Page 10 of That Thing You Brew
“Aw… Well, she knows her stuff. I taught her myself.” He beamed proudly, giving Ryleigh a thumbs-up, which she returned, before turning to Kami and baby Conner.
The toddler banged on the glass, laughing and gurgling as Trask made funny faces at him.
Butterflies the size of hawks started flapping in my stomach. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the sweet, wholesome scene on the other side of the plexiglass.
I wanted that. I wanted a wife and kids I could teach to skate and play hockey. Ryleigh was a local star forward in her age division. Kami kept busy driving her to games and tournaments for the multiple teams she was on. I wondered if I’d ever find someone who would enjoy the hockey wife life as much as Kami did. She’d had to put her career as an earth scientist on hold when Conner was born. She taught a few online classes for the local university, but she didn’t do field studies anymore.
I shook my head. I never wanted to have to ask my future imaginary wife to give something up before she ever even had the chance to do it.
Trask skated away, and with a final parting insult from Ryleigh—“Keep your head in the game, number fourteen!”—I waved goodbye to the Emerson family and took off down the side towards the blue line.
I’d spotted a familiar-looking kid holding a sign with my name on it and wanted to get a closer look.Swanny: Trade you toffee bits for your stick?
Aw. Definitely.
The little boy’s mouth dropped open as I neared the glass. “Hey, man! You know I can’t resist that toffee candy crunch. Were you at the Bevvie Bar today?”
He nodded.
“Awesome. Thanks for coming out to show your support. Tell me your name?”
He just blinked at me. Adorable.
“His name is Isaac!”
“Hi, Isaac! This your dad?”
He nodded again.
“Hey Dad, can you lift him up to toss my toffee over the glass?”
Isaac squealed and dropped his sign. His dad handed him the toffee and hoisted him high.
“Bombs away!” Isaac pitched the bag over the glass.
I darted back and to the side, catching it in my left glove and holding it up. “Thanks!
“You’re welcome!”
I grinned, happy he’d found his voice, and skated back to the wall. I lifted my stick high and over the glass. Isaac’s dad reached up to ease it down until the boy had it in his hands.
“Thank you!” Isaac hopped up and down with excitement.
“Come by the Bevvie Bar before one of our home games and I’ll sign it. You know when to find me!” I called.
I glided backward for a few feet, waving, then skated back to our team’s bench for a fresh stick. I always taped up three as part of my pregame ritual, just in case I had the chance to give one away, and of course I needed a spare taped my way in case I broke one during the game. Making fans happy, especially the kids, was the best part of my job. Sure, scoring goals was fun, but making kids happy? It fueled me.
I missed my younger sisters. They weren’t little anymore. Ten and eight years old already. I’d been away for so much of their growing up, just as Dad had missed much of my and Daniella’s childhood. He’d retired three seasons ago, while I was still playing for the Volts. I’d always imagined us playing on the same team—or even against each other—for a season or two before he retired. He was still younger than some of the oldest guys in the league.
But he’d had enough. And when my dad decided something was enough, there was no reversing it. Like becoming a permanent citizen of the United States. We celebrated his and my mom’s citizenship last year. My grandfather had been heartbroken and swore he’d disinherit my dad. “Heinrich! You break your old man’s heart. Vhy you do this vhen you have beautiful home here?”
Dad tried to explain that he’d made a life for himself in North America. I think hedidcare but had instigated Opa’s reaction on purpose to make taking the news easier, in his own weird way. He was happy in Seattle and grumbled every Christmas we spent in Alpintraum.
I’ll never forget Opa’s scathing words to him. “All the years this family has vorked to keep the Schwannenschloss intact and maintained! And you vould leave it?”
My dad had shrugged in his offhand way and replied, “My life is in America. We’ll come visit.”
I’ll always remember how Opa’s mouth had hung open, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “You break my heart, Heinrich.”
