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Then there’s Carter, who tries to act like he doesn’t really care about anything except making jokes. But I’ve seen glimpses of there being more to him beneath what he lets on. Just the other night, he was the star adult with the kids at the skating event. We had to keep splitting groups off to spend time with the other players and the girls trying to teach figure skating. Every time we took our eyes off them, they’d sneak back to Carter’s group, where everybody was laughing and having the time of their lives.
Liam is still a little bit of a mystery to me. For most of the time I’ve been here in Frosty Harbor, he has been busy with the girl from town named Avery. I took him for the typical heartthrob who shrugs off break ups without a care, but I’ve been surprised to see how hard he’s taking the end of their little fling. Mostly, he’s just been sulking around the house and withdrawn since it happened.
I eye Maddox, who is happily chomping on his french toast across from me. I can’t say I’ve fully explored the depths of Maddox, if there are any. He seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t ever try to dig too deeply into his own thoughts. Maybe he’s exactly what he lets on.
He notices me looking, lifts one of his french toast sticks, and extends it toward me for a kind of toast. A french toast toast.
I grin and tap my stick to his. Cinnamon and brown sugar drift down to the table and we both take a bite.
“So, Mojo” I say, curious to make conversation with him. “Who is the best player on the team?”
“Jesse,” he says simply. “I mean, right now he’s all gimped up so not technically. But normally, he’s the best. Without him, it’s looking like we may miss the playoffs this year.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Jesse has that killer instinct on the ice. He just always knows when to take the shot and where to put it. It’s like magic.” Maddox considers, frowning at his french toast stick, then looks back up at me with surprise in his eyes. “Probably is magic.”
“Have you always been… um,” I search for a delicate way to put my question. “Interested in superstitions and things like that?”
“Oh, definitely. My mom was a palm reader. She taught me all about it. And have you ever seen those Conjuring movies? My dad was kind of like Ed Warren. He’d go to people’s houses and help them with hauntings and stuff like that. They both passed,” he adds, looking uncharacteristically sad for a moment. “Keeping my finger on the pulse of this kind of thing makes me feel like I’m still with them, I guess.”
“Wow,” I say. I definitely wasn’t expecting that out of him. “That’s really sweet.”
He nods, chomping down on his food and leaning closer, face suddenly growing serious. “Look. I know how crazy it all sounds, but think about this, okay?”
“Ready to think,” I say.
“Alright, here’s the way I see it. Nature isn’t perfect. Every natural process has imperfections. A whole forest can burn and you’ll still find intact trees. A rainstorm can pass over a city and miss a whole block.”
“Can it though?” I ask, eyes narrowed.
“Hold your questions, please,” he says seriously.
I grin. “Okay.”
“So, we’ve agreed that nature's grasp on reality is imperfect. In fact,” he says, raising a finger. “You could argue imperfection is actually the natural state of things.”
I feel a slight sense of concern that his little speech is actually making a touch of sense to me, but I don’t see how he’s going to tie this into superstition.
“Therefore,” Maddox says. He looks triumphant already, even though he hasn’t made his final point. “This whole idea that we’re stuck in our own head with no access to forces outside ourselves?” He leans across the table toward me. “It’s there, but it’s not perfect, either. Stuff slips in. Intuition. Psychic insights. Spiritual experiences.” He lifts his palms. “It’s all crazy to most people. To me, it’s just part of the natural order of things.”
Nolan returns with warm syrup that smells like cranberries and faintly of liquor. He pauses. “Oh, no. Is he giving you the nature speech?”
“I thought it was very interesting,” I say.
“See?” Maddox says, slapping the table with his palm. “Somebody finally gets it.”
“She’s just being nice, dude. We all know you’re crazy.”
“And yet you have been wearing your socks inside out ever since I pointed out you block more shots when you do.”
Nolan opens his mouth to argue, closes it, and sets down the syrup. “Cranberry, whiskey, and maple syrup reduction. Enjoy.”
Jesse comes out wearing a gray t-shirt and sweatpants, with his hair wet and shaggy. He runs his hand through it, pushing it out of his face.
My whole body goes rigid at the sight of him.
“Hey,” Jesse says. “Did I miss anything?”
