by RJ Scott
Pavel was quiet; he didn’t really talk to me much, but Stan got a response every time he asked something in their native tongue. At one point Pavel was animated, and Stan explained they’d been discussing hockey. Apparently, Pavel was a huge fan and had messed around on a frozen pond, as most Russian kids did, alongside Canadians, and of course Swedes like me.
“Why didn’t we know he liked hockey?” I asked as we waited for Eva to come to the iPad to talk to us.
“I’m never ask him.” Stan was thoughtful. “We can put a rink in our garden.”
Privately, I wondered if that was overkill, but wisely I said nothing. Stan would think about this and conclude that maybe we should just be taking Pavel to the Railers’ practice rink and messing about there.
“With most big lights for playing in dark,” he added. I wasn’t sure our neighbors would be cool with floodlights. They may not have been close—after all Stan’s acreage was on the big side—but the lights would spread a long way if they were as big as Stan’s waving hands suggested.
“We need round thing on it,” Stan said as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “Big circles.”
I spoke Stan, most of the time, but I wasn’t entirely following this one.
“A circle?” Did he mean the lines and circles in the ice?
He gestured with his hands, this huge expansive wave of something that looked a little like…
“A dome? You want to build an ice rink in our yard, with lighting, and cover it in a dome.”
“A dome,” Stan repeated. “Much big, with popcorn maker and place for pucks and sticks. And seats for Mama and Galina to watch and a teeny tiny Jumbotron.”
I leaned over and kissed him. “You realize you are describing the Capital Ice Complex in Rutherford, our practice rink, right?”
He wrinkled his nose and then brightened. “We take him there,” he announced as if he’d thought that through and come to the right conclusion. I didn’t argue but was quietly pleased we weren’t going to alienate all the neighbors in our district with a brightly lit ice rink in our yard.
“Good call,” I said, and he was so proud of himself that my heart expanded just a tiny bit more with the love I had for him.
Eva sat in the chair at the table and peered at the screen but didn’t say anything. Not an enthusiastic hello or even the hint of missing us or even a smile. In fact, she seemed miserable and tired and pale. Was she ill? Stan began to talk to her, and I fired a quick text to Galina, asking what was wrong with Eva. Was it a reaction to food? Was our house too hot? Too cold? Was she ill from something she’d brought from Russia? Did she need to see a doctor? I couldn’t even concentrate on Eva and Stan talking while I conjured up all manner of horrible things in my head.
I placed the cell facedown on the table.
“How are you?” I asked Eva during the next break in her and Stan’s rapid-fire Russian.
“Okay,” she said and nodded. I thought she looked like she was going to cry, but no wonder she was. Her thin body was not only having to deal with America, the flight, losing her guardian, but was also being ravaged by hormones. I knew Galina would be helping her, but I needed desperately to say something that might make her smile.
“I miss you,” I said, which was the truth. Apart from the mini-tantrums and rudeness, I saw something of Stan in Eva, a love for life, a willingness to focus on the bright side of things. “I saw a beautiful flower today on the mountain, and it reminded me of you.”
Wow. Way to come off with the overkill vibe. Everyone stopped. Stan looked at me. I could see him openmouthed, and Eva’s eyes widened.
Fuck.
“What kind of flower?” she asked.
“I don’t know what it’s called, but even in the snow, it was growing and seemed like it was as strong as you are.”
“Oh,” she said and then gave a cautious smile. Maybe I’d connected with her inner teenage angst. Maybe I’d fucked up completely, and she was laughing at me, but I didn’t care. I’d made Eva smile. Me. With flower analogies and a willingness to open my heart. She shuffled in her chair. “Professor Pete is making us do math,” she said, but her smile didn’t drop. She leaned into the screen to tell us a secret, and I realized I mirrored her movement. “Pavel hates it, but I think I want to do math when I am older.”
“We can give much math to you,” Stan said eagerly. I didn’t ask how he was going to do that. After the whole domed-rink-in-the-garden thing, I imagined him coming up with the idea of building a math room just for her.
