Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  I should be saying I’m glad I came too – except I’m not too sure about that yet. “Can’t let boys go hungry,” he said, aiming for as cheerful as possible. There was a shout and a slam from the boards right behind Adam, though, and Ben couldn’t help but jump. “Um – do they do that a lot?”

  Adam’s chuckle was soft. “Yeah, sorry. They’re enthusiastic. All the pads mean they can barely feel it. You okay? You’re a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” said Ben, hating himself for being irritated. Adam didn’t look entirely convinced, so Ben plowed on. “What color’s your team?”

  “Blue and white,” said Adam.

  “Hanukkah colors, excellent,” said Ben, which was enough to make Adam really laugh.

  That made coming into the rink worth it, thought Ben, as an obnoxious horn sounded over the loudspeaker. The kids on the ice let out cheers or groans before lining up to slap each other’s hands.

  “End of the first game,” said Adam.

  Ben paled. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to miss all of it.”

  “You didn’t—” Adam began to assure him, just as they were attacked by a raging herd of buffalo dressed as preteens in hockey gear.

  “Ben!”

  “It’s Ben!”

  “Did you bring your skates, Ben?”

  “Come skate with us, Ben!”

  Skate? Thought Ben wildly as he greeted the boys. I thought I’d missed that part!

  “Forget skates, did you bring cookies?”

  The boys seemed so much larger with their pads and taller with their skates. Their eyes were bright and their cheeks were flushed. Ben could feel the cold come off their clothes in waves; shaved ice clung to the fabric of their jerseys.

  Adam barked something in French at them – undoubtedly telling them to give Ben some space, given the way the boys all took a step back. It didn’t dampen their enthusiasm. Adam gave Ben a guilty, apologetic look.

  “Sorry,” he said. “This one was a surprise for me, too. You don’t have to go.”

  It felt a little bit too much like Ben’s mother, hovering in the early days after the accident, too nervous to let Ben even walk to the bathroom without assistance. How Ben had pushed and shoved and snuck there on his own. He’d become so annoyed with her worry that he ignored everyone’s advice and decided to make a big return to the ice, with everyone in attendance, the minute he was medically cleared to skate again.

  And look how that had turned out.

  This isn’t the same thing, though, Ben told himself. None of these guys know about me. Except Adam. They’re not expecting me to race out there and be exactly the same. I can be terrible and they won’t care.

  Ben took a breath.

  I can do this.

  “Sure, I’d love to skate with you guys,” he told them. “I just need skates.”

  The boys let out a collective whoop. Adam said something else to them in French, and two ran off hell-for-leather down the stands.

  “I already checked out your size skates,” Adam admitted to Ben. “Just in case.”

  Ben tried to chuckle, but already he could feel his nerves ratcheting up. “Oh. Good. Better not to waste the scrap of bravery I’ve drudged up from somewhere.”

  Adam took his hand and squeezed it, hard. Ben squeezed it back.

  “I just don’t want to disappoint them,” murmured Ben. “They’re so excited. Can’t show that I’m scared to death, can I?”

  “Safeword,” Adam said suddenly.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Is skating that kinky?”

  “No – if you need to get off the ice immediately. Give me a safeword, and I’ll make sure you do. And the boys won’t know why.”

  “Didn’t think safewords were about getting off,” said Ben.

  Adam frowned. “It’s not funny, Ben.”

  “I’m Jewish, humor keeps me from drowning in sorrow,” said Ben. “Norway. If you hear me start talking about Norway. That’s the safeword.”

  Adam nodded just as the boys returned, holding a pair of skates aloft.

  It didn’t take long to make the switch from shoes to skates, but the moment Ben stood up, it all came racing back to him.

  The memory of balancing on knife blades; the way his ankles started to bear the pressure of not falling over. The feel of the blades digging into the soles of his feet, the funny click-clacking as he walked on the hard guards to the ice.

  Their odd positions as they removed the hard guards, leaning on each other as they took off one and then the other in ungraceful poses, slapping them down in any old place that they’d learned to remember so they could find them again.

