Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  “He’s picking the restaurant,” said Adam. “Since it’s his town. And I think it’s Italian.”

  “Ooooo,” chorused the boys.

  “Italian’s good, that’s romantic. Lots of candles and wine.”

  “Hey, Coach, are you gonna do that thing from the dog movie, where you eat the same noodle and end up kissing?”

  “Roll him a meatball with your nose, Coach!”

  Adam did not remember being so obsessed with his coaches’ love lives when he was younger. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be on the ice right now?”

  The boys burst into laughter but quickly wiped their sticky hands on their pants and went to change into their skates.

  “Seriously, though, Coach,” said Andreas, lowering his voice. “What are you doing after dinner? I mean, it’s okay if he picks the restaurant, that makes sense, but you gotta have a plan for after. Can’t let him do all the work.”

  Adam frowned. “I don’t know, just go back to his place and... uh, hang?”

  Andreas rolled his eyes. “Dude, you can’t Netflix and chill on a first date. There’s gotta be something more romantic in Boston to do. You got a cell phone, right? Use it!”

  Being chastised by a fourteen-year-old didn’t rankle as much as it could have, especially since the fourteen-year-old was probably right. Adam scrolled through ideas on his phone while the boys warmed up on the ice for their practice session before the late morning game.

  Freedom Trail... harbor ships... oh!

  Adam clicked on the link, studying the information he found there. The opening times checked out, it didn’t seem to be ridiculously expensive. They’d have to rent equipment, which would be of a shitty quality, but Adam could survive an hour or two of crappy plastic skates.

  “Hey, Bernard!” Hugo Nilsson’s voice carried across the ice. Adam quickly shoved his cell phone in his pocket and looked up as Nilsson walked down the outside edge of the rink, his skates clattering in their hard guards. “We missed you last night.”

  “Sorry,” said Adam, hoping the fact that his guard was already going up wasn’t going to be obvious. “My errand took a bit longer than expected.”

  “Yeah, hate it when that happens,” agreed Nilsson. “I just hope you’re not trying to avoid me.”

  Adam blinked in what he hoped was an innocent manner. “No?”

  Nilsson snorted. “Yeah, you were always a crap liar. Look, Bernard. I get why you dropped out of the draft ten years ago. I respected your decision to put family over your career then, and truth is, I still do. That was a hard knock for a seventeen-year-old kid to take.”

  Adam’s chest clenched. “I’m not sure I’d exactly call it a knock.”

  “Yeah, bad wording,” admitted Nilsson. “Sorry. But what I want to know is – has your situation changed? Because I’ve been watching you the last few years. You’re good with these kids. You’re better than good. You’re fantastic. Roughly half the kids you coach end up going into my league – do you realize what a fucking awesome average that is, compared to other leagues? It’s unheard of. I know you Canucks have hockey in your blood or whatever, but your averages are unreal.”

  “I’ve been lucky with good kids, that’s all,” said Adam. “It’s not me.”

  “I think it is,” said Nilsson frankly. “And I want to prove it by putting you on the coaching staff for the Bears.”

  Adam’s heart stopped.

  “The Bears?” he repeated. “You mean, the minors team out of Quincy?”

  Nilsson nodded. “Bob Haskell is the lead coach – he’s a good guy. You probably ran into him a few times when you played.”

  “Once or twice.” Adam narrowed his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with them coming to play the kids at the end of this tourney?”

  “Hey now,” said Nilsson, raising his hands. “Don’t go looking at me like that. We always play a scrimmage against them, since they’re just over the river. Just so happens that you’re here this year.”

  “And you’re offering me a job,” pointed out Adam.

  “Works out well, doesn’t it?”

  Adam shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, Nilsson. But I can’t leave Montreal.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” asked Nilsson flatly.

  Adam paused. “Pardon?”

  “Bernard,” said Nilsson, his voice dropping. “The accident was ten years ago. And from what I hear, your dad’s doing fine now. He’s mobile, he’s healthy, he’s lucid—”

  Adam’s blood went hot. “You – you looked into my dad’s health?”

