Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  “Not something you did,” Adam cut in. “Something that happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know that,” snapped Ben. He groaned and covered his face. “Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. You’re just trying to be helpful, and here I am snapping your head off.”

  “It’s not like I’m good at this,” said Adam.

  “You talked me down from a panic attack.” Ben fell back against the wall again. “Your dad. Did he want you to be a rabbi? Follow in his footsteps?”

  “I don’t think he’d be upset if I was. But I don’t think he minds that I’m not.” Adam paused. “He comes to the home games. Always has, whether I’m playing or coaching.”

  “That’s lucky. My dad means well, but he still wants to talk about speed skating with me. He doesn’t really get that I just... can’t.”

  “Yeah,” said Adam, wondering how much harder it would be if Ephraim never let Adam forget what he’d lost.

  The doors to the rink opened with a bang. “Adam,” called Farida softly. “I’m so sorry, but we need you back, our boys are ready to go for their turn.”

  Adam turned to Ben, but already he was shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry,” said Ben, sounding incredibly contrite. “I don’t want to disappoint them, but...”

  Farida let the doors close after her. “No apologies,” she said gently. “You should get some sleep, okay? The boys will get over it.”

  “Okay,” said Ben, grateful. “Thanks.”

  “I can call you a cab,” said Adam. “Or an Uber?”

  “Yes,” said Farida firmly. “You can.”

  Ben looked like he wanted to protest. “Sheldon’s paying,” said Adam, which at least brought a smile to Ben’s face.

  The Uber was less than five minutes away; Farida offered to sit with Ben while Adam went back to work.

  “No third degree,” Adam warned her.

  “Honestly, Adam, I’m hurt. Do you really think I’d give a man who just had a panic attack the third degree about his intentions toward my best friend?” asked Farida, not bothering to hide her indignation.

  “I would tell you,” Ben called, “but you look too innocent. I might scar you for life.”

  “I like him,” Farida told Adam.

  “Maybe I should stay with him anyway,” said Adam.

  “Not a chance. Off with you.”

  Adam turned to Ben. “I can stop by later if you want?”

  Ben smiled. “That’s sweet, but I think your friend is right, I need to sleep. Tomorrow morning?”

  “All right,” said Adam.

  Kissing Ben’s cheek was completely impulse. But given the way Ben flushed when Adam pulled away, he wasn’t going to regret doing it.

  BEN WASN’T SURE WHAT to expect from Farida. He wouldn’t have been one bit surprised if it’d been the third degree, despite Adam’s warning.

  “Sooooo,” said Farida, once the doors had closed behind Adam. “I just have two questions, and if you answer them honestly, I won’t ask a single thing more.”

  “Okay,” said Ben, preparing himself.

  “First, I want to make sure you guys are using protection. Because safe sex is great sex, and all that.”

  Okay, didn’t expect that. Should have, but didn’t.

  “Yes,” said Ben, pleased with how calm he sounded. “We are definitely using protection.”

  “Second question: how are you categorizing whatever it is you have with Adam?”

  Ben frowned. “Huh? I mean, he’s only here for a week – so I guess it’s just a... fling?”

  Farida nodded as she sat next to him. “Okay. Just checking.”

  “Does he think this is anything else?” asked Ben slowly.

  Farida nodded approvingly. “Hmm. Perceptive. I don’t know, except I haven’t seen Adam this energized by anyone in a very long time. Or anything, really. And you’re here, and—”

  Farida trailed off.

  The recruiters. “They want him to coach down here.”

  “He told you?” asked Farida, surprised.

  Ben shook his head. “I overheard the recruiters. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  “Hmm.” Farida sat back again. “Well. Anyway. He says he doesn’t want to take it, but he’s being stubborn. Maybe you can change his mind.”

  “I don’t think he’d come down here just for me.”

  “Neither do I,” said Farida frankly. “But you’ve sure changed something about him. Until this week, I didn’t think anything could turn his head that wasn’t a hockey puck. You are definitely not a hockey puck.”