“Thank you,” she said a little shyly.
“We miss you much, our flower,” Stan said, and my chest tightened. That could either be complete overkill, or Eva could think it was the best thing ever.
“We miss you, too,” she said with no hint of embarrassment. “Come home soon.”
We said our goodbyes, blew kisses to Noah, and ended the call. It was six in the evening. I was tired from practice and would have liked nothing more than to cuddle with Stan in our bed at home and watch movies.
“Yo,” Adler shouted from the main door, “you ready or what?”
Tonight was dinner out. I wasn’t allowed to sit with Stan. I had to buddy up with someone I wouldn’t ordinarily sit with. That was the rule, and even though we all knew each other quite well, I decided that I would sit with Gids, the kid brought up from the Rush to fill the space with everyone moving lines to fill Ten’s shoes. I called him a kid, but I was only a few years older than him, but in hockey years I was like Old Father Time to his baby.
I was envious that somehow Stan had finagled it so he was sitting with Ten. I mean, come on, Stan and Ten are best friends. How had they managed that? I guess no one wanted to go toe-to-toe with the big man over where he sat and whom he sat with. Then, I realized as the evening progressed, that Stan had deliberately sat forward to give Ten a space to hide if it all became too much. Ten looked bright tonight, not at all angry that he’d had to leave the ice. He’d actually put in thirty minutes of slow drills, working on balance, which he hadn’t appeared to have lost, and practicing his wicked slap shot. We missed that slap shot, we missed Ten, but right now I had Gids next to me, and that was whom I needed to focus on.
“How are you?” I asked because that was the only question I could think of.
“Good. You?” he asked and half turned in his seat. He likely had a list of things that he thought we should talk about—mostly based around hockey, I guessed. I knew what his hockey was like. He’d make it to the Railers permanently one day. He was fast, focused, and reminded me of me at times. He was a good kid, earnest, and so damn smiley.
“Tell me about your family,” I said.
He paused a moment. “My family? I thought we were supposed to discuss hockey.” He glanced over at Coach, who sat at the head of the table with a serene expression on his face.
“Nah, I know you’re excellent at that, so tell me about your family. Who is Gideon Levesque?”
I found out he was the youngest of three brothers, the same as Ten, that no one in his family played hockey except him, that he loved his home city of Winnipeg, and that he really loved playing NHL hockey.
By the time the evening was done and we were heading back to the hotel, I’d bonded with Gids in a big way, invited him to the house, found out he loved reading, and that he was in awe of Ten. It was a good night, and we fist-bumped in the foyer before he left to go to his room. I sat in the bar, waited for Stan, wasn’t surprised when he and Ten, along with Jared, all sat with me. I wanted to ask how Ten felt, but that was probably the last thing he needed to be asked, so I asked him about the wedding.
“Small,” Jared said.
“But with family and friends,” Ten countered.
“At a hotel, end
of June.”
“At our house, in the gardens, July.”
They grinned at each other as if this was maybe an ongoing argument.
“With the Stanley Cup in attendance,” Jared said.
Ten laughed. “Well, that’s one thing we agree on.”
I wasn’t sure the Railers would get the cup this year. We were languishing at fifth out of eight and overall were about nineteenth out of all teams. We missed Ten. That much was clear. His accident had rocked us to the core, and we’d taken a long time to get our shit together and fight back. We were putting some solid points up now, but too many of them were overtime or shootout wins where we relied heavily on Stan and Bryan. Thank God we had two good net-minders. Maybe this year wasn’t going to be our year. It was more than possible we wouldn’t get to the very end and lift the cup, because miracles aside, we had a lot of catching up to do. Ten laced his fingers with Jared’s, and Jared nodded as if he was answering an unspoken question.
“Stan, I wanted to ask you something,” Ten began.
“Yes, yes. I’m stop all goals and lifting cup with you,” Stan interjected.
Ten reached over and patted his knee. “No, this isn’t about hockey. I wanted to ask you if you would be part of our wedding. Be a groomsman. It just means you show people to seats, and you stand next to me and my brothers and Ryker.”