  “I keep my ears open,” snapped Nilsson. “And it’s not like your dad wasn’t a public figure before the accident, Bernard.”

  Adam tried to keep his breaths even. “Just because my dad is lucid doesn’t mean I’m comfortable leaving him alone, Nilsson.”

  “So bring him with you. Plenty of good care facilities in Quincy. If you’re worried about visas, we can figure that out for you—”

  Adam resisted the urge to shove him. “Like I said, Nilsson. I appreciate the offer, but this isn’t a good time.”

  Nilsson let out a thin stream of breath. “Fine. I can’t hold the job for you forever, though. And I’d hate to see talent like yours wasted a second time.”

  Fuck off, thought Adam.

  Nilsson seemed oblivious to the tension and anger rolling off Adam – or maybe he was just more willing to ignore it. He slapped Adam on the shoulder and held his hand there, gripping Adam tightly. “I’m not saying you didn’t make the right choice. You did, no one disputes that. But sometimes, the right choice doesn’t stay the right thing to do. Just think about it, okay? Maybe talk to Bob some, get a sense of what’s what.”

  Nilsson paused, clearly expecting Adam to respond.

  Adam didn’t say a word. He wasn’t even sure he could.

  Nilsson slapped Adam’s back again. This time, the slap stung a little. “All right, back to work. Glad we had this talk finally.”

  Yeah, thought Adam bitterly as Nilsson walked away. Adam watched him go, telling himself he wasn’t trying to make sure that Nilsson wasn’t going to turn back and continue his assault.

  He stopped watching as soon as Nilsson passed Farida, sitting on the stands, looking at Adam expectantly. Adam watched as Nilsson looked up at Farida and gave her a fast shake of his head – right before Farida’s hopeful face turned downcast.

  Adam stopped thinking entirely. When he saw Farida rise to her feet, he spun on his heel and left the rink as quickly as he could.

  “Adam!”

  His thought whirled. She told him about my dad’s medical status. She didn’t have the right. How dare she...

  “Adam, wait!”

  She’s my friend, and she knows how I feel about—

  “Adam, please!” begged Farida, just as her hand caught his elbow.

  It was a hard thing, not to whirl around and yank her arm up into an elbow-twisting hold. Adam went still, though every single muscle was taut under his skin. He was shaking with pent-up energy and a desire to walk straight out the doors and just keep walking until he couldn’t feel the anger rolling inside him anymore.

  Farida was talking – but Adam didn’t even want to bother trying to parse what she was saying.

  “You told him,” he said over her words. “You fucking told him about my dad.”

  Farida sucked in a breath. “Is that what you think?”

  “He called my dad lucid, Farida. Lucid. I know you want me the fuck out of Montreal but that doesn’t give you the right to divulge my father’s medical status with perfect strangers.”

  “Your dad is lucid, Adam,” said Farida, her voice shaking. Adam looked over his shoulder; she looked nearly as angry as he felt. “Lucid enough to know that you’re wasting your entire life sitting in Montreal babysitting him.”

  “Wasting,” repeated Adam coldly. “Funny, that’s how Nilsson put it, too. How long have the two of you been planning this, anyway?”

&nb
sp; “No one’s planning anything! Why do you think we’re all against you when we’re only trying to help?”

  “I’m not the one who needs help, Farida—”

  “Well, you’re going to have to explain to me who does, then,” snapped Farida. “And don’t tell me it’s your dad, because it’s not.”

  “You don’t know,” said Adam through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to see him struggle every day with the smallest things. He can barely hold a pen. He can’t even read a book anymore without a headache.”

  Farida’s face softened. “Adam, my dad visits yours every week. I know what he goes through—"

  “No – you – don’t,” repeated Adam. “So stop pretending like me going away is the best thing for him. It’s not. My place is in Montreal, and it’s time you figured that out.”

  “Adam, your father is—”

  “Not your business!” snapped Adam. “None of my life is your business, Farida, so thank you for keeping the fuck out of it!”

  Adam had time to see the hurt on Farida’s face before he turned and left the lobby, plunging into the cold breeze outside before he had to hear another word.