  “Thanks?” said Ben doubtfully.

  “Uber’s here,” said Farida, pointing out the glass doors. “Have a good night. It was nice meeting you. Well. Sort of.”

  “Same,” said Ben. “Mostly.”

  Farida laughed. “It’s okay. Get some rest. I’ll try to keep Adam from bothering you tonight.”

  Ben still felt shaky as he climbed into the car and collapsed on the back seat with a sigh.

  “You okay? You look a bit rough,” said the Uber driver, twisting around in his seat.

  Ben shrugged. “Panic attack. I’m better now.”

  He leaned back against the window and closed his eyes, hoping the driver wouldn’t want to make any more small talk. He wanted to think a little bit longer.

  It was good to be back on the ice. I wish I’d been able to stay longer. The kids distracting me was a good idea. I don’t know if that was planned, but I’m glad it happened like that.

  It’s funny – I was almost frustrated with going so slowly. Maybe it’s good they were there to hold me back, too.

  His phone pinged, and Ben opened his eyes to look at the text.

  Sheldon to Ben

  [Image: a group of young men and women around a table. The ones on the end are falling toward the ones in the middle, as if they’ve been told to get close to fit in the frame. They’re waving and laughing, and some are clearly in the middle of shouting hello.]

  Gang says hello.

  “Hey,” said Ben, still staring at the photo. “Is it okay if we go to Copley Square instead? Vinnie Testa’s?”

  “Oh, yeah, dude, I know that place,” said the driver. “Excellent eggplant parm. Change of plans?”

  “Yeah,” said Ben, typing with his thumbs. “I think I’m going to meet some old friends there.”

  “Change of plans,” repeated the driver, pleased, and turned onto the bridge over the river.

  Chapter Six

  On the sixth night of Hanukkah...

  Ben to Adam

  Thanks. I know that didn’t go as you planned tonight.

  Adam to Ben

  I’m the one who is sorry. I didn’t mean to push you into that.

  Or let the boys push you, either.

  Ben to Adam

  I probably needed the push. That’s what Sheldon says, anyway.

  Um. I have a confession. I didn’t go home afterwards.

  Adam to Ben

  Where did you go?

  Ben to Adam

  Sheldon’s been after me to go to dinner with my old skating team. So... I went.

  I didn’t stay long, just drinks. I really was tired. But it was good to see them again.

  Better than I thought it would be.

  Adam to Ben

  I’m glad to hear that.

  Ben to Adam

  But I am tired, so I think I’m going to bed. If that’s okay?

  Adam to Ben

  I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but it’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.

  Ben to Adam

  Looking forward to it.

  ADAM HAD TO BE HONEST; he was sorry that Ben had shut down any hope of going to see him the night before, instead choosing to have drinks with friends.

  It wasn’t that Adam didn’t get it, or upon learning who the friends were, think it wasn’t a good idea. But he still would have liked more than a brief text exchange to make sure that Ben really was all right.


  At least Ben looked just as happy to see him that morning as Adam felt. Even if there were some darker circles under his eyes, he looked like he was doing fine.

  “Ben!” gasped Andreas. “Where’s the sufganiyot?”

  Ben covered his chest. “Be still my heart, you said it right. Sorry to disappoint you guys, but today’s versions are afternoon treats, since they involve—”

  Ben paused dramatically, and then did a little drum roll on the counter. “Ice cream.”

  “Ice cream!”

  “No way, they’re frozen?”

  “Yup,” said Ben proudly. “But if one of you stops by after your game, I can give them to you then.”

  “I made them earlier this week,” Ben confessed to Adam once the boys had settled on scones and muffins for their morning treat. “I kind of figured there’d be a day when I needed something pre-made.”

  “Clever,” said Adam, leaning close. “You’re really doing all right?”

  “Stop worrying, I’m fine. You sound like a Jewish mother.”

  “I come by it honestly,” said Adam solemnly, and Ben giggled.