Stan tensed, and I heard the soft sound he made. The one that meant he didn’t know what to say and that he was choked with emotion.
“Yes,” he said and stood, extending his hand to Ten. They hugged a while, and just when I considered breaking them up, they sat, grinning at each other like idiots.
Then Stan frowned and patted his heavy thighs. “I will write most excellent words to say.”
Jared began to talk. “You won’t need to do a speech or—“
“I’m need custom suit, like Elvis,” Stan interrupted.
I snorted a laugh. I couldn’t help it—the thought of my man in a flashy white suit with sequins was funny.
But Ten didn’t flinch at all. “Anything you want, big man. Anything at all.”
Stan
Nothing was more wonderful than coming home. The children were all happy to see us. Even Pavel clambered up to sit on Erik’s lap to watch a movie the night we returned. Noah took some offense to that, and a small shoving match broke out until I swooped the jealous little rabbit up and cuddled with him on my lap. I felt Pavel and Erik needed time to bond, as the difficulty with communicating was perhaps making my beloved feel left out. Noah settled down after a soft but firm whisper, and we all enjoyed Milo and Otis a great deal. That night, after the children were asleep, I made love to Erik, quietly, in the shower of our master bath. His cries of passion were buried in my shoulder. We tumbled into bed, exhausted but sated, our underwear clinging to our still damp skin.
The following morning, Sunday, Mama rapped on our door strongly at six in the morning.
“Make for to wear Sunday best clothes,” she shouted, and then went down the hall, waking the children for church.
“Muffle donuts,” Erik said into his pillow.
I rolled to my side, pulled him close, and dozed off. Five minutes later, Mama was hammering at the door again, startling us both badly.
“Church time. Get up or find foot in lazybone ass!”
“Her grasp of English cursing is improving by leaps and bounds,” Erik grumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“Oh, yes, we Russians are experts at making cussing,” I replied around a yawn. I lay there watching the flow of his muscles as he stretched his arms over his head. He was so beautiful, so toned, and so marked as mine. I touched the love bite on his side. He jerked and snorted and rolled out of bed. “You are the most beautiful man on this world. I love you so much. My love is so big.”
He smiled sweetly down at me. “My love for you is big as well,” he said, just as three children thundered past our bedroom door, shouting about who got the purple spoon for their oatmeal. “And my love for them is big, too.”
“As is mine. How do they wake up running? This is quite a question that I needs reply to.” I sighed, kicking off the covers and planting my feet on the floor.
Erik laughed. Then we went down to have oatmeal and toast. Galina and Arvy were meeting us at the Rose of Beulah Baptist Church, so they got to avoid the madcap meal. It seemed all meals were loud now. I loved it.
I was wiping the mess off of Noah’s face when someone knocked on the door. Knowing it was not my sister and her husband, I gave Erik a confused glance, handed him the wet washcloth, and stood, pulling the sash of my winter robe tight around my waist. At the door stood a slim woman, dark-skinned, with short black hair and an air of authority. She looked familiar.
“Hello, Mr. Lyamin. Do you remember me?”
“I think I should, but no. Sorry for that.”
She smiled up at me. “That’s fine. I know your life has been hectic since the children arrived. I’m Clarice Rose, from the Pennsylvania Department of Children, Youth, and Family Services. I’ve been assigned to assist and advocate for you and your partner in any post-adoption manners that you may need assistance with. Your final hearing isn’t until the end of the year, but I’m here to do an unscheduled placement visit. May I come in?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Clarice Rose, I remember now. Come in. We are just eating breakfast before church. You come with us to church!” I was happy to show Miss Rose our church. And our house and anything else she needed to see. Erik meandered out, hair rumpled, whiskery, with Noah on his hip. So beautiful my man and son were it took my breath away sometimes. When he saw Miss Rose, his blue eyes rounded. “Erik, Miss Rose from the Children Office of Family Planning is here for visit! She is going to church with us. There we will all sing and make good with God. Mama! Miss Rose from Family Planning is here! Get her bowl of oatmeal!”
