Healthy Scratch

by Robyn M Ryan

  “What are your plans?”

  “There are a few things I’m researching, so I’ll complete that and touch base with my Vancouver clients. Then after I see Cassie, I’ll head back to Tampa.”

  “You’re going back to that hockey player?”

  “Marty? Sure, if he wants anything to do with all the baggage I’m bringing into our relationship. Now that I know the background, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

  41

  LAUREN SPENT THE following days scouring online resources for information twenty-five plus years ago. Public records, newspapers, listings of police actions led to many requests for police reports. She even ventured onto the ancestry online she to build a family tree but got no further than the information Amanda had provided. She’d need to go much deeper into that research than she had expected and shelved that project for another day. Lauren spent up to eighteen hours a day on her inquiries and only ventured from her room for take-out meals and snacks.

  Their grandfather John Gentry’s prison sentence that Amanda had mentioned was just a minor blip on his record. Before he trafficked drugs, there were many arrests for disorderly conduct, DUIs, and petty theft. He served time for stealing a car, and after that sentence ended, he became involved with a gang of drug traffickers. Their father John, Jr. must have either inherited genetic tendencies if that were a possibility or learned by observation. While her grandfather was in and out of prison, his son bounced from one foster home to another.

  Her other grandfather, Corey Rowe—the American—died a war hero. He must not have attended college because he didn’t receive a student deferral—which meant he either got drafted or entered the military voluntarily. He didn’t go to Canada to dodge the draft. She found an obituary that praised him for sacrificing his life to protect other soldiers boarding a rescue chopper. The last soldier to climb on the helicopter, he was struck by bullets just as it left the ground. Only twenty-four-years-old. The living relatives listed—his wife Serena and daughter, Allyson—their mother. She noted names of deceased family members and added those to her genealogy project if she pursued it. Wonder if our mother has the medals mentioned in the obituary? Or has someone discarded them as worthless?

  Lauren organized her notes on her laptop, then sketched a brief narrative of their lives. Thoroughly disheartened with the story, she saved it to an obscure folder, much like the memories she kept locked up in the back of her brain. This time, however, it could prove impossible to keep everything in the overflowing lockbox.

  #

  Lauren kept her promise to take Dave’s calls, but he sensed her distraction. She didn’t bring up her reasons for staying on in Vancouver, nor did she comment on the playoffs—not even after they’d defeated Boston in six games. Her non-responses to his comments and questions irritated him, and his frustration grew to a level where he questioned her commitment to continuing a relationship.

  The conference semi-final against Pittsburgh supplied the distraction he needed, and Dave made the series his singular focus. Would Lauren even notice if I don’t call? At this moment, I seriously doubt it. She says the same things every time—like a robot. Would she admit if she needs help, no matter what’s going on? Not likely. Push her or just allow her to drift further away?

  The memory of the gala gave him hope if she’d just remember that evening—before the Internet shit-storm barreled over them. The gala marked the first time he’d definitively indicated that he was “off-the-market” (not that he’d ever considered otherwise). He enjoyed “claiming” her as his girl, though Lauren would say that was his inner caveman speaking. So freaking proud of her when she helped run the blackjack table. Even the mild flirting didn’t bother me, so long as the patrons increased their bets. Neither expected cyber-bullying would follow, nor the dark tunnel that Lauren would pursue and couldn’t seem to find her way out.

  He knew that if the Suns weren’t in the playoffs, he’d have followed her to Vancouver by now and stood beside her as she dealt with her family issues and whatever else tormented her. She could try to push him aside, but he’d refuse to leave. Now he could only hope that she’d return to Tampa. Otherwise, after the playoffs, he’d find her and convince her to come home.