  “Come by tonight,” he said. “If you can, anyway. I know I’ve been monopolizing your time.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “Is that what Farida said?”

  “No, but it’s true. Can you come over?”

  “Yes,” said Adam firmly.

  “BERNARD!”

  Nilsson’s voice echoed across the ice. Adam looked up from the boards, where he’d been giving the team a few last notes about their upcoming match.

  “Ooooo, Coach is in trouble!” sang Andreas, to the delight of the rest of the boys.

  “Suicide sprints, twenty, go,” said Adam without a pang of regret. The boys all let out groans and headed out, jostling Andreas on the way.

  “Meanie,” said Farida.

  “You could do ‘em too,” said Adam unsympathetically.

  Nilsson skated up to them. “Just wanted to tell you how impressed we’ve been this week with your team.”

  “That’s nice of you, sir,” said Farida. “Wish we hadn’t sent them out for suicide sprints so you could tell them directly.”

  Adam elbowed Farida quickly. “We’ll let them know.”

  Nilsson leaned on the boards. “Given any thought to what we discussed earlier this week? Because I have to tell you, Bernard – it wasn’t just the boys in Quincy watching you last night. There were a couple of recruiters from the Sharks team, too.”

  Adam blinked. “The Sharks.”

  “You mean, the Hartford Sharks?” clarified Farida, her voice going up in a squeak. Adam thought he could hear every gear in her brain starting up.

  “I do mean, Miss Mustafa,” said Nilsson. “And they were mighty impressed as well.”

  Farida was vibrating so hard, her hijab was in danger of completely unraveling. “Are you saying that there’s a major-minor team which might be interested in hiring Adam as a coach, too?”

  “Farida,” warned Adam under his breath.

  “I’m just asking,” Farida whispered back.

  “It’s a reasonable question,” said Nilsson, amused. “But maybe not yet. The major-minors would be a fairly large leap for a coach from the rec leagues – even with Adam’s history. But I know Joe LeClerc, and he’s got a long memory. You move to Quincy, he’s going to keep his eye on you.”

  “Well, thanks for letting me know,” said Adam. Farida began to sputter; Adam ignored it. “But as I said, I’m not convinced that moving away from Montreal is the right choice for me.”

  Nilsson looked over Adam’s shoulder. “Told you he’d say that.”

  “So you did,” said a man standing behind them. “Guess I’ll have to pull out all the stops.”

  The grin on Nilsson’s face was positively smug. Adam had a good idea who it was standing behind him; when he turned around, he wasn’t proven wrong.

  Joe LeClerc, head coach of the Hartford Sharks, stood behind Adam with an easy smile and his hands in his pockets. He could have been out for a casual morning of shooting the breeze, but there was a predatory look in his eye that gave Adam the idea that his visit was anything but casual.

  Farida was completely still next to him, so much shock on her face that Adam knew without a doubt she hadn’t seen this coming. All he heard from her was the strangled high-pitch squeal that she was undoubtedly trying desperately to muffle in the back of her throat.

  “Mr. LeClerc,” said Adam politely. “I think these boys are a bit young for you to be recruiting them just yet.”

  LeClerc chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sometimes it’s fun to say I had my eye on them way back when. Anyway, Mr. Bernard, all cards on the table. I want you on my coaching staff. You’ve done a world of good for those boys out there. I think you could do a world of good for the boys I have on my roster. What will it take to get you to Hartford next season?”

  “My season’s not for sale, sir.”

  “Everything’s for sale,” said LeClerc. “Here’s what I’m offering. I can see you being ready for the show in five seasons, if not before. Of course we’ll assist with moving expenses and finding living situations for both you and your father, if you want, as well as visas for you both. Medical and dental benefits, retirement packages, the works. Five-year contract, by which point either you’ll be coaching for the majors, or you’ll be so well established within the major minors that you’ll have bargaining power to go anywhere, including back to Montreal.”

  The show. Adam almost felt his knees buckle at the same time as his will-power. His whole life, he’d been dreaming of what hockey players called “the show” – the major leagues, the pristine ice, the screaming fans wearing jerseys with his name on the back.