  To Ben, the walk to the rink entrance might as well have been a mile away. The boys surrounded him, a protective barrier without even realizing it.

  At least, until they reached the ice, when each boy burst out onto the rink, barely looking back. They let out hollers and shouts, joining the fray of little kids skating laps while the bigger, burlier players from the junior league team led toddlers by the hand.

  Ben paused at the entrance. Everyone on the ice was laughing, smiling, skating at moderate paces. Little kids were racing each other while they tried to stay upright.

  Ben thought it might have been more jarring; the sight of laps, the little kids falling onto their butts with their feet in the air... it should have sent him running for the hills.

  It didn’t.

  “Okay?” said Adam.

  “Better than I thought,” said Ben. He took his first step onto the ice.

  The skate wasn’t quite as sharp as it could have been; Ben felt an initial surge of annoyance – Damn, I should go back and have these redone – and before he realized it, he was on the ice and moving further away from the entrance.

  “Hey, you can skate!” exclaimed Andreas.

  “Of course,” said Ben.

  Tom punched Andreas in the shoulder. “Of course he can skate, you doufus, he told us he was a speed skater the first day.”

  Andreas punched him back. “I wasn’t there the first day, you dorkface.”

  “Great, they learned American insults. Their mothers will be so pleased,” deadpanned Adam. Ben giggled. It might have been hysteria; he wasn’t sure.

  The crowd on the ice was thick; it would have been impossible to go any faster than they were, moving so slowly that Ben could feel the familiar impatience building at the same rate that his nerves were tightening.

  Across the ice, a pair of boys fell over each other. Ben’s heart leapt in his throat, even as his legs continued to move.

  “Did you play hockey at all?” asked one of the boys.

  “Not like you guys do,” said Ben. “I liked speed, not hitting things with sticks.”

  “I’d get bored,” said Tom. “Just going around the rink over and over?”

  “There’s a lot more strategy involved than you’d think,” Ben told him. “You always have to be aware of the other guys, planning when you’re going to pass them. And then how to stay in front. It’s not all about speed.”

  “Can’t be slow and still win,” said Andreas.

  “No, but you can be the fastest guy and still lose,” said Ben. “Look at Usain Bolt. Well, that’s running, but same thing.”

  Look at me, thought Ben. Fast didn’t do me any good in the end.

  The crash came so fast and hard on the boards opposite Ben that it seemed like the entire rink shook with it. One moment he was skating with the boys, Adam just out of reach.

  The next, every adult in the rink was racing for the other side, their shouts barely audible over the yowls of pain from the site of the crash. Ben reached out and clutched the arms of the nearest boys, the echo of skates in his ears, the memory of a sharp slice in his leg.

  (“Ben, can you hear me?”)

  Ben could hear the huffing sound of breath being forcibly exhaled, the sigh of surprise and the shock of compression on a body’s chest.

  (“His eyes are open, but he’s not responding.”)


  Ben tried to breathe in. He couldn’t. There wasn’t anyone on top of him, but it felt like a rubber band was wrapped around his chest.

  (“We’re going to need a doctor on the ice.”)

  “Hey, Ben, you okay?”

  (“Okay, son, I need you to tell me your name and date of birth.”)

  Benjamin Paul Daniels, mouthed Ben, because there wasn’t enough breath in his body to speak.

  “Hey, Hugo, we’ve got a kid down on the ice!”

  “Qu’est-ce que Ben dit?”

  “J’n’sais pas!”

  (“Ben, we’re taking you to the hospital, just stay still, okay? Don’t try to move.”)

  “Okay, guys, time to get off the ice.”

  “Okay, Coach Farida.”

  “Is this Ben?”

  “Yeah, I think the crash startled him?”

  “Ben?” A woman’s face floated in front of his. “You all right?”

  (“Ben, you hear that applause? That’s for you, buddy.”)

  “Maybe we should get Coach,” said one of the boys, worried.

  (“Pick a safeword,” said Adam.)

  “Norway,” whispered Ben. “Tell him... Norway.”

