“Fine.” Mina frowned. “I’ll tell them to leave and I’ll go be the perky little waitress with the great tits who waits on all the other boring jerks in the bar. Happy?”
Paul bit his tongue. You know, I hired you as a favor to your sister, and I could just as easily fire you because your attitude sucks. “Very happy,” he replied. “Are you happy I’m letting you keep your job?”
Mina said nothing as she stormed out of the office. Five minutes later, the bar was clear of bikers, though they did make a big show of leaving, muttering about “pussy bar owners” and kicking the occasional chair on the way out. Paul was glad to see them go. He wasn’t sure he was glad Mina was staying.
* * *
CHAPTER 23
Paul always faced the end of the hockey season bittersweet. The Panthers were down to the last game of the regular season. If they won, they’d make it into the playoffs by the skin of their teeth. If they lost, the season was over.
Spring had snuck up on Didsbury. One minute, people were complaining about digging out from yet another snowfall; the next, purple and yellow crocuses were bursting through the moist earth, heralding a return to sun and warmer days ahead. Last spring, Paul had formally announced his retirement. He was finalizing the deal to take over Cuffy’s and turn it into the Penalty Box. He’d sold his apartment in Manhattan and had bought the house in town.
Now he wondered, had he chosen the right path?
He looked around at the anxious little faces in the locker room as they prepared for what could be their final foray of the year on ice. A smile crept to his face; he was proud of them. Sean Bennett, who’d started the season barely able to skate, was now one of the best backward skaters on the team. Back-up goalie Tommy Tataglia used to scream when the team shot pucks at him during drills; now he was one of toughest little SOBs in the squirt division. Finally, there was Tuck, stoic as ever as he laced up his skates, the boy Paul knew had to be saddest about the season ending.
Hockey had kept Tuck focused and gave him something positive to pour his energy into. Paul assumed things weren’t as good at home as they could be. Mina had started showing up late for work, and calling in sick far too often for Paul’s liking. If it wasn’t for Katie, Paul doubted Tuck would ever make it to practice or games.
Katie. Every time he saw her he felt battered and bruised. She was so beautiful. No one made him laugh the way she did. She was looking very tired these days. He’d heard through the Didsbury grapevine that she was coming down to the wire with her book deadline. He knew she’d make it. If there was one thing you could say about Katie, she was disciplined.
The locker room had fallen unnaturally quiet, a phenomena Paul knew well from his days as a player. An outsider would never understand the depth of this brooding stillness, brought on by a unique blend of fear and anticipation.
“Listen up, guys.” Paul’s eyes swept over his players. He still found it to be the most effective tool in his coaching arsenal. “I know you’re nervous. If we win, we go on to the playoffs. And if we lose, this is our last game.
“You busted your butts and gave the game your all. You were all there for your teammates through thick and thin. I can’t tell you how proud I am to have been your coach.” He began choking up and took a deep, steadying breath. He clapped his hands together twice, breaking the spell. “Now let’s go kick some Stingray ass!”
• • •
As it happened, the Stingrays kicked the Panthers’ ass 4-1, but not for lack of trying on the Panthers’ part. Everyone played his heart out, and despite the increasing gap in the score as the game wore on, team morale was good. The boys knew they’d worked hard all year, and Paul could see they genuinely believed he was proud of them.
“You guys were awesome out there,” Paul commended as they straggled back into the locker room, sweaty and exhausted.
“We blew,” muttered Gary Flaherty.
“No, you didn’t. You guys really hustled. Someone has to lose, and unfortunately, today it was us. Here, maybe this will cheer you up.” He reached into a large cardboard box on the floor behind him and began pulling out New York Blades jerseys, tossing one to each of them. An appreciative murmur rose up in the locker room as each boy tore off his Panthers jersey, donning the pro jersey instead.
“What do you guys think?”
“Awesome!”
“Cool!”
“I’m never taking mine off!”
