by Ellie Hall
“An Accidental Love Story. The opening lines would be about a girl passing out and a guy catching her, but they both just kept falling and falling.”
We lean against each other, watching the tide wash in seashells and pebbles, smoothing their craggy and jagged edges as the sun rises.
Then adding to our story, I say, “When they finally land, it’s on a giant cupcake, covered in cushiony frosting so they don’t, you know, break an arm.” Or heart.
At my ridiculous description, we belt out laughter and it tears a page out of the book I’ve kept shelved in my mind all these years then floats out to sea.
In the days leading to the weekend, I’m a baking machine. Rusty spends most of his time at the rink. It’s been warm here and especially hot in the kitchen.
Oma sticks to the living room and has been taking more naps than when I first got here. I think she’s tired of having house guests. After the game this weekend, I’m going to talk to Oma and Rusty about Magnolia and then my parents to figure out what to do.
But first, I bake.
I’m already bleary-eyed, and in need of a week-long nap before I get ready to sell cookies and cupcakes. Instead, Zoe texts me, frantic, asking me to meet her at the Roasted Rudder, alone.
When I arrive with Magnolia in tow, she paces behind the counter, running her hand through her hair, making it stick up at odd ends.
“You know how Russell is the winger, the enforcer?” she asks.
I nod.
“He deters or responds to dirty play. He protects the star players and last night he chose to protect me.”
My throat is dry.
“It’s a dangerous role because he can get hurt physically, but also because he has something to lose.”
“Zoe, I don’t follow.”
The quiet of uncertainty stretches between us. “After I went home last night, I discovered something was missing. I’d had our savings, for Cookie & Cupcake, in my wallet because I was going to get supplies tomorrow—or rather, today—to start baking for the game this weekend. This morning, I couldn’t find my wallet. It was gone.” Her breath hitches. “All of it. Everything. I hadn’t gone to the bank, because the truth is, having all that cash on hand was like a visual reminder that I’m going to get out of here.”
The lump forming in my throat isn’t because I’m upset she lost our savings or how Rusty might be involved, but what this means for her.
“I texted friends, asking if anyone had found it. I retraced my steps, checking everywhere. It turns out there was a party after the game last night. Same old thing since high school.” Her breath hitches. “It turns out, Jared and his buddies sponsored the event. When asked where they got the cash, someone shouted cookies.”
“As in the money to save the rink and make your grand exit.”
She nods. “Russell got wind of this—probably from some big mouth in town.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?” I scratch out.
“Because he punched Jared. Knocked him out. Hockey guys can be prone to sorting out differences physically rather than with words.”
Yeah, he doesn’t always have a lot to say...until he opened up to me that early morning on the beach that feels little more than a dream. “In that case, his arm must be feeling fine.”
“As small-town things go, unfortunately, Jared’s uncle is the hockey coach. Word spread quickly and there were threats that he’d be kicked off the team.”
Confusion knots my mind. “But he’s not on the team.”
A V forms between Zoe’s brow. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No, I already said that. I don’t like the idea of Dr. Koenig punching people.”
“Yeah, Seaswell can bring out the worst in the best of us.”
It’s only a moment later that I realize what she meant. “Wait, he’s back on the team?”
“The coach asked him. He said yes.”
I try to speak but the words stick in my throat. No, my chest. Why wouldn’t he tell me? Is it because I’ve been so busy baking?
“I’m sorry, Lottie. I thought you knew.”
It turns out that I didn’t leave my bad luck in Manhattan or tap into good luck when I met Rusty.
I feel slightly dizzy, but breathe deep, forcing away panic. “So the thing he has to lose is his spot on the hockey team?”
“And his reputation. I doubt he’d want the altercation to get back to New York.”
I harrumph. I’ll deal with him later. Right now, I have one purpose. “Zoe, I will get the money back.”