  “Get him off the ice,” said the woman. “I’ll get Adam.”

  (“It’s going to be okay.”)

  (“It’s going to be okay.”)

  (“It’s going to be okay.”)

  No, thought Ben, not sure why the world was still moving around him, but letting it carry him anyway. It’s not.

  THE CRASH HAD CAUGHT everyone by surprise. The yowl of pain had been so loud and absolute, bouncing off the ice and the rafters, that Adam had been convinced he’d get to the scene only to find a severed leg on the ice.

  In the end, it was a three-year-old girl who’d tripped over her four-year-old brother, only to have the junior league player narrowly miss both of them and end up splayed on the ice too. The girl had split her lip when she’d fallen, but other than a few bruised egos, everyone else was fine.

  “Adam,” said Farida, taking Adam’s arm. The crisis was over, the fallen kids were back with their mom, the player was enduring the good-natured ribbing from his teammates, though it was a rather sober end to an otherwise fun free skate. “You need to go to Ben.”

  Ben, thought Adam with a shock of concern. He’d forgotten all about him, in his rush to get to the scene of the accident.

  “Is he all right?” asked Adam. “Where is he?”

  “I got the boys to take him off the ice.” Farida paused. “He said something about Norway? I’m not sure why.”

  His safeword. Fuck. Adam spotted them immediately. The boys were conspicuous on the sidelines, particularly surrounding Ben as they did, as if they were his very own bodyguards. Adam skated over to the first opening as fast as he could, his skates clattering the moment he reached the side.

  The boys immediately parted once Adam arrived. He sat down next to Ben, who smiled shakily up at him. He was holding a paper cup of water and he looked pale. His breathing was shallow, and it was impossible to tell if his lips were blue in the terrible lighting, but Adam wouldn’t have been surprised if that’d been the case.

  “Boys,” said Adam quietly, already unlacing his boots as quickly as he could. “You’re on the ice for the next game. Tell Farida I’ll be a few more minutes.”

  “Okay, Coach.”

  “Sure thing, Coach.”

  Andreas turned to Ben. “Feel better, Ben.”

  “Yeah, Ben, thanks for skating!”

  “It was fun!”

  Ben laughed, but it came out as a cough and sounded terrible.

  “Will he be okay?” whispered Pierre.

  “He’ll be fine,” Adam assured him. “Just nerves. You guys are scary out there.”

  Ben coughed and wheezed again. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Adam pulled his feet from his skates and popped the buckles on Ben’s boots, never more grateful for cheap rental skates than he was at that moment. “We can sit in the lobby, it’s a bit quieter there.”

  “Your game—” started Ben.

  Adam shook his head. “Farida’s on it. I’d rather make sure you’re okay.”

  It was quiet in the lobby, but cold. Ben kept shivering, though Adam didn’t think it was the chill that bothered him. He knelt in front of Ben and watched him rock back and forth. Adam bit his lip, wondering what to do.

  “PTSD?” he wondered.

  Ben shook his head. “Panic attack. Maybe the same thing. I keep thinking...” Ben squeezed his eyes shut, still rocking. “Just... have to work through it.”

  Adam nodded. “What do you need from me?”

  “Talk to me. Just... anything.”

  For a horrifying second, Adam couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  “It’s okay if it’s in French,” gulped Ben.

  The bubble of mirth took Adam by surprise. “I’ve never been to Norway.”

  Ben winced; clearly talking about his choice of safeword wasn’t the best territory. Adam once again was lost and uncertain where to begin.

  In the beginning...

  Adam wanted to giggle. But for all that Bible verses might comfort some, he wasn’t sure they’d have the same effect on Ben.

  “So I told you my dad was a rabbi.”

  Ben nodded. Adam thought he was only half listening, but half was better than not, at least.

  “I didn’t tell you he’s kind of a walking bar joke.”

  Ben tilted his head. He was still struggling to breathe, but at least he seemed marginally more interested now.

  “Bar joke?” wheezed Ben.