Paul chuckled. They looked like a pack of ragamuffins, the sleeves of the jerseys falling far beneath their fingertips, the hem brushing their knees. He’d toyed with the idea of getting them child-size jerseys, but these kids sprouted up so fast they’d likely outgrow them in a year. “I know they’re kind of big on you right now, but you’ll fill them out sooner than you think, believe me.”
“Coach?” Tuck’s voice was tentative.
“Yeah?”
“I know that, um, you were really bummed when you couldn’t play hockey anymore and stuff, but we’re all glad you wound up back here, you know?”
The boys nodded. Paul felt his eyes burning. “Me, too,” he said.
Six weeks later, Paul strolled into the Penalty Box on a busy Saturday night and got the shock of his life: There, sitting at the end of the bar nursing a Coke and reading the latest issue of X-Men, was Tuck.
Paul’s gaze shot to Frank, whose shrug said “Don’t ask me.” The place was packed with hockey fans watching a playoff between Philly and Dallas on the big-screen TV.
Paul went to his office and tossed his denim jacket over the arm of the couch before returning to the bar to look for Mina. She was busy taking orders from a pack of paunchy middle-aged men in hockey jerseys. Two were staring at her chest, the other three ogling her ass. Offensive as it was, Paul knew she’d get big tips from them.
“I need to talk to you a minute,” Paul said when Mina approached the bar to place her order with Frank.
“Talk away.”
“Not here. In private. In my office.”
Mina clucked her tongue. “Boss, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s a little crowded tonight.”
“In my office. Two minutes. I mean it.”
Paul returned to his office, gorge rising. First he’d deal with Mina, then he’d deal with Tuck. The office was more of a sty than ever, with bar and restaurant supplies now vying for space with the promo items. But he had no choice; the basement was tiny and though he was ashamed to admit it, he still hadn’t moved some of Cuffy’s stuff out of there. As a result, the staff were forced to hustle in and out of his office.
Waiting for Mina, he poured himself a glass of water from the cooler and threw three aspirin down his throat to ward off the encroaching tension behind his eyes.
Mina stuck her head around the door. “What’s up?”
“Come in. Close the door behind you.”
“Ooh, serious.” Mina did as she was told, standing with a smirk on her face and hands on her hips in a posture of complete inconvenience that was the final straw.
“This is serious. You’re fired.”
That wiped the smirk off Mina’s face. “But—why?”
“Why?” Paul echoed incredulously. “You’re never on time. You call in sick at least once every two weeks. And now you’ve brought Tuck with you to work!”
“He’s not in the way.”
“It’s a bar, Mina. Kids don’t belong in bars! What part of that don’t you get?”
“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Mina yelled. “I couldn’t find a sitter.”
“Bullshit. You—”
The door flew open, revealing another waitress, Daphne, looking mortified at having interrupted. “I, um, Frank needs some swizzle sticks.”
“Swizzle sticks,” Paul muttered to himself, glancing at the wall of unmarked boxes to his left.
“Top left,” Daphne offered helpfully.
“Right,” Paul muttered. He reached for the box and handed it to her. “Close the door behind you, will you, please, D
aph?”
“Sure, boss.” She gave Mina a sympathetic look on her way out the door.
Paul turned back to Mina. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, you were claiming you couldn’t find a sitter for Tuck. What about Katie?”
“She does have a life, you know,” Mina snapped.
“Your mother?”
“I don’t like him hanging out over there. She feeds him too much.”
At least the kid’s getting some nutrition, Paul thought.
“Look,” Mina huffed, panic rising in her eyes as she folded her arms across her chest, “I fucked up, all right? I’m sorry. I won’t bring my kid here again. I swear.”
“No, you won’t. Because you’re fired.”
“Boss.” Mina’s bravado was gone, replaced by a voice shaky with desperation. “I said I’m sorry. I promise I won’t be late anymore. I really, really need this job.”
