Cold As Ice

by Paige, Violet

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m good.”

  “That’s not what he said.” I wondered exactly what Daniel had shared with him. My brothers worked together. During high school and college, our father groomed them to take over the family business. Not that Dad was anywhere near retirement. The three of them ran Basham Brothers Furniture. My grandfather and his brother started the company with a single wood mill direct to the store business. My father ran it with no siblings. Now the brother part in the namesake had significant meaning again.

  There was a current of guilt that circulated around us about how I wasn’t brought into the furniture fold. Most of the time it didn’t bother me. I loved my job at the museum.

  I saw Cal reach for his back pocket. “No.” My voice was sharp. “Put that away. I don’t want money. I’m fine. I said I can handle it.”

  He was reluctant to let go of his wallet. “Why won’t you let us help you out?”

  “I do let you help me plenty of times. You both do a lot for Phoebe and me.”

  “We could do more,” he pressed. “Just let us give you money for Phoebe. Put it in an account for her or something.”

  “No,” I growled. “I don’t want family charity.”

  Cal took a step backward. “You’re taking mama bear to a whole new level.”

  I sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. The stack of bills rested behind me. “I appreciate that you and Daniel want to help. I do. But I’ve got this. I don’t want pity money, especially from my brothers or dad,” I tacked on.

  “You’re working two jobs. You’re barely home. I know hockey isn’t cheap. Neither is the sitter. Daniel and I make more than you do.” It was a small gut punch. They made more because they were on Dad’s payroll.

  This same conversation repeated itself every six months since Phoebe was born. I hadn’t changed my position in six years. I wasn’t going to change it tonight.

  “I don’t want your money, Cal,” I fumed. “My daughter needs to know she has someone in her life she can depend on. Someone who will do whatever it takes to provide for her. I’m not going to start taking your money now. I want her to know I did this for her. I’ve got this.”

  “You’re as stubborn as mom.”

  “Thank you. That might be the nicest thing you could say.” I let a smile slip.

  “It wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

  We stopped arguing when Phoebe danced her way between us. “Uncle Cal, want to watch a show with me?”

  I dared my brother to turn her down.

  He laughed. “Are there any explosions in this show?”

  “Cal,” I warned.

  “Nope.” Phoebe stared at him expectantly.

  “All right, kiddo. I’ll watch one with you.” He glanced at me over his shoulder.

  She looked satisfied, as if she had accomplished something significant.

  “I guess that means you’re staying for pizza?” I asked.

  “Pizza!” Phoebe squealed.

  “We can’t eat frozen chili, can we?” I lamented. I would take it to work with me tomorrow at the museum.

  “Let me get it,” Cal offered.

  “I’m getting extra pineapple, so the pizza is on me.” I shot Cal a warning stare and my brother backed off.

  “I’ll unlock the door when the pizza delivery is here.”

  I watched my daughter lead him to the living room where the TV was already turned to a cartoon series.

  While Phoebe was entertained, I had a few minutes to go through the mail. I poured a glass of wine and sat at the kitchen table. According to the camp form, there was a payment plan option I hadn’t noticed before. I could pay half now as long as the balance was paid before the end of camp. The dates coincided with Phoebe’s winter break. I had to suck it up. Hockey camp cost more than three days of a sitter, but I knew which one she would love.

  4

  Jack

  The arena was unfamiliar. I’d be more comfortable walking out of the visitors’ tunnel than the home tunnel. But the contract had been signed and the ink was dry. I was a part of the Dire Wolves now—their newest defenseman.

  A kid whizzed past me. Her head barely reached my waist. Another followed right behind her. The lights glared off the ice. It was quiet inside other than the youth coaches and the public relations managers talking to the local press about the three-day event.

  “Faster than you’d think for the tot league, aren’t they?” Bradley stood beside me, his skates sliding back and forth while we were circled.

  I nodded, observing the girls skating around us. They were dressed in pink skates and helmets. Scribbled across the front of their hockey sweaters was their club name: Ice Puppies.