I was the victim of a robbery once. I couldn’t do anything about it then, but now, I have the opportunity to right a wrong. And good luck or bad, I will do it...or fall on my butt trying.
16
The Doctor is In
Rusty
Oma sits at the kitchen table with photo albums spread across the surface. She hunches over one, studying each picture.
“Good morning, Oma,” I say in Latvian.
I lean over her shoulder. A young woman, wearing a white dress with a blue and gold cape and a crown with ornate beadwork stands shoulder to shoulder with another dressed almost identical. “Is that my mother?”
The room is quiet except for Oma’s inhale. “No, my dear, that is me. I was so young. The dress and the festivals back then weren’t considered traditional, it was just what we did. I felt so pretty. Things changed so much.”
She flips the pages, revealing more elaborate costumes, her skin smooth, her smile radiant. I pour a bowl of cereal and join her.
“I would have made you apple pancakes,” she says, as though offended, but maybe it’s the crunching as I chew, interrupting her contemplative reminiscing.
She’s quiet while she flips the pages, separating photos that have stuck together, as though the subjects don’t want to be apart. There’s another one of my grandmother as a teen, dressed in a long red skirt and a cream-colored shawl. Again, a crown tops her head. A stormy sea splashes behind her, but her smile is placid, dreamy.
“I’d met your grandfather that week. He was the first and only person to tell me I was beautiful.” She traces her crooked finger over the image.
Lottie’s image floats into my mind.
“I see that look on your face, mazdēls. You’re thinking about her.” Water rims her eyelids. “We don’t tell the people we care about how dear they are to us enough. Make sure she knows how you feel.”
I stop short of dropping my bowl of cereal. Yes, I was thinking about Lottie—about how much I care about her and how I should’ve mentioned that the coach asked me to fill in during the playoff game and about how I went and punched his nephew. But mostly, I’m shocked at my grandmother’s show of emotion.
“Don’t look so surprised. The two of you and that smelly dog brought something back to this house that was missing. I believe she helped you find something inside of you that was missing as well.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d believe I entered an alternate reality. I look around for a glitch in the matrix. But no, this is my stoic, stern, and stubborn grandmother speaking to me about matters of the heart. Gaining her attention and her affection was a childish wish, long since abandoned. But the embers are there and it gives me hope.
“I’m playing in the tournament Saturday night if you’d like to come watch,” I say.
She harrumphs. “What business do I have there?”
“To watch your grandson win.” I wear my cockiest hockey star smile.
The all too common narrowing of her eyes makes me want to prove myself just as it always did, but like a blip in this alternate reality where my grandmother is semi-warm and forthcoming, I now see the expression on her face as a dare rather than doubt in my ability.
Have I been reading her wrong all this time? Was she on my team, daring me to give the opposition my best?
Before I can think twice, I blurt, “I’d like you to be there. For now, I have to go practice.”
My arm is fine. My knuckles after last nig
ht, questionable.
When I’d found out that go-nowhere loser took Zoe’s money, Lottie’s money, and the rink’s, I had something to say about it. Rather, my fist did. I don’t regret it because I’ve been wanting to punch Jared ever since he chipped my tooth and then later when he’d told his father I’d rigged betting on a game years ago. For the record, I didn’t.
Each of those experiences pushed me toward getting away from the small-town drama. But like with Oma just now, being back here with Lottie, and seeing Seaswell through her eyes, I have a new appreciation for the windswept shore, the weather-beaten buildings, and the gritty yet generous people. Well, not everyone. Most of them though. Also, the Grapenut ice cream. Maybe I’m the weirdo.
When I get to the rink for practice, I spot Lottie and Zoe talking in the bleachers. I wave, but only Zoe hollers a hello in response. I should’ve told Lottie that I was asked to play, but she’s been so busy with the cupcakes, I didn’t want to concern her. Also, I worried she’d try to keep me from the ice because of my arm. The thing is, I’d do it for her.