“I’m sorry, Mina, but that’s not my problem. You’re a good waitress—when you bother showing up. I’m sure you’ll be able to find something else.”
Paul hated being such a hard-ass, but he had no choice. If she wasn’t Katie’s sister, he would have given her her walking papers long before now. It wasn’t fair to the rest of the staff to keep cutting her slack. She needed to learn that actions had consequences.
To his surprise—and horror—Mina began weeping. “Can I at least finish out tonight? I could use the tips.”
“Of course,” said Paul. He pulled a tissue from the box on the edge of his desk and handed it to her. “Stay in here as long as you like to get yourself together.”
Mina turned on him. “I can’t believe you’re doing this! You’re such a prick!”
“Right. I’m a prick.” Paul pushed past her. If he stayed one more minute things would really get ugly. “I’m taking your son over to your mother’s house.”
A zombie. That’s what Katie felt like sprawled on the couch, watching TV with her mom. She was so close to finishing her book she could taste it. It was the first thing she thought of when she woke in the morning, and the last thing to go through her mind before she closed her eyes at night. She’d spent hours working on it today, writing, revising, changing words, shifting paragraphs, reading aloud to herself to see if the writing flowed. She felt like she’d run a marathon.
The doorbell rang, startling her to full consciousness.
“Who on earth could that be?” her mother wondered aloud.
“Probably someone selling Girl Scout cookies to torment me,” Katie replied grumpily. She hauled herself up off the couch and plodded over to the door. She was unprepared for the sight of Tuck and Paul standing together on the doorstep.
“Hi, Aunt Katie,” Tuck said almost sheepishly, breezing right past her to join his grandmother in the living room. Katie looked questioningly at Paul.
“What’s going on?” she asked in a low voice.
“Mina brought him to the bar,” Paul replied quietly.
“Why didn’t she call me?” Katie hissed. “I would have watched him.”
“That’s something you need to discuss with her.”
“Paul?” Katie’s mother joined them at the door. “Come in, come in, please.”
Paul hesitated, then stepped over the threshold.
“Have you eaten?” Katie asked Tuck.
“I had some peanuts at the bar,” Tuck said happily.
“You want a hamburger, sweetheart?” Katie’s mother cooed. “I’ll make you one of my jumbo bacon burgers.”
“Yes!” Tuck punched his fist in the air triumphantly, following his grandmother into the kitchen.
Katie looked to Paul. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“It’s not your fault.” He sounded discouraged.
“What’s up?” Katie asked. She and Paul may not have gone out for all that long, but she still felt she knew this man. She knew when he was troubled, and she knew when he was in pain. Tonight he was both.
Paul was staring at her mother’s doll-packed curio cabinet. “Look, I don’t know how to say this.”
“Then I’ll say it for you,” Katie said softly. “You fired her.”
“Yeah.” Paul looked grateful she’d taken the words out of his mouth. “I’m really, really sorry, Professor, but—”
“Hey.” Katie tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “You don’t need to apologize. You were more than generous giving her a job in the first place. It was up to her to make a go of it.”
Paul glanced uneasily in the direction of the kitchen. “I know, but I worry about Tuck.”
“You did the right thing bringing him here, Paul.”
Paul frowned. “I don’t think your sister was very happy.”
“She never is.”
“I promise I’ll give her a good reference if she needs one. She’s a good waitress, she just…” He shook his head, looking for the right words. “… seems resentful that she has to work, if that makes any sense.”
“It does. Mina has always thought the world owed her something. Why, I’m not sure.”
“I hope your mother doesn’t hate me for this,” Paul said. He laughed glumly. “I also hope Cobra doesn’t come and break both my arms.”
“Snake,” Katie corrected. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s a pretty decent guy. Sometimes I like him better than Mina.”
They shared a bittersweet moment of laughter before awkward silence descended. It dawned on Katie that she’d taken his ubiquitousness for granted. In just a few months, she’d be back in Fallowfield, where every little thing Paul van Dorn said and did wasn’t written in the paper or dis-sected over burnt coffee at Tabitha’s. She would miss him. He’d become part of the fabric of her life.