  Dave Martin admitted that he could no longer imagine his life without Lauren. He thought back to the night—day?—that Lauren almost said she loved him. He’d pretended not to notice, didn’t know if he felt the same. Now, so many weeks—months?—later, Dave realized that the aching hole in his soul could be filled by only one person. He loved that unpredictable, stubborn, impulsive green-eyed woman who’d first ignited a flame years ago. No matter what it took, he’d persist until Lauren believed he loved her and that he’d slay any dragons to ensure their future together.

  #

  Lauren tried to shake the dark cloud that had surrounded her. She had no energy and would sleep the days away if she didn’t force herself to get out of bed. Even seeing Cassie and sharing a day shopping, enjoying spa mani-pedis, and impulsively adding rose-gold highlights to her hair—at Cassie’s urging—supplied only a brief window of sunshine. Back at the hotel that evening after dinner with Amanda, Cassie, and the woman she could not call “Mom,” Lauren could sense the good vibes slipping away. She tried to prolong the sunshine by trying on the new clothes and looking at her image in the full-length mirror. Lauren loved the spark of an accent color throughout her hair, wondering why she’d never tried different colors before. Maybe she’d try the purple streaks Cassie had dared her to use.

  Maybe. What would Marty say about my new look? Think I’ve totally lost my mind? She took a selfie and saved it for the ideal time to send Dave a message. When that perfect time would come, she could not predict. She longed for his presence.

  You could go home. Nothing’s keeping you here, Gentry. Embarrassment? Shame? Worry that Dave would reject her if he knew the gene pool she carried? It was time to come to terms with everything she’d learned—she could not hide from the world forever.

  Enough playing the victim. I need to stop hiding and take proactive steps. Caryn had mentioned using my experience with bullying to promote awareness of the problem. Hiding from the people I love means the haters win…Did I just think “the people I love?” Who do I include in that thought? Caryn, Kelly, Terri…none of them care about anything they see on social media. Marty? Am I including him in the people I love? Terrifying thought, Gentry. Terrifying, but she was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain that she loved him.

  Dave had the right to know everything she’d uncovered before she could believe that he loved her—and then feel secure that his feelings wouldn’t change. Only then could she return to Tampa and the life she thought she never deserved.

  #

  The next morning, Lauren awoke with the energy and resolve that she feared she’d lost forever. She knew what she wanted to do—for herself, other victims of cyber-bullying, and maybe even those who bore hidden childhood scars. She would address the cyber-bullies and publicly rebuke them for thinking anonymous posting does not have any consequences. Not that I have anything profound to say…I’ll just tell my story and put it out for anyone to read. Maybe someone can add statistics about the physical and psychological damage done by a single malicious tweet or hashtag.

  She ordered a full breakfast from room service—her appetite returning vigorously. She showered and dressed, startling herself each time she glimpsed her hair in the mirror. Sipping her orange juice and munching on a croissant, Lauren opened her computer and stared at the blank screen in Word. Get my thoughts on paper—first goal. Then create the story.

  Many believe that using social media to post derogatory information about another human being is terrific fun and harmless…but, think about it from another point of view—it’s no fun to be the recipient of those so-called games. I know that first hand. You don’t know me. I’m not famous, and I’m not in middle school or even the university. I’m a successful twenty-something with a great career who made t
he mistake of falling for a professional athlete. No, I’m not revealing his name. We met years ago through mutual friends. The only mistake we made—attending a black-tie fundraiser for children and families affected by cancer. Scandalous, I know. Our first public event as a couple—we had no idea that by doing so we’d given permission to become the target of one of these “fun social media games.”

  At first, the tweets and posts were ignored—name calling, body shaming, speculation on my character. Typical troll (#expletivedeleted) that’s hardly original or worth the time to react. But, at some point, the attacks became personal, revealing information known only to a handful of people.

  I spend little time on my social media accounts, and I never post personal information. The fact that I don’t hide behind an alias or an avatar evidently opened a door that should have remained locked. By the time Pandora’s Box sprang open, people who should know better had spread details about my life going back over twenty years. Some information was correct, most false, but once it’s part of social media it’s assumed to be the truth, right? Still just fun and games? Hardly. A door I’d firmly locked in my mind opened without my consent. For the last month I’ve dealt with memories I’d repressed and followed a path that led me somewhere I never expected to visit.