  He walked without really paying attention to the street signs or the buildings. All he wanted was to get away – somewhere that Farida couldn’t try to explain and excuse herself. Somewhere Nilsson wouldn’t be able to corner him in a misguided recruitment effort. Somewhere not even the kids could find him – not that they demanded anything he wasn’t willing to give, except maybe reassurance that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

  He wasn’t where he wanted to be. But it wasn’t fair to the kids to let them know that.

  The wind coming off the Charles wasn’t just chilly, it was frigid, going straight through the thin coat he wore inside the chilled ice rink. Adam pulled the collar up more firmly around his neck, wishing he’d thought to grab his scarf or a pair of gloves, anything, and burrowed into the thin layers as if trying to conserve heat. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Montreal, but it was cold enough.

  The wind whistled through the trees with a sigh. Adam closed his ears to that too – it sounded too much like someone trying to chastise him.

  I know, I shouldn’t have yelled at Farida. She’s only trying to help. Even if she’s doing it all wrong.

  The wind whistled again.

  It doesn’t matter what I want! What would happen to Dad if I left Montreal? I can’t just up and go. It’s not like I need the money, either.

  Coaching the kids is plenty enough job satisfaction. Half of them go on to Juniors. Nilsson’s an ass, but he’s right – that’s way above average.

  So what if it’s not what I wanted. Plenty of people don’t get what they want in life. Why should I be any——

  HOOOONNNNNNNNNKKKK!

  The screeching of wheels from behind him – or maybe to the left of him – or maybe all around him, threw Adam straight out of his thoughts and sent him flying on the pavement. He landed hard on his ass, his hands skidding on the asphalt as his heart lodged firmly in his throat.

  The car swerved, slowing down even as the driver began to roll down his window.

  Sacrement, thought Adam hazily, beginning to choke on his own shock.

  “Hey!” A man came running off the sidewalk and knelt down next to Adam. “You okay?”

  Adam blinked at him, wondering why the man looked familiar, before he remembered – Sheldon, Ben’s friend and former teammate.

  “Idiot! Pay attention if you’re going to jaywalk!” yelled the driver in the car.

  Quick as a wink, Sheldon rose to his feet and yelled back. “There was a crosswalk there, you effing asshole! And where the fuck do you think you’re driving, man, Milwaukee? This is Cambridge, jay-walking is what we do!”

  The driver flipped Sheldon the finger before skidding back into traffic. Sheldon knelt back down next to Adam, who thought he remembered how breathing was supposed to work.

  “Not you, though, man,” said Sheldon, back to a conversational, friendly tone. “I thought Cannucks were too nice to commit traffic violations like jaywalking.”

  “I didn’t see where I was going,” gasped Adam, sucking in a breath of cold air and coughing as it burned his lungs.

  “No shit. You hurt?”

  “Pride?”

  “That much is obvious. Up on your feet.”

  Adam winced when he grabbed hold of Sheldon’s arm. As soon as he was on his feet – shaky, but otherwise stable – he frowned at the palms of his hands. “Ugh.”

  “Yeah, all that sand and salt makes for a tough landing,” said Sheldon, peering at the reddened and ripped-up palms. “My office is around the corner, if you want to clean up.”

  “Thanks,” said Adam.

  Sheldon’s office was in an old brick building, on the second level above a fancy furniture store that looked more decorative than functional. The office was tiny, but well designed: exposed brick, old wooden furniture, a few impressive looking chairs that were no doubt horribly uncomfortable. There was also a wall of metal filing cabinets, each meticulously labeled with numbers and letters and codes.

  “Bathroom’s in there,” said Sheldon, pointing to a half-open door. “Bandages are in the cupboard, if you need them.”

  “Thanks,” said Adam, ducking in. He didn’t bother to close the door as he washed his hands, carefully working over the abrasions with the soap to get out as much dirt and debris as possible.

  “So,” said Sheldon casually, his voice carrying over the water with ease, “how goes operation get-Ben-on-the-ice? Do I owe you a thousand dollars yet?”

  Adam frowned at the marks on his hands; he’d forgotten about Sheldon’s second caveat. “I thought it was about taking him out on a date.”

  “Well, that too. I’m willing to go double-or-nothing.”