If Lottie asked, I’d do anything for her. I’d rather get hit with hockey puck at full speed than think about how scary that feels.
Soon there’s the swish of skates and pucks hitting the sideboards as I drop into the zone where it’s the team, the ice, and me.
When we get a break, I go to the locker room and text Lottie, hoping to smooth things over.
Me: Meet me in the locker room. I add a winky face.
Lottie: It says no girls allowed on an obnoxious neon sign with a sticker that looks like a hamburger or something.
Me: I put it there. Ignore it.
Lottie: I’m not typically a rule breaker. You know, my lack of luck and all.
Me: Koenig rules rein here. Also, I’ll look after you.
Lottie: Hotshot.
I sit on the bench, waiting for her, and twisting my stick back and forth as if I’m trying to start a fire.
Lottie’s comment about being a hotshot brings to mind the old me. I was a hotshot. Thought I was God’s gift to female hockey fans. The no girls allowed sign and hamburger sticker was a joke. They could only come in here if they brought an offering—food was popular. Among the other guys, so were other things like fooling around. I was loyal to Zoe until she ruined things.
After stepping away for so long, changing my life, and now meeting Lottie, I realize that Zoe did me a favor. It was one more thing that prompted me to get the heck out of Seaswell. Had that not happened, I wouldn’t be back here with the woman of my dreams and imagining a life together. Dreams I didn’t realize had.
When Lottie hesitantly opens the door, peering inside, the smile on my lip quivers.
“Hey, gorgeous. You look chilly.” I reach for her, wanting nothing more than to kiss the scowl off her lips.
She plants herself out of reach and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “First of all, with my luck, the coach will catch me in here and I’ll get kicked out. Only, it wouldn’t be that simple. Something ridiculous would happen involving a sweaty jersey, a pair of hockey skates, puck, a bunch of hay, and stick. I’d become a meme and public humiliation would ensue.”
“Sounds like you’re making yourself into a scarecrow.” I chuckle. Her imagination amuses me.
“Yep. That’s me. Always scaring the guys away.” She turns away, hiding her scar. I still don’t know what happened and am trusting she’ll tell me when she’s ready. I see the scar, but I wasn’t lying when I see pure beauty. I wish she did too.
I get to my feet, balancing on my blades and towering over her as I try to draw her close. “You don’t scare me away.”
She steps back and bumps into the locker doors with a clang. “I know I’ll just cause trouble, a catastrophe for sure. I’m surprised the AC unit hasn’t died, causing the ice to melt. Happened once where I used to practice.”
“How could that have been your fault?”
“My friend and I were goofing around and a pom-pom got sucked into the fan.” The pink one on top of her hat bobbles.
Again, I chuckle. “I offer you my immunity. No one will mess with you here and I will protect all pom-poms and air conditioning units,” I say confidently.
I can kiss her unhappiness away. But she pulls away.
“And you’ll protect Zoe.” She pouts, her upper lip pooching out in a cute way.
“Did she tell you?”
“While I was busy baking cupcakes and trying to get your grandmother to bond with Magnolia, you were out getting in fights.” Then she adds, “And agreeing to play when you’re hardly healed from a broken arm.”
“That guy had it coming to him—our beef goes way back. Plus, it was for you, the bake sale money, and the Ice Palace.” As the words come out, it sounds like I’m pleading. It sounds like I’m seventeen-year-old me all over again and not the doctor who decided it was better to keep his fat mouth shut. I lean against the locker, blocking her in.
“And Zoe.” She ducks under my arm.
“What about Zoe?”
Lottie trips on my hockey stick and launches herself toward the bench. Before I can catch her, she hits her chin hard.
I crouch down and there’s already blood. A lot of it. I switch out of wanna-be hockey star mode and into my role as a doctor, cursing myself for not moving faster.
“We have to apply pressure,” I say, grabbing a clean towel from my bag.
Remembering when we met and when she passed out, I’m about to tell her to keep her eyes focused on me, but she looks down.
