Off the Ice (Juniper Falls)

by Julie Cross

  “Yeah, okay.” I rest my head on her shoulder, exhausted from everything but also free. “What do you think I should do about school? Spring quarter starts in March—I mean, that’s just around corner.”

  “We really do have it worked out for you to go back.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze and we lay there for a minute in comfortable silence.

  “This will make Dad happy?”

  “Without a doubt,” Mom says.

  “Okay, then. I guess it’s settled.” I’m going back to Northwestern. Next month.

  She rests her head against mine. “You know what would really make your father happy? What I would love for us to do?”

  “What?” At this point, I think I’d do just about anything for them.

  “Take a few days off,” she says. “And make a trip to Chicago for that audition—”

  I open my mouth to protest—the audition is next week, which is way before spring quarter starts—but Mom lifts a hand to stop me.

  “I called. I checked into it. You can audition.” She looks at my skeptical face. “He wants to see you on that stage, trying, doing something big.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal but… “I don’t really feel prepared, you know? I’ve been out of that competitive mode for so long.”

  “So don’t compete,” Mom says simply. “Just let him have this. Since the day you left for school, your dad’s talked about going to see you in a show at school. He was disappointed when you didn’t audition for anything but the small student-run shows last year. He won’t admit it to you, but it’s true. So let’s go. Together. Let him have this one thing. What if you don’t get a part or you don’t want to audition again? Or what if…” She swallows back the words neither of us wants to hear. What if he isn’t around?

  Even though she hadn’t said it out loud, the impact is just as hard. I’m thinking about that phone call from my mom months ago and how it could have gone so differently. And then I start crying and it takes me a while before I can stop. I swipe my sleeve over my face again before answering my mom. “Okay, let’s go to the audition.”

  She tears up again and kisses my forehead. “You have no idea how much your father needs this.”

  Maybe I need it, too. Maybe I need to know that there’s always someone who wants to see me do something I love.

  My thoughts immediately drift to Tate. I reach for my phone and send him a quick text.

  ME: meet me somewhere?

  Chapter 55

  –Tate–

  “Consider yourself on probation,” Bakowski says.

  He’s pissed. Yelled at me for twenty minutes about missing the game, so I force myself to not smile with relief. But I am. Relieved. I mean, I figured he’d let me back on the team, but he’s not exactly the forgiving type.

  “I assume you’re done throwing your little teenage tantrum?” he says.

  I refrain from correcting him. Bakowski isn’t the type of coach you confide in. Truth is, he really doesn’t want to know what’s happening in my life. He wants to coach a winning team. That’s it.

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him.

  He narrows his eyes at me from across the desk, then points to the pile of uniforms I’d turned in the other day. “You’ve got no strikes left, Tanley. Not a minute late for practice, first one on the bus before and after games…understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I repeat.

  Finally, I’m allowed out of his office. I check my phone and read a quick text from Claire about meeting up.

  ME: by the pond? 10min?

  I head outside, across the street. In the daylight, the parking lot of O’Connor’s seems less of a bad memory than it had last night. I still have this knot in my stomach, but a weight has lifted off me just opening up to Roger. He asked me how I was doing when I came home this morning, and it wasn’t awkward like I thought it would be. We even worked on my snowmobile for an hour, put in the new carburetor.

  Claire arrives at the bench near Juniper Falls Pond in only seven minutes. Right away, it’s clear she’s worried, has something big to tell me. I wait several seconds while she stands in front of me, twisting her hands.

  For some reason, I’m not worried at all. She loves me. I love her. We’ll figure it out. Nothing can be as difficult as what we’ve gone through the past year—her with her dad and us with our buried secrets.

  “I’m going back to Northwestern,” she says finally.

  A grin spreads across my face. I grab her hand and tug her down beside me. “Good.”

  “Good?” she repeats but then seems to need to spit out the rest. “And I’m going to that audition. This weekend. So I can’t see you play at Sections.”

  I put my arm around Claire, lean in to kiss her temple. “I’m really proud of you.”

  We sit there for a few minutes, the tension starting to leave her body. “I wish you could come with me.”

  “You know what?” I say, remembering something. “Maybe I can. Someday. Maybe I’ll apply to Northwestern next year. They have a hockey team, right?”

  She looks up at me, hopeful. “I believe they do.”

  I rest a hand on her face and kiss her for a couple of minutes.

  Despite my happiness at the moment, sadness sweeps over me. She really is going to leave, and I’m still here. And there’s so much to figure out still. I’m scared about this, about Sections, State—assuming we make it there—and dealing with my mom, who is probably dealing with my dad. And Claire must be petrified to leave her dad knowing what could happen and guilty as hell about it, too.

  But there’s not much we can do except plunge ahead. Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  Chapter 56

  –Claire–

  I pace back and forth backstage, shaking my arms out. It’s been a long day. I hadn’t anticipated making callbacks, and now all I can think about is the fact that it’s taking forever. And my dad has been sitting in a hard auditorium chair for way too long. He must be in a lot of pain. The physical therapist told me that sitting in one position for extended periods is extremely difficult for him because the weak side forces the stronger side to hold it up. And to make matters worse, he slept in a cheap hotel bed last night. Between me, my parents, and Aunt Kay and Ned, we all pooled our credit card points to cover a hotel stay and restaurant gift cards. But it’s been really nice. My mom was right. We needed this.