  Adam momentarily reeled. “You’re not saying you were serious?”

  “Like mint, man.”

  “Mint? As in, the plant?”

  “You ever plant mint in a garden? That stuff is tough to kill, bro.”

  Adam shook his head and turned off the water. Now that they were clean, it was easier to tell that his hands weren’t too badly off. There were a couple of patches with torn skin, but nothing serious. Nothing worse than he’d ever gotten falling on the ice without gloves. He patted them dry with the towel.

  “What’s the story with Ben and skating anyway?” asked Adam.

  “What’s he told you?” asked Sheldon.

  Adam paused. “Not much. I know he was a speed skater.”

  Sheldon grinned, clearly lost in memory. “He was a rocket, man. Fastest skater on our team. My favorite thing to do was stand on the side and just watch the blur.” He shook his head, laughing at the memory.

  “What happened?” asked Adam, curious.

  Sheldon’s laugh ended in a sigh. “How much do you know about speed skating?”

  “The blades are longer and the skaters go faster.”

  “True enough. Ben skated short-track. He had a good eye for strategy, always recovered well from falls. You have to, in short-track, that’s all anyone ever does, is fall on the ice.”

  Adam had an idea what Sheldon was getting at. “He fell – and didn’t get back up?”

  “Got it in one,” confirmed Sheldon. “A blade sliced up his leg pretty bad. But when it was time for him to get back on the ice—” Sheldon shrugged. “Well. It didn’t go too well.”

  Adam recalled the nasty scar he’d seen on Ben’s leg the night before. It had wrapped around the back of his calf, deep and thick and clean, so much like Adam’s own that there hadn’t been any doubt as to what had caused it.

  Ben’s was thicker than Adam’s, though, and given the indention on the scar, probably had been much, much deeper. None of what Sheldon told him was really a surprise.

  “Trauma?” guessed Adam.

  “Something like, anyway. Seems a waste, that’s all. He loved skating more than the rest of us put together. We were making plans to see
him in South Korea wearing American colors. The next Apolo Anton Ono, you know?”

  Huh. He was that good? wondered Adam.

  “Yeah,” said Sheldon, who clearly read Adam’s surprise. “He was that good. Maybe not gold-medal good, but he would have gone and the world would have been watching, no question.”

  In another world – maybe that’s where we would have met, mused Adam. In the Athlete’s Village, in between competitions. During the opening ceremony, maybe, him in American colors, me in Canadian. Him for the speed skaters, me for hockey.

  It was a pretty thought – goodness knows their fling would be about as appropriate to the rumors he’d always heard about those Athlete’s Villages (and the never-ending supply of free condoms). Somehow, it didn’t seem quite as intimate or attractive as the quiet, secluded fling they found themselves in.

  “Not to burst your daydream there,” continued Sheldon, “but I do have clients coming in.”

  “Right,” said Adam, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. I should get back.”

  “Thousand dollars, man, I’m dead serious. Get that boy outta his bakery bubble, or back on the ice, and it’s yours.”

  Adam shook his head. “I’m not going to push him where he’s not ready to go.”

  Sheldon snorted. “A push is exactly what he needs. He’s wasted enough time.”

  It prickled, hearing the words from Sheldon – exactly the way the words prickled when he’d heard them from Farida.

  It’s a waste... you’re wasting time... what a waste of talent.

  “Thanks for the bandages,” said Adam shortly.

  “Anytime, man.” Sheldon yanked open one of the filing cabinet drawers, already focused on whatever work he was going to do. “Catch you later!”

  The wind was just as chilly on the street, but Adam felt slightly warmer from having been inside. His hands stung when he curled them in his coat pockets as he looked down Mass Ave towards Ben’s bakery.

  I can’t imagine giving up the ice entirely.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. Adam pulled it out.

  Farida to Adam

  I’m sorry.

  Adam let out a slow line of breath.

  Adam to Farida

  Okay.

  It wasn’t forgiveness – Adam wasn’t a good enough person to go that far just yet. But it was a start, and Farida knew him well enough to recognize he needed the space as much as he needed to start down the road toward it.