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“How did you do that?” I blurt out.
Putting the leg up, he places the ice pack over it and meets my eyes. He’s doing it again––looking at me as if he’s about to confess the secrets of the world to me and only me. Like I’m the only one he allows in his world. Which couldn’t be farther from reality. Still, it’s unnerving.
“Broken ankle. An old training injury.”
I nod and lean a shoulder against the door jam that separates the main room from the kitchenette. Then I wait, knowing that if he wants to say more he will.
“My rookie year playing with the Bears…I didn’t know if it would heal well enough for me to play again.”
From the articles I read on line, I know he came from very humble beginnings. So I’m certain that not knowing whether he would remain broke, or become a millionaire was a harrowing experience.
“You got lucky, I take it?” I say in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood we’re slipping under.
“Yeah.”
I’ve never been good at letting things fester. I don’t like strife of any sort. Even with Zelda. She’s a constant thorn in my side because she makes me second guess whether I’m being crazy not giving her a chance.
Typically, I charge in guns blazing, or more precisely, lips flapping determined to smooth things over because I’m not okay with not being okay. Tension makes me queasy and uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot…” Then I catch it, smiling. “No pun intended.”
He brushes it off with a gruff, “It’s fine.”
“Jake…I should––I want to thank you for letting me stay in the Austen. I know you rented it to have some privacy.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” He looks away and it dawns upon me that I may have embarrassed him.
An awkward silence falls, and I debate whether to leave. He doesn’t seem as put out that I’m in his space as he was at the farmhouse. “Is your ankle any better?”
“It will be.” He extends the leg and stretches it out. My eyes follow the movement and land on the bed. And I’m reminded that I’m in the room where he sleeps and…and other stuff.
“Well, I should be going…” I mutter, suddenly nervous and warm like the thermostat just got cranked up a thousand degrees. “I’ll, uh, see myself out.” I back away from him one step at a time while he watches. The humor under the stony façade is back. I’m pretty sure I see him fighting it. “Holler if you need anything. I mean, because of the ankle.”
Goodness, I’m flubbing this.
Opening the door, I step out on the porch. He has yet to break eye contact. “Bye. And thanks again for your help with the hell raiser––Elvis, I mean. And the cottage....and, uh, for saving my life obviously.” I need to shut up. “Anyway, thank you.”
I shut the door behind me and take a deep breath.
Chapter 9
Ask any serious sports enthusiast and they’ll tell you The Herb Brooks Arena, built for the 1980 Winter Olympics, is an American landmark, site of the legendary Miracle On Ice. A game that saw the heavily favored Soviet Men’s Ice Hockey Team lose to a bunch of rag tag Americans 3 to 4.
When I was growing up, however, it was just the parking lot where all the high school kids would meet up to determine whose parents’ booze they could steal or which house they were going to party at.
I’m following up on a lead today. One Gray mentioned in passing. Breaking news here: Twice a week the Brooks Arena is closed to the public, rented out by none other than Jake McScroogePants.
It’s been a few days since the cat in the tree incident and other than him passing me by as he left for the farmhouse and my yelling in a weirdly high pitched, “Good morning,” we haven’t spoken.
One thing that has changed? My interest. It is seriously piqued now, and Carrie Anderson, investigative reporter at large, did more internet digging.
The grouchy one is some kind of hockey phenom. A modern day Bobby Orr––that’s what the analysts called him. Orr considered one of the all-time best. Which says a lot about the comparison.
Like Orr, Turner was a defenseman both fast and with scoring ability. Drafted at eighteen, he went second overall to the Boston Bears where he played his entire career until four years ago. I also learned that Jake never officially retired. He asked the Bears to release him from his contract.
What’s even more interesting is that Turner uses the Brooks Arena to hold hockey practice for disadvantaged kids. Considering his personality, this blew my mind.
Turner and kids? Turner talking to kids? I can’t imagine how.
I asked Gray to contact him for an interview and permission to let someone from the paper observe the practice session. Reluctantly, he agreed. I’m not entirely sure he would have had he known I was the one covering it. Even with our newfound truce in place we aren’t exactly braiding each others hair.