“I guess I should get going,” said Paul.
“You sure you don’t want something to eat?” Katie offered. “If I know my mother, she’ll be making enough burgers to feed an army.”
“I should really get back to the bar, keep an eye on things.” He smiled sadly. “Sorry again about your sister.”
“Again, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“See you, Tuck!” Paul shouted so they’d hear him in the kitchen. “See you, Mrs. Fisher!”
“Bye, Paul,” both Tuck and his grandmother called.
Paul leaned over and kissed Katie on the cheek, a move both unexpected and thrilling. A fraternal kiss, nothing that could be misconstrued.
“Drive safely,” Katie told him as he walked out to his car.
“Will do,” he called back.
Katie stood watching in the doorway as he backed out of her driveway at lightning speed. Then he was gone, leaving her to brood over the mess both she and her sister seemed to have made of things.
Restless, Paul decided not to head back to the bar right away, but to cruise around Didsbury and try to clear his head.
Firing Mina had left him rattled. Was he being a prick, depriving a single mother of an income? Katie didn’t think so. Truth was, he was relieved to be rid of Mina. Her attitude and unreliability blew him away. If he’d ever talked to any of his coaches the way Mina had talked to him, his hockey career would have been even shorter than it had been.
He wasn’t driving anywhere in particular, just driving. But every road held a memory—one of the hazards, he sup-posed, of returning to the town you grew up in. He pulled up in front of his own house, cutting the headlights but keeping the engine running. What, if anything, did the outside of the house convey about the man who lived inside? Nothing. It was completely nondescript, devoid of any personality. He kept staring, trying to picture himself in it five, ten, thirty years from now. Tried picturing himself living here with a wife and family. He couldn’t. Shit, he couldn’t even picture himself here with a dog. He couldn’t see himself here in the future, and he didn’t really see himself here now.
He switched the headlights on again and drove back to Main Street, following the old trolley tracks that still ran down the center of the road. Saturday night and the only place hopping was the Pen
alty Box. He parked behind the bar and killed the engine, trying to imagine himself growing old in this town. He’d turn into Dan Doherty.
Ambling back into the Penalty Box, he stopped to say hi to the regulars before taking his usual seat at the end of the bar, the same one that had been occupied by Tuck earlier. Mina had pulled herself back together and was hustling back and forth delivering drinks, but that didn’t stop her from flashing him a dirty look. Paul ignored it. He opened his mouth to tell Frank to pour him a Boddington’s, but his bartender was one step ahead of him, plunking a beer down in front of him before moving away to tend to another customer. Paul stared uneasily at the dark brown draught before lifting it to his lips.
Was he that predictable?
The middle-aged men who earlier in the evening had been ogling Mina approached him, wanting autographs and NHL war stories. Paul obliged, but even while he was speaking there was another conversation going on in his head: What if the fans stopped coming? Would he still want to be here, night after night, if there were no autographs to sign, no glory days to talk about? Would he really be happy being “just” a bar owner who coached youth hockey on the side?
“Gentlemen, can you excuse me a moment?” Paul slid off his bar stool, clutching his beer. “I just remembered something I need to take care of.”
The men were gracious, clearing a path so he could depart. No need for them to know what needed taking care of was his mental health. He had to get out of the bar. Now. He felt the way he did when he realized he’d never play pro hockey again: boxed-in, panicky, in need of escape.
He ducked into the back office, quietly closing the door behind him. He remained there, eyes closed, trying to get his inner bearings. He was ravenously hungry. He’d leave, grab a bite to eat, go home, think.
Grateful for something to do, he swiped his denim jacket from where he’d tossed it on the couch earlier in the evening and put it on. It felt strangely light. He looked down: the left front pocket was empty. His wallet was gone.
Deirdre Martin Page 27