  And here was the devil, offering it in five years or less. All Adam had to do was give up the last connection he had to the home he’d lost ten years before.

  “No,” said Adam. He could feel Farida suck in a breath.

  LeClerc raised his eyebrow.

  “All right,” he said, and then casually said a number.

  It was a very large number. With a lot of zeros.

  “That’s for the whole five years,” added LeClerc. It didn’t make the number any less impressive.

  “Mon Dieu,” whispered Farida.

  LeClerc looked amused. “Indeed.”

  Adam’s head spun. “Thank you, Mr. LeClerc, but I can’t—”

  “Make any decision before he talks to the Bears,” said Farida quickly.

  “Farida.”

  LeClerc laughed. “No, she’s right, Bernard. Now, I’ll tell you, you could go to Quincy. I know Bob Haskell’s itching to put an offer on the table. But he can’t match mine, and I think you’re better than the lowest rung on the totem pole. Boston may be the bigger town, more exciting for a young man on his own – but you could make a name for yourself in Hartford. You won’t find anyone welcoming you home in Boston like you will in Hartford.”

  Ben’s in Boston.

  “I’m very serious about this offer, Adam,” continued LeClerc. “And I’d like you to do me the courtesy of being serious about considering it. I can’t leave it on the table forever – but I don’t want to hold your feet to the fire, either. I also don’t want to have to go back to the team’s owners and tell them that you blew this off. You don’t know what will happen in the future: maybe you’ll change your mind in a few months. I’d like for you to leave this door open, in case that happens.”

  Farida was so tense, Adam was afraid she’d jump forward and accept right on the spot.

  Adam nodded slowly. “I don’t think my mind will change, sir, but all right,” he said carefully. “I can give you an answer in the morning.”

  LeClerc slapped his shoulder. “Good man. Think it over. Talk to your dad. Hugo, good seeing you.”

  “Stick around,” said Nilsson, stepping off the ice to join LeClerc. “It’ll be a hell of a game this morning.”

  “For a bit, sure,” said LeClerc as
they walked out of earshot.

  “Mon Dieu,” repeated Farida, eyes wide as she turned to Adam. “Please tell me you’re seriously going to think about this.”

  Adam shook his head. “Farida – it doesn’t change anything.”

  Farida grabbed his arm and yanked him to the side, further away from where Hugo and LeClerc were still talking and laughing. “What are you talking about? Did you hear how much they’re going to pay you? You could buy a house with that. In Westmount.”

  Westmount was the fanciest part of Montreal; the houses there were legendary for both size, stature, and price tag. No amount of five-year contracts were going to be enough to pay for even a corner of one. “A closet, maybe.”

  “Just... think about it, Adam,” said Farida. It could have been begging. “Please. Call your dad, maybe he’ll talk some sense into you.”

  Adam sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Farida... my answer’s going to be the same. I don’t want to leave Montreal.”

  Farida covered her face with her hands for a minute. “You... are... argh. I can’t talk to you. You’re impossible.”

  She stepped out onto the ice and headed toward the boys, still sprinting back and forth across the ice.

  “Farida!” Adam called after her.

  “Shut up! I’m sprinting because it’s less aggravating than talking to you.”

  “Oooooooo,” chorused the boys, who clearly weren’t out of breath enough not to chirp their coach.

  Adam ground his teeth and thought about adding to their sprints.

  But a glance at LeClerc and Nilsson, still laughing and still watching, held him back.

  I’m not going to take it, he thought.

  But the Sharks.

  The major-minor league team for Detroit, one step below the show itself. They were well-known for having a caring, supportive coaching staff. They regularly turned out excellent players who went on to great things in the NHL.

  And they wanted... him.

  Adam’s head whirled like a hurricane, pride and amazement and a strange sense of déjà vu, so much like the heady days of the draft, right before the car crash that destroyed everything.

  The eye of the storm, however, wasn’t Hartford at all.