  “All you have to do is skate a few drills with them. Hit some pucks. Block some shots, but not overkill. They’re kids. You have to keep that in mind. And then there will be a photo session. It’s pretty simple. It’s an easy three-day camp.”

  “Yeah, we did something like this in Milwaukee,” I explained. I thought it was standard for teams to work with kids’ clubs. “How old are these girls?” I asked. I couldn’t believe how small they were.

  “Five and six, man. Tiny.”

  “Did they ever think about naming them the bees instead of puppies? They’re everywhere.”

  Bradley laughed. “Just wait until you see the next age group. The boys actually swarm us. They fight over who their favorite players are. They know who we are.”

  “And the girls don’t?” I questioned.

  “Sure. They know our names and they watch the games, but they aren’t impressed. They just want to play. They’d rather be on the ice.” He tapped my shoulder and I knew I was up for the next drill.

  “I think I like that.” I had to get my stick in position as two of the puppies skated toward me. One of the girls tried to pass the puck to the other, but it was too hard of a hit and the other girl lost control of it.

  “Don’t worry about it. It happens all the time.” I could see she was upset she missed the pass. “Try again.”

  It was my first public event as a Dire. It was my first event as part of the team. I’d skated, but we hadn’t had a full practice. The league was in the middle of All-Star week. It was quiet at home. No games until the All-Stars wrapped up.

  I’d been in the All-Star game for the Ice the last three years. It was hard not to feel like I was missing out on something.

  “I’ve never seen you before,” the little girl said, examining me after she shot the puck. Her blond hair fell in two braids over her shoulders. “Are you a helper?”

  “Helper?” I almost choked.

  “Yeah, those guys who help out on the team. Get the water bottles and stuff. Hold the equipment.”

  I skated backward, following her. Nothing felt right. The jersey colors were wrong. The fabric didn’t feel the same. When I changed in the locker room it was as if I was having an out of body experience. Now this little girl had mistaken me for one of the team’s interns.

  “Maybe I’ll upgrade to helper.”

  She gripped her stick. “That would be good. Then you can move up and play more. It’s more fun to play than sit on the bench.”

  I nodded. “You have a good point. I’ll think about that plan.”

  “Novak! Time for pictures. Come on.”

  I skated in the direction of the announcement. A group of photographers was sectioned off by a square of carpet placed on top of the ice. Someone from the hockey camp started to arrange the kids in rows to take pictures.

  I wanted to get this over with. My leg was starting to burn, something I wasn’t ready to admit to the Dire trainers.

  I skated regularly, but I was worried the cold was what made it ache. It seemed to hurt the most when I was near the ice. I couldn’t think about it. I moved where the photographer’s assistant pointed. They snapped one photo and then another. I felt like a fraud standing like a statue behind the girls. I wasn’t a part of the Dires. Some guys took a few days of
f for vacation during All-Star week. I’d heard some were in the Caribbean, others in Mexico.

  I stepped off the carpet.

  “Novak, don’t go anywhere,” the promotions manager barked. “There’s one more.”

  The little girl with braids skated toward us. I smirked when she recognized me.

  “Are you one of the players?” she whispered.

  I nodded. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ohh.” She looked straight ahead at the camera and smiled on command. Kids were better at this stuff than we were.

  The photographer took a few shots and then waved us off.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you were a player. Why haven’t I seen you here before?” she followed me on the ice.

  “I’m new,” I explained. “Joined the team last week.”

  “Are you any good?”

  I laughed. “I can play.”

  She twisted her lips together. “But where did you come from?”

  “Milwaukee,” I answered.

  It looked as if she was considering whether Milwaukee was a real place. Her face was pinched together in concentration.

  “Did you want to play for the Dires?” she pushed.

  Shit. This kid had a lot of questions. I wasn’t about to tell her I was kicked off my team and traded because of my leg. It seemed like a heavy conversation to have with a child who was just learning how to pass the puck.

  “Phoebe! Come on. It’s time to go. Camp’s over.”

  We both spun to face the seats over the team tunnel.

  “That’s my mom. I’ve got to go. She doesn’t like it when I’m late. I’ll get in trouble. She’s says I need to be a more responsible timekeeper. She bought me a watch.”