“Stan, it’s not family planning,” Erik whispered as I tugged Miss Rose into the kitchen to see the children. “It’s child services, or something.”
I led her to a seat beside Eva. She seemed as if she were winded from running when she sat down. Mama placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of our guest and directed Miss Rose to eat, in Russian. I nodded and smiled. And Miss Rose had a hearty breakfast and then went with us to church, even though she was not so sure at first, but I talked her into it. She sat next to me looking very tiny.
A lot of singing and dancing took place, as did serious praying and asking God to bless those who are sick, hungry, and hurting. Again, the prickle of my family back in Russia nipped at me. Here I sat, in a fancy suit, with my sweet Erik, our beautiful children, Mama, my sister and her husband, and Miss Rose, without a care in the world. We had so much. I needed to find a way to help poor children in my homeland but had no idea how. I decided, as the chorus jumped into When I Get in Glory and Noah and I began to wiggle in our seats, that I would talk with Erik and then Layton Foxx. Perhaps the Railers would wish to set up something. Maybe a hockey tournament or a charitable foundation of some sort. The music was taking over my soul, so I stopped thinking and let the Holy Spirit make me sing and dance with Miss Rose.
And when Miss Rose left, she was happy and said we were doing much good things.
The following day, a Monday morning, I burst into Layton’s office, smiling, with a large cup of decaf coffee in hand. Layton stared up from the laptop he was tapping away on, his slim eyebrows drawing down.
“Are you bringing me coffee?” He sounded shocked.
“Ah, yes, but it is not bad jittery coffee. It is decaf coffee. Fools mind into being energetic.” I sat the jumbo decaf on his desk. It was a tidy desk. It fit Layton, who was also tidy. He sat back, crossed his arms over his dark blue suit jacket, and gave me a long look.
“What did you do?” he asked with resignation in his voice.
“Me?” I pointed to myself. He nodded. “I do nothing. Well, I mean I do many things. Today I wake up, suck on Erik’s—”
“Whoa, hold up.” He threw a hand into the air. “I don’t need a play-by-play of your morning. I mean what did you do wrong that I’m going to have to fix on social media? You must have done something, since you brought me coffee, and you’re always hounding me to give it up.”
“No, I say give up bad jitter coffee. This is good no jitter coffee, and I have done no bad.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is true. Crossing my heart.” I made an ”X” over my chest. “I bring you coffee gift to make you happy.”
“Uh-huh. Adler does the same thing.”
“Well, Adler is making to spoil you so he can nibble on your nuts.” Layton’s smooth cheeks flamed red. “I am not wishing to nibble your nuts. I nibbled on Erik’s this morning.”
“Stan, can we just get to the reason that you’re here?” His whole face was rosy now, even his ears.
I closed the door and sat across from him, shoving the coffee cup in his direction. “I wish to make a charity to help poor children. Mostly, I am thinking for Russian children, but I know America and Russia are not making nice right now. So for maybe poor children in Europe for more general help. I read online that one hockey player has big charity game for his child foundation. Invites many big names during summer. This player is from Norway, but I think maybe we could do this in Sweden? Erik knows many people there. We all do. I wish to make good life for poor babies. Can you help me do this?”
He blinked at me, grabbed my gift, and took a long swig. I could hear the other players, arriving for morning skate, walking past the closed door. Erik was coming in later. Our nanny’s car broke down, and so he had to go pick her up. Always something with children.
“I’m not sure that I’m the person to talk to about this, but I’d be happy to do what I can to get you headed in the right direction.”
I smiled and stood, shoving my hand at him. “Yes! You are miracle worker. I see how many bacons you save for the team, and I know, deep in heart, that you are man for the job. I leave you to make foundation big and good. Oh! Name it after my cousin who dies and leaves his children to Anatoli and then me. Call it the Lyamin Foundation for Children. Yes, I like this.” I pumped his hand hard.