“I’m bleeding?” Her fingers move to her chin in slow motion as the white towel turns red.
“Lottie. I need you to look at me. Focus on my eyes.”
Her gaze lifts with a flicker of hesitation as if she’s asking if she can trust me.
“Yes, Cupcake. I’m here. I am going to take care of you,” I breathe, trying to soothe her.
This is a minor injury. I can already see she just split the skin on her chin. She’ll need three stitches, tops. But to her, it’s more.
It’s blood.
Another blemish on her face.
The fear of a repeat of whatever happened the first time.
Pale, she blinks a few times. “I don’t feel good.” Her voice wavers.
“Cupcake, stay with me. Focus on my eyes. Remember, I know what I’m doing. You might not be okay with the sight of blood. But I am. And I’m going to get you patched up.” I prop her up against my giant gear bag and have her apply pressure to the cut so I can take off my skates and my bulky outer gear.
I dig through my bag for my medical kit. “Just hang in there.”
“The towel is so red.” Her voice is small and far away.
“Believe it or not, red is my favorite color,” I say, joking.
“Your eyes are mine.” Her voice is dreamy now. “I’m having a panic attack.”
“Your body is trying to protect you, but I will do that. I promise. You are safe. So just focus on that right now.”
“This is much worse than being a hockey scarecrow.”
Only she would come up with something so silly, but I agree. “It’s probably worse. But I’m going to get you cleaned up and stitched up. Or we can head to the hospital. It’s only about fifteen minutes away.”
“Have you done stitches before?”
I let out a breath. “Oma didn’t teach me how to cook very well, but she taught me to sew.”
Her eyes widen and the last of the color in her cheeks fades.
Too soon to joke? I place my hand on her arm. “Lottie, I’m an ER doctor. Of course, I know how to do stitches. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve performed. And look, I have a medical kit here with me because I’ve given myself stitches three, four times.” I point out the barely visible scars.
“You have a terrible bedside manner,” she mutters as if my joke about learning to sew with Oma, which is true, was unwelcome.
“How about I work on improving it? And communicating more. L
etting you know if I punch someone out before you hear it second hand.”
“And join the hockey team.”
“It’s just this once.” Of course, more if I want it to be. What I want is more with Lottie. “I want you to trust me, but I have to earn that.”
Again, her eyes meet mine. This time, there’s no flicker of hesitancy. “I do trust you. Stitch me up.” She lies flat on the wooden bench as if I’m going to perform surgery.
I chuckle. “Head above the heart, Cupcake. Plus, I have to get you cleaned up first.”
About a half-hour later, Lottie is back on her feet and I give her my sweatshirt because she got blood on her sweater.
“Oma can get that out.”
“I take it you’ve gone home bloody on more than one occasion.” Her gaze travels from my eyes to my lips and back again. “I can’t quite make sense of the guy I met at the blood bank who hardly said two words, the tough hockey bruiser, and this guy. It’s like there are multiple versions of you. Not in a split personality kind of way, but like you keep things separate—I’ll have to consult the DSM.” She tucks her hands into the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie and leans close. “But I happen to like all of you even if I’m not always sure which one I’m getting.”
“Maybe it’s time I reconcile the three.” I let out a long breath—one I may have been holding since everything happened and I left home. Left that version of me behind.
“I guess we’re just getting to know each other. And since coming here, I’ve changed too, sneaking out to the beach. Sneaking in here.” Her eyes brighten all of a sudden like a lightbulb went off in her mind. “I’d better get back to the cupcake factory.”
Maybe she forgot to turn off the oven? Should I call Oma? “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just had a great idea. Thank you for fixing my chin, Dr. Koenig.” Her eyes crinkle as she starts to smile then she winces from the stitches before lifting onto her toes and kissing me on the cheek.
“Thanks for the good luck kiss,” I call after her, but the locker room door already swishes shut.