  So, I will share my story to show the cyber-bullies that no, they did not win. I also want to encourage victims of bullying to stand up to those bullies and tell them directly that what they are doing is pure evil. I’m beyond pissed and beyond caring what people will think about me when they read my story. I invite anyone targeted this way to join me and tell the bullies to F&%k off.

  Lauren wrote without taking a break until she had laid out her life’s story, turning over all the stones she'd hidden her entire life. She left nothing out, just changed enough to shelter Amanda and Cassie, as well as her mother. Different cities, slightly altered dates, no names. It wouldn’t fool anyone who knew her well, and she hoped to shame those who had gleefully revealed mistakes made years earlier.

  When she saved the file, she did not reread it—she’d put every ounce of energy into writing the paper. A glance at her wrist confirmed the time was late afternoon. Do the Suns play today? She opened the app while calling room service for white wine and grilled cheese sandwiches. Suns versus Pittsburgh—just about game time. Did I know they won the Quarter-Final series? Self-absorbed much, Gentry?

  Lauren found the game on TV and settled on the couch with her sandwiches and a glass of wine. Her heart hurt when the camera zoomed in on Dave during the Suns lineup introduction. They hadn’t talked in several days. Did he take her lack of effort as indifference? Can’t blame him if he does. Can I repair the damage? Did I allow the man I love to just slip away?

  42

  LAUREN DROPPED HER wine, soaking her sandwich when she realized Andrew had skated onto the ice. The arena erupted into a deafening reception. Andrew’s playing? How could Caryn not tell me? Is she at the game? Who’s with the twins?

  She watched as Andrew raised his stick in acknowledgment of the ovation, and then as the applause continued, he patted his heart multiple times and motioned toward the crowd. Dave said something that made Andrew laugh, and Lauren noticed that both teams were tapping their sticks against the ice in a hockey salute. Her eyes filled with tears and she wished she were with Caryn. Everyone knew he had destroyed the overwhelming odds that he’d never play hockey again after his head injury. And now, to take the ice over sixteen months later…

  Lauren choked back a sob as the ovation continued. Andrew looked at the ice and shook his head. Dave tapped his shin with his stick, and John Peterson stood on his other side, his hand resting on Andrew’s shoulder. As the crowd subsided, Lauren reached for her phone and sent Caryn a text.

  Lauren: OMG, Caryn! Are you okay? I’m over the moon happy for Andrew. He did it! Know how proud you are and maybe a little nervous. Sending love and hugs. Watching the game—will call you tomorrow. ❤️

  Lauren cleared her wine-soaked meal and cleaned the table, unable to take her eyes from the screen. Luckily, she’d ordered two grilled cheese sandwich plates, so she retrieved the second and refilled her wine glass. Her heart swelled as she watched Andrew’s first game in sixteen months. Maybe time to go home? But have I destroyed any chance of happiness with Marty?

  #

  Dave celebrated Andrew’s return to hockey by working with Peterson to set up two perfect goals for Andrew in the first period. The entire team wanted Andrew to get the hat trick, and he did before the end of the first period. Hats rained down on the ice as his teammates reacted as if they’d won the Stanley Cup. Dave climbed on the bench and bit back a grin as the standing ovation continued until Andrew acknowledged it.

  Peterson handed the puck to the equipment manager, who labeled and put it with the other two pucks.

  “Tough act to follow, Chad,” Dave pretended to grumble. “Damn, a natural hat trick.” He watched as Andrew’s eyes tracked to the Suns’ suite for wives and girlfriends. Looking for Caryn. Just like I’d be looking for Lauren if she weren’t staying off the grid in Vancouver. Damn, that girl’s stubborn.