  “You better go then. See you tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I get to skate for three whole days. I’m not going to miss Ice Puppies camp.”

  I barely heard what the kid said. I had looked into the stands and my eyes landed on waves of dark hair, spilling down her shoulders and over her breasts. I saw luscious red lips. As I skated closer, I saw curves. I swallowed. So many damn curves. Was that the kid’s mom?

  She leaned over the railing, trying to get her daughter’s attention. “Phoebe, go get changed. I’ll meet you by the locker room. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Phoebe spun on her skates to face me. “What’s your name?”

  I stopped. My eyes locked on the woman in the fan seats. She wore a black pencil skirt, heels that showed off her calves, and a button-up white blouse. “Novak,” I mumbled. “Jack Novak.”

  “Cool. I’m Phoebe. Phoebe Elizabeth Basham. I’ll see you tomorrow Jack Novak.”

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow, kid.”

  My eyes darted back to the railing, but Phoebe’s mom had already disappeared. I thought about heading her off at the locker room, but I let the moment pass. It was a fucking stupid thought to even chase after her. She was probably married. Phoebe seemed like the kind of kid who came from a good home. She wasn’t shy. She was inquisitive and athletic. It probably wasn’t a good home, but a great home. Something I didn’t know anything about.

  5

  Noelle

  I checked my phone while I waited for Phoebe outside the locker room. Ten minutes later she waddled out, hauling her huge equipment bag over her shoulder. It weighed more than she did. I tugged it off her shoulder so she could stand up straight. It was hard to balance on my heels, but easier for me than for her tiny frame.

  “How was camp?” I asked. She was smiling from ear to ear. I already knew what she would say. Phoebe was the kind of child who always wore her emotions on her face.

  “Awesome! And I met one of the new players.”

  “That’s great. Come on. I have to get you home before I go to work. Lucy will be there in thirty minutes. You can tell me about it in the car.”

  Lucy was the babysitter who lived across the street. She was a senior in high school. I didn’t know what I was going to do when she moved to college at the end of the summer. She was affordable, and lucky for me, had no interest in dating high school boys. She was almost always available to babysit whenever my work schedule changed. Lucy’s move was going to be a huge disruption for Phoebe too. She was attached to Lucy. I’d deal with that later. Right now, I was trying to survive one day at a time.

  I shuttled Phoebe out the door and into the cold. Her cheeks were flushed from playing. She didn’t want to wear her coat or scarf. The icy air hit the backs of my legs.

  “You look pretty, Mommy,” Phoebe commented as I shoved her gear in the trunk.

  “Thanks. I had a meeting this afternoon.”

  “What kind?”

  I turned the ignition and blasted the heat to the backseat for her.

  “A presentation to some of the museum bosses.”

  “Hmm.” That reaction meant I had moved into boring Mommy talk.

  The pitch had gone well, at least I thought it did. I would find out in a few weeks whether my department would receive the funding for the art experience program. I had stopped short of asking for a raise as part of the budget. I should have done it. I had all the directors in one room. They listened to my presentation. I had command of their attention. Yet, I focused on the program. I broke down every line item that needed money. Every single one except my salary.

  I had been with the museum three years at the same pay scale. A raise would mean I could stop picking up second jobs. It would mean more time with Phoebe. Less time in my car. More time cooking. I sighed. It was a luxury I didn’t fight for today. I pushed down the disappointment I had in myself and pulled into the driveway.

  The lights were already on.

  “Lucy’s here,” Phoebe announced as she unbuckled and scrambled out of the backseat. My daughter was a whirl of pink Ice Puppies gear and bouncing braids as she hurried up the front steps.

  The exhaustion was starting to seep into my muscles. But I had to turn around and head to Millers. There was no night on the couch with pizza and Doc McStuffins. I climbed the steps, gripping the coat to my chest.

  Lucy was on the floor with a puzzle. “We can do this after your bath,” she laid out the plan to Phoebe. Enticing her to get in the tub first was smart.

