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“Thank you. Any questions I can answer for you guys?”
Grady furrowed his brow. “Did you guys get the door issue taken care of for the Zamboni?”
“Yep. That opening will accommodate the biggest Zamboni out there with room to spare.”
Keller grins. “I’m planning to drive the Zamboni as much as possible.”
It was easy to picture our local billionaire perched on the ice-cleaning machine. No matter where in the world he went or how much money he made, Keller had always thought of the Beard as home. I’d thought he was crazy for that when I was younger, but now I understood.
“I have to get back to the station soon,” Grady said, looking at his watch. “I want to go check out the locker rooms.”
Frank took us on a quick tour of the facility, which was massive. We saw where the main game ice rink and three other rinks would be, and we saw the framed walls for eight locker rooms, several coaching offices, equipment rooms, meeting rooms and bathrooms.
I felt a stir of excitement. Coaching youth hockey had felt abstract until now. Standing in this dream facility made it real.
Keller gestured to a wall right inside the front doors to the facility. “We commissioned an artist to paint a mural of Sven on that wall. He sent me his drawings and I think it’s gonna knock everyone’s socks off.”
Sven Karlsson was the Viking who had founded our small town way back when. There was a statue of him in the town square that had to be at least eight feet tall, his flowing beard a good luck charm that had been rubbed countless times. No one asked how much of Sven was myth and how much was truth because that would ruin the fun.
“He’s working on drawings for a Bigfoot mural for a big wall by the snack bar,” Keller said. “I’ll send everything out in a group email to keep you guys in the loop.”
Grady looked at his watch again. “Shit, I have to go. You guys coming to the thing tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Keller said.
“What thing?” I asked.
“It’s a barn dance,” Keller said. “At The Barn, the place I told you about. You can bring your kids. It’s family friendly.”
Grady scoffed. “Yeah, til the Markley brothers get tanked.”
“Can confirm,” Coulter said. “Robbie Markley urinated in a sink in the women’s room at a barn dance last year and it got ugly.”
“Ugly?” I asked.
“Lana Baker started wailing on him with her handbag. Some other women joined in.”
Grady clarified. “Robbie got his ass beat by a bunch of women, and he deserved it.”
“Sounds like it.”
“There’s usually no urinating in sinks,” Keller said. “You should come.”
I shrugged. “Sure, I’ll be there. My kids are staying the night with my parents tonight and I’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Prime time to find a rebound,” Grady said.
I cringed. “No, I’m good. The last thing I need is an entanglement with a woman who lives in the same small town I do.”
Keller looked at me like I’d just landed from another planet. “Are you planning to be celibate?”
“For the time being, yeah. Raising two kids is a full-time gig.”
He nodded. “I admire you for putting them first.”
“I have to run,” Grady said. “See you guys tonight.”
Everyone said goodbye and I headed for the parking lot, checking my phone on the way. I stopped walking when I saw the text I’d received while inside the complex.