  “The girl who killed it earlier with ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade’ got a callback, too,” my mom says, appearing beside me backstage with a half-eaten deli sandwich.

  “Oh, good. You guys found somewhere to grab lunch.”

  Mom nods and then continues her assessment of my competition even though she told me not to compete. “The blonde will be tough to beat. The Asian girl was amazing. But way too trained; the way she moved, it was so calculated.”

  I smile down at my feet. I’m not really worried about the blonde or the overly trained girl. But I let her give me all the details. Let her think I need to hear all this and that it’s the most important moment of my life. A year ago, it probably would have been.

  “How’s Dad doing? Is he getting all cramped up? Have you given him any pain meds?”

  “This is what gets you riled up.” Mom sets her sandwich down on a table and grips both my arms. “Where is the drama queen who follows a careful list of backstage rituals?”

  She’s exaggerating. Well, I did have rituals, but I was far from a drama queen compared to other theater-type kids. The thing is, I just never really had anything big to worry about outside of me and my goals.

  Until I did.

  “Dad is okay?” I ask again.

  Mom smiles at me and gives both arms a squeeze. “He’s having the time of his life. This is probably the second nicest thing you’ve ever done for your father—you know that, right?”

  I suck in a breath, forcing down all the emotions. My mom’s eyes get all bright and shiny. “No crying,” I warn. “Someone made me
wear stage makeup. If you cry…”

  “Okay, okay.” Mom pulls herself together and releases me, then grabs her sandwich again. “He really needed this. Doctor Weaver said depression is common with tumor patients but—” She shakes her head. “Worrying about you, trying to help get you back here, I think it’s made him better.”

  I stare at her, confused. “How? It’s more stress.”

  “But he has purpose again.” Mom shrugs. “Maybe in all our efforts to protect and shelter him, we underestimated the importance of having purpose.”

  I let that sink in for a moment and turn to watch the girl before me onstage. Purpose. I think that’s what I lost when I couldn’t figure out what to wish for. Or maybe I didn’t lose it, but I felt guilty holding on to it. Never occurred to me that my dad may have lost his purpose, too, not being at work. Not doing the things that Mom and I took over for him. “Maybe we did underestimate it.”

  “You know what the best thing you ever did for him was, don’t you?” Mom asks.

  “Coming home,” I say without a doubt.

  “That’s right. He says he hated that you took time off school, but I bet it was hard on him because it was a very adult thing to do. Maybe he wasn’t ready for you to be so grown up. He might not ever be.”

  “Two minutes,” the assistant director tells us when she breezes past Mom and me, talking softly into her headset.

  “They’re asking everyone questions before they start,” Mom adds. “Just stuff about the part and the character.”

  “A quiz. Great.” It is a university. Guess that’s to be expected.

  “Maybe you should get your hair wet.” Mom scrunches up her face like she’s trying to imagine me with wet hair. “It’s raining when Éponine sings this song.”

  Despite the worry about Dad out there in the audience, I smile. “That’s the movie. No rain on this stage.”

  “Oops. You know what else would make your father happy?” Mom says. I turn to look at her. “Seeing you enjoying yourself. Not just going through the motions. It’s okay to love it. It doesn’t make you selfish or ungrateful.”

  Despite my earlier efforts to keep my eyes dry, they well up about thirty seconds before I have to go onstage. What she’s telling me to do, I don’t think my mom realizes how hard that is for me right now. “You know at the ball, how I had trouble getting started with that first song?”

  “You were nervous,” Mom says gently. “Totally understandable. Big crowd. You were out of practice.”

  I glance at the stage, checking to make sure I’ve still got a few seconds, and then I turn around again to face Mom. “I wasn’t nervous. I just”—I take a breath, working hard to keep my emotions in check—“wasn’t sure I could do it. You know, let go. Be in the moment. It felt wrong. Eventually I talked myself into it by thinking about the money and how we needed it.”

  “Claire…” Mom rushes over, giving me a big hug. “Enough of that, all right? We are done with all of that, understood?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I use my thumbs to wipe under my eyes. “Okay.”

  My name is called from the table in the auditorium where the director and faculty advisers are seated. I don’t step out onto the stage right away. I take a second and make sure I’m in the right mind-set, here. Right now. Not worried about anything else.

  Except Tate. And the game.

  Enough, Claire, I tell myself, trying to imitate my mom’s voice inside my head.

  I take my place at the X marking center stage where a microphone stand waits. I try not to squint into the audience. Two men and a woman sit behind a table a ways out in the audience. The director leans in to the shared mic on their table. “Claire O’Connor. Thank you for coming today.”

  Finally, I spot Dad a few rows behind the director and off to the right. I lift a hand and wave. Unprofessional, I know, but I can’t help it. Dad is grinning big. He really does look okay. A weight lifts off me, but when I shift my focus back to the table in front, all of them are turned in their chairs, probably trying to figuring out who I’m waving at.

