done a single thing since Beau arrived a few hours ago. Ever since he walked into the arena, I’ve been circling him like a nervous satellite, pretending I’m not checking his posture, his stamina, or the color in his face every thirty seconds.
“I know you love him,” she adds, quieter now. “And I know he’s as stubborn as a mule with something to prove. But he’s grown, Alise. Let him make his mistakes. You don’t have to carry both your hearts at once.”
“I’m not—” I start, but she makes a sound that shuts me up.
“I’ve known you since you were a little thing in jelly sandals and a glittery tutu, bossing around every boy in the neighborhood with a popsicle in one hand.”
“He won’t talk to you. He won’t talk to Cooper. He barely talks to me unless it’s laced with sarcasm and charm.”
