by Toni Aleo
“What about Pierre?”
“Pierre? That pussy?” Harry laughed and returned his gaze to his men.
After his third scotch, he found a comfortable chair. It was ten and most of the guests had left. His buddies had to be in bed early. Some had kids who’d be up at the crack of dawn. Before they returned to their own homes, they’d hugged and swore they’d beat the crap out of Philly.
Kitty approached, balancing a plate piled high with food.
“Here.”
“Thank you. So much jaw flappin’, I forgot to eat.”
Kitty settled her little rump on the arm of the chair. Harry dug in, picking up a skewer with ham and pineapple.
“Did you have a good time?”
His mouth full, he nodded.
“I thought so. Told you.”
He swallowed. “You did. But this is the last one.”
“What?”
“Who knows where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing next year. But I sure as hell won’t be a member of the Huskies.”
Harry fell asleep before Kitty came to bed. After a restless night, he awoke at four, managing to slide out from under the covers without disturbing his wife. Feeling his way through his dark bedroom, he headed for the living room. With the heat turned down, the house had cooled. He made a fire in the fireplace and plugged in the Christmas tree. Nabbing the soft afghan that decorated the arm of the sofa, he wrapped it around himself.
Sitting back, Harry watched the small flames grow. He turned to study the tree. About seven feet tall, and perfectly decorated by Kitty, its lights winked at him. Never much for sentiment, still, Harry’s gaze stopped at the most meaningful ornaments. There was the frog on skis he gave to her after their first ski weekend. The two hearts intertwined he presented to her after the first time they made love. The tree symbolized their life together. His eyes wetted.
Many questions swirled through his mind. He struggled, in vain, for answers. He loved his wife, his home, and hockey. Was there any way he could continue to have all three?
Kitty deserved to keep her gallery in D. C. But truth be told, her absence hadn’t been getting easier. Puck Bunnies tempted him on the road. He resisted but wondered how long he’d be able to hold out. On a long, hard road trip, loneliness crushed him. He’d spend an hour or more on the phone with Kitty. They’d even had Skype sex, but nothing beat the feel of her skin or the warm reassurance of her snuggle.
The scouting job? Nope, it wasn’t for him—too far away from hockey action, and too much traveling. Hotel rooms depressed him. They showed no sign of life, of personality, nothing but sterile, empty spaces.
He stretched out on the sofa and shut his eyes. Images of a pregnant Kitty and babies flitted through his imagination, followed by screaming triplets, smelly diapers, and Harry at the end of his rope. He sat up with a start, sweat beading his forehead.
He could face the fiercest forwards, the biggest, brutish hockey players knocking him into the boards or on his ass, but taking care of a child terrified him. He knew hockey, not kids. What did he know about being a parent? Zip, zilch, nada, nothing—he was totally ignorant.
He’d wanted them five years ago when he was too dumb to know better, but now? Life would be chaotic. Private time with Kitty would go out the window, along with their sex life. He shuddered. Having kids couldn’t save him. He’d have to save himself.
The heat from the fire raised the room temperature to almost comfortable. He tucked the blanket under his thighs and fell asleep.
“Ho, ho, ho, Santa. Time to get up,” a fake deep voice said in his ear.
Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes. Wrapped in a blue plaid flannel robe, Kitty stood before him, beaming.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, holding a small, rectangular gift in one hand and a cup of steaming hot coffee in the other.
“Merry Christmas yourself, Missus. Thanks for the java.” He took the mug and eyed the other item.
“This is for you.” She shoved it into his empty hand. Harry put down his drink and unwrapped it. Inside was a gold watch.
“I kind of figured you deserved it for your years in hockey,” she said, joining him on the sofa.
He fastened it around his thick wrist. “Fits perfect. It’s great. Thank you,” he said, eying the timepiece from all angles before pulling his wife to him for a kiss. Tossing the covering aside, he pushed to his feet and headed for the tree. After rummaging through the packages there, he plucked out the small ones he got at the jewelry store.
“Here you go. Merry Christmas, Kitty. And thanks for being the best wife ever.” He handed her the presents.
She tore open the paper. Her face lit up like a thousand stars when she saw the diamonds.
“They’re real. Honest. They’re real.” He nodded.
“Oh, my God! Harry! They’re too much. This is too expensive,” she said, waving the diamond tennis bracelet in his face. “You’ve got to take it back. We can’t afford it now.”
“Do you like it?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t? But…”
He put his finger to her lips. “It’s not too expensive. We can afford it. As long as you like it.”
“But your salary?”
“They’re buying out my contract. Even without that. Believe me, we’re not hurting.”
“It’s beautiful. Can you fasten it for me?” she asked, turning grateful eyes to him.
He chuckled. “Of course. There. Perfect fit. It looks amazing on you.”
She gave him a passionate kiss. Harry eased her down on the sofa and made love to her.