  I lean in to the mic. “I brought my dad with me. I hope that’s okay.”

  It better be because I doubt he’s leaving.

  All three of them nod, and the woman waves at Dad. He looks a little embarrassed but returns the wave.

  One of the men slides the mic toward him. “Can you tell us why you think you deserve the part of Éponine?”

  At first I assume it’s a trick question. Of course I don’t deserve this part. I’ve been out of school since last summer. A year ago, I would have said that I’ve wanted this role since I was a little girl. That I played young Éponine in a local community theater and now that I’m all grown up, I want to play the grown-up version. It would have been a cute answer, probably received a couple smiles, maybe a laugh.

  I adjust the mic before answering, surprised at the clarity in my voice. “I guess maybe I understand Éponine—” I almost say, better now. But realize quickly that it won’t mean anything to these strangers because they don’t know my view of the world from a year ago. Before my dad, before so many things. “Well. I understand her. But as far as deserving the part, I’m just here for…” I catch my dad’s eye again. “I’m here for this. Right now. I’ll let all of you figure out the rest.”

  “Thank you, Claire,” the director says. “Let’s hear you sing Éponine’s solo and then we’ll move on to reading for the part. Please, feel free to make it your own. Put some of you into it, okay?”

  The intro to the music plays, and for a moment, glancing out at my dad again, I nearly panic. What if this is happening because he won’t be here to see me perform another day? What if—

  I clear those thoughts from my head and instead think about what my mom said only minutes ago: My dad is having the time of his life right now. I’m giving him purpose. Whether it’s for a day or a decade. And I’m giving me purpose, whether it’s for a day or a decade. Because I don’t really know what’s coming. I don’t know anything except this song, this moment. Right now.

  And how much I love to do this.

  Chapter 57

  –Tate–

  It’s still dark out when Mom pulls up to the ice rink. The bus isn’t here yet, but I reach for the door handle anyway. “I can wait outside.”

  My mom reaches out a hand to stop me. “No, stay in the car. It’s cold.”

  We sit in silence for a few seconds, then she turns the radio down and faces me. “I told him not to come to the game.”

  “Who?” I say, even though I’m sure I know who. My heart picks up, the fear of another uncomfortable chat looming in the air.

  “Your dad,” Mom manages to spit out.

  I stare at my hands. “Did he say… I mean, did he ask why?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “I think he knew why. He knew something had changed.”

  There’s nothing for me to say to that. I’m pretty stunned, actually. She could be that vague and he didn’t protest.

  “He will be confronted about his misconduct. He will have nothing to do with your hockey stuff, especially where college is concerned,” Mom says firmly. “But my first concern…” She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “Is you. Having him around is not helping you, and putting a stop to him reliving his hockey glory days through your games is only one step of many to come. Okay?”

  I’m still so uncomfortable with this topic. I don’t know if that will ever change. But I brave looking up at her. “Okay.”

  “Are you sure you want to play today?” she asks, just as our red and blue charter bus is pulling into the parking lot. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  I look at her, surprised. “Why?”

  And then, before I’m able to hop out of the car and pick a good seat on the bus, my mom completely loses her shit. “I’m so sorry, Tate. I always thought if things had been really bad between you and your dad, you would have told me.”

  I force the bubbling emotions back down—I can’t fall apart again right
now. Not before this game. Not after I promised Bakowski I’d be the first one on the bus.

  “I probably should have,” I tell her truthfully.

  We’re both quiet for a long minute, then Mom wipes her face and pulls herself together. She pops the trunk where my hockey bag is stored and pats my hand. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to make it okay.”

  She might be an embarrassing emotional wreck, but I recognize her tone. It’s the one that comes from the version of Mom who knows how to take care of things. The experienced nurse who’s always on top of her work. The organized Mom who never lets her kids get away with anything. She’s that person 90 percent of the time. So I believe her this morning. Some more of that weight I’ve carried for way too long lifts off my shoulders as I’m exiting the car and heading toward the bus.

  ...

  “What’s on your mind, T-Man?” Leo asks me.

  We’re standing on the ice, all twenty Juniper Falls Varsity Otters lined up, preparing for the national anthem.

  I’m about to say hockey. The game. But that isn’t completely true, and Leo and Jamie have made it very clear that I need to be real with them, that I can be real. So what’s on my mind? Claire. Her audition is happening now. Then there’s Jody. My mom will talk to her soon, if she hasn’t already. I don’t know what she’ll think, how she’ll react. Will she be angry at me for not telling her? Plus Leo and Jamie—I want April to come so they can sign their letters and I’ll know for sure that they’re moving on to something better.

  And of course there’s my mom breaking down in the parking lot of the ice rink this morning.

  “You know what I’m thinking about?” I say to answer Leo’s question. “Everything. Fucking everything.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” He glances sideways at me, looking me over before nodding. “But when the whistle blows, just shut it all down. It’s us and that puck. Nothing else. Got it? I want this win, too. Really fucking badly.”

  I nod my agreement. I’m afraid to say it out loud, but I want another shutout. I want to have a day where nothing goes wrong, and for me, that means no goals.