  Adam nodded. “He helped run the interfaith food bank in Montreal and became really good friends with two of the other founders.” Adam paused. “Father Frank O’Leary from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and Imam Mohammed Mostafa of Al’Salam Islamic Center.”

  Ben snorted, and then coughed. The cold air couldn’t have felt good on his lungs, but Adam thought he could see color coming back into his cheeks. “Wait. Your dad, the Jewish rabbi... is best friends with a Catholic priest and a Muslim imam?”

  “Told you he was a walking bar joke.” Adam grinned. “His words, too. He collected them, he’d tell them during his sermons sometimes. They’d find a fourth and go golfing all summer long.” Adam paused. “The fourth was usually the Anglican minister, but only when the Shinto monk couldn’t join them.”

  Ben began wheezing again. Adam was worried until he realized it was laughter. “That’s worse,” said Ben.

  Adam heaved a sigh of relief and fell back to sit on the tiles. “Thank you,” he breathed, hoping Ben realized he wasn’t entirely kidding, hoping Ben didn’t realize it was because he’d finally seemed to break Ben from the panic. “I always tried to tell him so, but he never believed me. Said it was the only viable option, since Imam Mustafa refused to actually go into a bar.”

  Ben giggled. His breathing was definitely easier now, and his fingers weren’t clutching at his knees any longer. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

  Adam’s mouth was dry, watching Ben struggle to pull himself the rest of the way together. “I told you about that first family, right? The ones who bought me the paper plates.”

  Ben nodded.

  “I was really upset when I found out I wasn’t living with a Jewish family. Not sad upset, but full-on angry. My mom – she’d always go above and beyond to take care of guests, you know? And I was young and stupid and had been assured by the recruitment staff that they’d keep my dietary restrictions in mind. Plus, I already knew there were Jewish households who housed some of the guys. I thought I’d be sent to one of them. Instead, I was sent to this family and handed a package of paper plates.”

  “Ouch,” said Ben.

  Adam nodded. “I was ready to walk into the coach’s office and demand a new place, or switch with one of the other guys, or something. But Dad called while I was waiting outside the coach’s office, and I ended up telling
him instead. I must have gone on for ten or fifteen minutes, ranting and raving and probably making an ass of myself. And as soon as I’d finished, my dad says, ‘But were they the good paper plates, Adam?’”

  Ben huffed in amusement.

  “And I had to admit, they really were. It wasn’t that they were being mean or anything. Hell, they’d probably read a suggestion on some internet site or something. What I didn’t find out for a couple of weeks – the Jewish houses? They didn’t keep kosher, either. They’d actually refused to have me, because they weren’t sure they could handle keeping kosher.”

  “Woah.”

  “Yeah. This family, though. They said yes. I think Mrs. Johnson saw it as a challenge. Not that I wanted to be seen as a challenge, but... she was really eager to try. And it wasn’t until I talked to my dad that I saw it for what it really was: good intentions that just needed a little bit of direction.”

  Ben looked a thousand times better than he had even a few minutes before. “He sounds like a good guy. Your dad.”

  “He is.” Adam sat back and stretched his legs, able to relax now that he was relatively sure Ben would be okay. “I don’t think he ever understood why I love hockey so much, but he was more than happy to support me in it.”

  Ben nodded. “Same with my parents, initially, anyway. My dad really got into it, though – he started working with the younger kids, timing their events. He still attends the races and works with the organizations.”

  “He doesn’t blame you for not returning?”

  “GD, no. He doesn’t understand it, why I won’t even step foot on the ice, but he doesn’t hate me for it.” Ben sighed, flexing his fingers. “I don’t know what he’d think about how I behaved today.”

  “He should be proud.”

  “Or disappointed that I broke down before I even finished a lap,” said Ben bitterly.

  Adam paused. “Are you disappointed? Or proud?”

  Ben didn’t answer right away; he pressed his lips together as if fighting off a wave of pain.

  “I’m mad.”

  “Because you didn’t?”

  “Yeah.” Ben breathed out. “It just... pisses me off, you know? I was supposed to be able to do this, you know? And the fact that I can’t, because of some stupid thing I did three years ago—”