When they’d reached completion, Harry made another pot of coffee and the couple opened more gifts. Harry donned one of the flannel shirts, smiling at his reflection in the mirror. Kitty wore the diamond earrings. She scrambled up eggs and reheated leftover ham. Harry consulted the television and set up a movie lineup for the day.
They didn’t make any calls or even get dressed. They cuddled up in front of the tube, ate their fill, drank champagne, and made love.
In the middle of It’s a Wonderful Life, the phone rang. Harry made a face but loped across the room and picked up his cell. It was Coach Timmons.
“Sorry to interrupt your Christmas, Harry, but I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Do you have time tomorrow?”
“Sure, Coach. Who is it?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten. Let me fill you in on the way.”
“Okay. Works for me. Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks, Harry. Same to you.”
Harry cocked his head to the side. Not a secretive person, Coach Timmons was all hush-hush on the phone. His behavior piqued Harry’s curiosity.
“Who was that?”
“Coach. Wants to see me tomorrow.”
“Oh. Hope it’s good news.”
“Me, too.” If she only knew. Maybe he wasn’t finished after all?
The next morning, Harry donned his new Black Watch plaid shirt and paced by the window. It was quarter to ten, his nerves had hit high alert about ten minutes earlier. He’d managed to snarf down some leftover ham and a couple of rolls with butter.
Now he nursed a second cup of coffee as he stood, watching for the coach’s car. A few flakes from the trees swirled around, then down.
“It’s windy. Bundle up,” Kitty said, as she walked by, carrying serving pieces.
The clean-up after the party took two days. In the past, he’d been playing in Hartford or on the road, so he couldn’t help. But not today.
“When you get back, I’ve got a list for you.”
“Okay,” he said.
The sudden beep from a car snagged his attention. “Coach is here,” he called out to his wife.
“Good luck.” She blew him a kiss.
Harry was out the door and down the stairs in a flash. He and the coach exchanged greetings.
“Where are we headed?”
“You’ll see. The man you’re going to meet is named Buster Callahan. He runs a program at the Veteran�
��s Memorial Rink, here in West Hartford.”
“Program?”
“Yeah. I’ll let him tell you.”
Timmons pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car. As they walked through the icy wind to the entrance, Coach rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”
Coach’s words worried Harry. What was so terrible that he should keep an open mind? When people said that, it never ended up good.
Buster Callahan greeted them. After hand-shaking all around, they proceeded to the rink.
“We’ve been running a summer hockey camp here for teens,” Buster began.
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“We had a volunteer coach, one of the dads, but the kids complained. Besides, he’s moving next week. We want to expand the program, run it as an after school and a summer camp. We need someone experienced to handle it. Someone the kids’ll respect. You fit the bill perfectly, Mr. Edwards.”
“Harry, please.”
“Okay. You’re it. You’re top of the line. I’m sure with you coaching, we’d have more kids signing up than we could handle.”
“’You want me to coach kids?”
“Not little kids. Teens. Some are quite talented. They might even end up on the Huskies.”
Silence. Kids. Teens. Bratty, snotty, insolent teens. Not on your life.
“Mr. Callahan…”
“Buster, Please.”
“I don’t think I’m suited to work with kids. I’m kinda rough around the edges. My language alone would have most mothers passed out on the floor.”
Buster laughed. “That’s okay. The kids expect that. And the mothers won’t be here when you’re teaching. These are good kids. Respectful.”
“What about the ones who aren’t.”
“We’d be giving you complete control. Anyone who talks back or doesn’t behave properly…you’d have the authority to kick them out of the program.”
Harry smiled. “Good. ’Cause that’s the only way they’ll learn. You have to be tough.”
“Exactly! That’s what we’re looking for. A serious coach. Someone who’s demanding and doesn’t let the kids get away with a lot of shit.”
“That’s Harry,” Coach Timmons put in.
“Salary? I hope this isn’t a volunteer job.”
Buster laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding? A man of your experience and accomplishment? We’d never expect you to work for nothing. Salary would be a percentage of the enrollment. The after school is going to be pricey. About two grand per semester. Say we get thirty kids, that’s sixty grand. We’d give you forty percent. Or twenty-four grand. After school is from three to five, five days a week. So you’d be making that for ten hours of work a week, times two semesters.”
“And the prep work before and after, too.”
“Of course. I know that’s a drop-in-the-bucket for a star like you. We’d pay more for the summer programs. Think of the lives you’d be changing.”
“How many weeks?”
“January through May. July and August, then September through November. All in all, you’d make about a hundred grand a year, including the summer program.”
Buster handed Harry a card. “Here’s a free pass for you and a friend. It’s good until June. Stop by, try out the rink. I can arrange for you to meet some of the kids who are in the program now, if you’d like.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, shoving the card in his back pocket. “Let me think about it.”
“We’re aiming to have the top program in the country, Harry. And with you here coaching? We’re a slam dunk.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Whadda ya think?” Coach Timmons asked.
“Have to think about it. Talk it over with my wife.”
“Sure, sure. We’d like to be able to announce you as our new coach by the end of the week. I’m betting, as soon as it gets out you’re coaching, we get flooded with kids wanting to sign up.”