  #

  She wanted to send Dave a congratulatory text after the game but hesitated too long…just long enough for the doubts and worries and insecurities to flood her mind. Why interrupt him now? He’s locked into the playoff mode. He may not even want to hear from me right now. Not until I can give him a definite date to return to Tampa—and an honest explanation why I’ve stayed in Vancouver so long. She fingered the bunny necklace she never removed as a deluge of emotions descended on her. She brought her laptop to the bed to read what she’d spent the day writing.

  She couldn’t get past the first page. Too many demons and memories and fears. Have I been living a lie since I moved to Toronto? Pretending I was just another student? Even when I tried to help Caryn deal with her overbearing parents, I never let on that my own childhood had left scars. Believed I’d escaped my parents and past mistakes. I’d reinvented myself and buried my reputation and childhood trauma in the same box and sealed it. How stupid is that? The past never stays hidden. Just bides its time before it hits you in the face. What’s worse—carrying and admitting the scars of the past openly, or facing friends…yeah, Gentry, that includes the man you love…after the truth publicly smacks you in the face?

  She knew if she didn’t share her words now, she’d likely delete the file in the morning. Yeah, that much of a coward. Before she could change her mind, she emailed Caryn a copy of the file and asked if she thought it had any value in the anti-bullying campaign Angela had suggested. Also, like a coward, she requested Caryn to ask Dave to read it—not on a game day—before making it public. Need to take a copy to Amanda and our mother, too, so they don’t get blindsided. She wondered at the sudden hint of worry she felt for her mother. Where did that come from? Empathy for that not-so-perfect childhood and lost dreams? If only she and her father had not chosen to cope with alcohol and drugs, but did that excuse them from taking responsibility for their own actions as adults? For allowing drugs and alcohol to control their lives? To not care about their own children?

  Lauren’s glance fell on the bottle of wine she’d ordered from room service. Did she risk depending on it, just like Amanda seemed to be following that path now? She’d only had the one glass of wine earlier after she’d spilled the first all over her meal—but did that mean she’d never follow her parents’ example?

  #

  Amanda’s face could not hide her surprise when she opened the front door to find Lauren on the porch. Lauren raised her hand that clutched two copies of her…story? Article? Confession? “Hi Amanda, is this a good time to talk with you and our mother for a few minutes?” She saw Amanda’s eyebrows rise and nervously swept her eyes around the foyer.

  “Of course. Come in. Can I take your…coat?”

  Lauren laughed as she looked at Dave’s sweatshirt. “I’m fine, thanks. It’s cozy enough for an almost-spring day.” Amanda
waved her toward the kitchen where her mother appeared to be preparing something to bake. Flour dusted her cheeks and covered her shirt, and she paused when she saw Lauren.

  “Mom’s making her famous scones.” Amanda kissed her mother’s forehead as she scooted behind her to pull a Coke Zero from the refrigerator. “You still prefer these?”

  “Sure. Thank you.” Lauren saw that she had interrupted a major baking project. “I don’t want to stop you. I can come back later?”

  Her mother waved a flour coated hand in the air. “Interruption? Let’s take a timeout while I clean up. This is an all-day project, I think. Don’t remember scones taking this much effort.”

  “We’ll join you in the family room, Lauren. Give us a few minutes.”

  Lauren perched on the edge of her chair, telling herself she had no reason for nervousness. She didn’t plan to go snarky or to attack her mother this time. Extend an olive branch? That may be an overstatement. She looked at the papers she held—two copies of what she’d written—and questioned the wisdom of the entire project. Too late, Gentry. Too late to chicken out now.

  She took a deep breath as they joined her in the room, and both sat on the sofa near her chair. “I didn’t know you made world-famous scones.” She managed a small smile when she looked at her mother.

  “World famous in my own mind. Haven’t baked in so many years—hope I remember the recipe.” Her green eyes seemed to search Lauren’s face—probably wondering if I’ll go off on her again.