  “Just grabbing a power bar and then I’m out.” I smiled at the babysitter as I walked through to the kitchen. My heels sounded hollow on the hardwood floor.

  “Don’t worry about anything here.”

  “I know you can handle it,” I called over my shoulder. I wasn’t worried about Lucy. I was worried about me. How much longer could I keep this up?

  “You need to get in the tub,” Lucy argued with Phoebe.

  “But I want to tell you about camp. I learned how to pass backward, and it was awesome. I’m really fast, Lucy.”

  “Fast probably means you’re stinky now. You need a bath.”

  “Okay, but can I tell you about the new guy?”

  “Sure. While I’m washing your hair.”

  I leaned against the kitchen wall, eavesdropping on their conversation. It was as if Phoebe knew I needed a reminder about why I was doing all this. It was her. The way her face lit up when she skated. The big goofy grin she wore when she played. The way she talked about hockey. The confidence it gave her. The joy it brought to her life.

  I grabbed the power bar, blew my daughter a kiss in the direction of the hall bathroom, and climbed in my car.

  * * *

  “Miss Basham, there’s a client waiting for you in room three.” Clyde Harrel’s lips pursed as if I was being admonished. I was on time. I never clocked into Millers late.

  I flattened my skirt and straightened my collar before taking the customer intake form.

  “Someone I’ve seen before?” I asked Mr. Harrel. Most of the shoppers who frequented Millers preferred the high-end chain to any other boutique or store. It made for a difficult level of clientele.

  “He is one of your repeat clients.” The stuffy floor director walked away
without passing on any more details.

  I flipped over the front sheet and spotted the name at the top of the page: Charlie Babcock. My stomach rolled. I had to remind myself he was a big tipper. One of the biggest. I could easy pocket $500 tonight if I just played along.

  I applied an extra coat of lipstick and walked into the private fitting room. The walls were paneled in mahogany. There were two velvet chairs situated in front of the mirrors. I was hit with Charlie Babcock’s cologne before I slid the door closed behind me.

  “Hi, Mr. Babcock. Nice to see you’re with us again.”

  “Charlie. I keep telling you, Noelle. I want you to call me Charlie.”

  “Right. Charlie.” I said it with trepidation. I had hoped to keep distance between us. Last names felt like a good place to set boundaries. But Charlie Babcock wasn’t the kind of man who recognized boundaries. He stood ten feet from me. His eyes trailed from my ankles to my hips and settled on my chest. I clutched the clipboard closer.

  “Can I get you something to drink before we begin tonight?” I offered.

  “Noelle,” he said my name with an intimate tone. “You know I’m a scotch man. I’m a little surprised you didn’t have one waiting for me.” I didn’t correct him. I didn’t know he was on the appointment schedule until I walked into the store tonight.

  “That’s right. I do. I’m sorry.” I crossed the room to where the client bar was stocked with high-end liquors and champagne. I poured a crystal glass a third full of Macallan Rare, his favorite. When I turned Charlie was directly behind me. He took the glass and winked.

  “Thank you, Noelle.” My stomach curdled again. If only there was a way to keep him from saying my name, or sneaking up behind me.

  I nodded and ducked into an open space closer to the door. “Last time you were here, I fitted you for a traveling suit. It looks like you have an event in New York next week.” I lowered the file. He was sipping the scotch, but his eyes bore into mine.

  It made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Charlie Babcock was an attractive man. He had a full head of hair and high cheekbones. His was tall and he worked out. I guessed he did more cardio than weights, but he was in shape. He was also an extremely wealthy man. The kind of money that not only could buy the entire city of Richmond, but also the state of Virginia. His name was on half the buildings. But the handsome local Daddy Warbucks was a sexist prick and known to treat the women in his company like second-class employees. I had never been a fan. Not since my friend Alana interned at Babcock’s corporate office during the summer between college semesters. The stories she told were brutal. But working at Millers meant I had to help the clients I was given, regardless of their reputations. I couldn’t pick and choose. I wasn’t here for the ten-dollar an hour salary. I was here for the tips. And no one tipped like Charlie.