“And what if you don’t?”
“Are you saying the kids around here wouldn’t give their right arm to learn to play hockey from you? You’re kidding, right?” Buster’s eyebrows shot up.
Harry laughed. “I’m no god.”
“You are to hockey fans.”
Harry turned and stuck out his hand. Buster took it. “Thank you, Buster, for the offer. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
The coach and Buster shook hands.
“My son’s in that program,” Coach Timmons said.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“So, this wasn’t out of the blue. You didn’t call him up and beg him to hire me, did you?”
“Didn’t have to. Minute I mentioned you might be looking for something, he jumped on it.”
Coach broke the silence that had settled in as they headed back to Harry’s house.
“Think you’ll take the job?”
“Beats scouting.”
“Won’t pay nearly as much.”
“Doesn’t matter. Pays not the thing.”
“Travel a problem?”
Harry nodded. “That and being away from the game. I’ve been on the ice since I was eight.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. At least with the coaching job, I’d be skating every day.”
“You’d be a good teacher.”
“If I take the job, I ain’t goin’ easy on your kid.”
The coach laughed. “Good. Robbie needs a strong hand. Does that mean you’ll take it?”
“Not sayin’ yes, an’ not sayin’ no. Gotta talk to Kitty.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Thanks for recommending me.”
The coach nodded.
Harry invited Stan for lunch, but he begged off, citing family time before they got back to hockey. Harry trudged up the steps. Out to pasture. Is this what a retired racehorse feels like? Of course, he goes to stud. That’s a different matter. No one’s offering to pay me to knock up women. Harry chuckled to himself, wondering what that would be like.
“What’s so funny?” Kitty asked, greeting him at the door.
Harry sensed color invading his cheeks. “Nothing.”
“Not nothing. You’re blushing. You never blush.”
“What’s for lunch?”
“Clam chowder and lobster salad.”
Harry’s appetite kicked into gear. “Sounds great.”
“So? What happened?”
“Let’s eat first.”
Chapter Five
Kitty cleared away the lunch dishes. Harry bellied up to the sink to load the dishwasher.
“Coach told me to go with them on the trip to Philly.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Make sure you get what’s coming to you,” Kitty said, putting placemats in a drawer.
“It’s all in the contract, hon. Nothing to worry about. I spoke to Mark. He said Timmons placed me on the long-term injured reserve list.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means they gotta pay my salary for the duration of my contract.”
“And that is?”
“I’ve got four years left. Three mil a year.”
“Not bad,” she said.
“I suppose. Feels wrong taking the money and not playing,” Harry said, closing the machine and turning it on.
“It’s your right. It’s not like they don’t have the money.”
“True, true.” He sighed. “Where’s the paper?”
“On the sofa.”
Harry retired to the living room. Kitty joined him. Looking down he noticed she wore the diamond tennis bracelet.
“Who says you can’t wear diamonds at home?” she asked, fingering the jewels.
He kissed her.
“So, are you going to take the coaching job?” she asked, tucking her legs beneath her.
He pursed his lip. “Probably not.”
“The scouting job?”
He shook his head.
“Then what?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue.” He rose and headed for the stairs.
Kitty went to the window and watched the birds. Harry had put out a feeder and the hungry little creatures were filling their bellies. She gnawed on her lip, worry seeping into her heart. When Harry gave her the green light to take over the gallery, they had had to work things out between them. There had been tense days of arguing, stony silence, and slamming out of the house. After the drama subsided, they had discussed their differences and worked out a plan.
Dazzled by Harry upon first meeting, she’d grown to love the real man, the one behind the hockey fame and glamour. He’d been everything she’d wanted in a husband. When he proposed, she’d been over the moon, mad in love, and convinced they’d be together forever.
Then one injury had razed their finely-constructed scheme. Kitty admitted to herself that so much time apart had worn thin. Although she had no alternative, she’d hoped to talk to Harry about changing things. She missed him so much it hurt.
Now everything had been ripped apart, as if by a tornado. To Kitty, it represented an opportunity. She’d seized on the idea of his not playing hockey and their spending more time together with great hope. The scouting offer scared the crap out of her—more travel? Their marriage would be doomed.
He’d turned away from the idea of having children and being a stay-at-home dad. Then he scuttled the chance to coach and stay in West Hartford. His negative attitude and closed mind dashed dreams of rearranging their life to be more normal.
She headed for the kitchen to put up a pot of coffee. He’d leave tomorrow with the team, but for how long? They had to settle things tonight. Maybe Harry had been right that divorce was the only answer. If he refused to consider viable alternatives, what choice did she have? Living with an angry man who’d shut himself up in his house or tag along after her, resenting every step, would bring a happy marriage to a bitter end.
Was it better to have a friendly divorce now or watch their relationship crumble to acrimonious ashes? Tears stung at the back of her eyes. There must be something she could do. She added milk and sugar to her mug and ambled back to the living room.