Icing on the Lake

by Catherine Clark

  I couldn’t wait to see Sean. That’s what I was thinking as I marched to the rink at the lake a few days later. Bear was pulling me at top speed, and I didn’t care—I wanted to sprint down there. I was half-running, half-walking.

  I’d called Sean’s house, and his mother told me he’d be at the lake after school.

  When I got there, the ice was nearly empty. Hardly anyone else was crazy enough to be out on a day like this. It was like negative thirteen degrees and windy.

  I went into the warm-up room and shivered by the heating vent for a few minutes. A few moms with young kids were inside, trying to warm up by sipping hot chocolate from Thermoses.

  When Conor opened the door to the building, we both totally flinched. He obviously hadn’t been expecting to see me, and vice versa. I hadn’t seen him since the day of the Snow White escapade, when we’d had a semi-normal time together, talking.

  “Hey. What’s up?” I asked.

  “Not much,” he said, hopping up onto the table and dropping his duffel bag onto the floor. He was dressed in full goalie gear, except for the leg pads, which he started to fasten now as he talked to me.

  “Nice day out,” I commented. “If you like ice cubes.”

  “Oh, yah. Super,” he said, imitating a heavy Minnesotan accent. “Sorry, my grandfather came over for breakfast this morning. He thinks everything is super. Super, ya. You busted out your knee tending goal last night, then. Super.”

  “You betcha?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Exactly.”

  “I hate that stereotype, but sometimes it’s just true, right?” He nodded. “So, did you bust your knee?” I looked at his legs, and he didn’t seem to have any bandages.

  “No, my knee’s fine,” Conor said. “It should be in great shape by the time baseball season starts.”

  “You play baseball?” I asked. “What position?”

  “Catcher,” he said.

  “Cool. I’m on the softball team,” I said. “I play first base.”

  “No kidding. I wouldn’t have guessed,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause I’m stupid, I guess. I thought maybe Sean would have mentioned it.”

  “He, um, never asked either, but I think I told him,” I said. “Sean around, by any chance?” I finally asked, in as casual a tone as I could muster.

  “Yeah, he’s out there.”

  “Oh, good,” I said, just as I heard Bear bark a few times. “And Bear needs me, so…I’ll see you out there, okay?” Outside, I stopped to rub Bear behind the ears. I unclipped his leash from the bench where I’d tied it, and we started to walk over toward the rink where Sean and some other guys were practicing by taking shots on goal.

  Bear lunged forward, pulling me with him. Sean noticed me then, and waved with his hockey stick. He started to skate over toward us, and Bear started to run toward him, dragging me onto the ice.

  My feet went out from under me, and I fell backward. I slammed onto the ice, the back of my head hitting it kind of hard.

  As I sat up, embarrassed, I thought I saw a few stars floating around my head, the way they do when you stand up too quickly.

  Sean came up and his skates sprayed me with ice shavings as he came to a stylish stop right in front of me. Conor, of course, was already there, and Bear was running in circles around me and barking, to attract even more attention.

  Conor took one of my arms, while Sean took the other to help me to my feet. “Hey, Kirsten! You okay?” Sean asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Fine,” I said as I brushed a little snow off my jeans.

  “You’re okay? You sure?” Conor asked, touching my elbow.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  I know they both talked to me for a few minutes after that, but the next five minutes were actually sort of a blur. More guys showed up to play, and I stood there watching the game for a while, but then I realized not only was I cold, my head was starting to hurt from where I’d whacked it on the ice, and I didn’t really care about hockey right now, or who won or lost the game.

  As I was walking home, Conor pulled up beside me in that old pickup of his. “Kirsten? You want a ride?” he asked.

  “I’m almost there,” I said.

  “Well, actually…you’re not quite there. You’re a little off course. I’ve been looking all over for you for the past twenty minutes.”

  “Oh.” No wonder Bear had been trying to drag me in the other direction. He knew the way back to Gretchen’s better than I did.

  Conor got out of the truck and he was still in his hockey gear, all his pads. He had socks on but no shoes, and his goalie mask was sitting on the dashboard.

  “Don’t you have to get back to the game?” I asked as he helped me into the passenger seat. Bear hopped onto my lap, which wasn’t exactly an easy fit. He weighs about eighty pounds. If my head wasn’t hurting, my legs would soon.

  “No. I mean, the guys might think so, but it’s not that important to me right now. I’m kind of more worried about you,” Conor said.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “I don’t know if you are,” he said. “Anyway I have a history of ditching, so people pretty much expect it of me at this point.” He smiled as he pulled into our driveway.

  Bear and I got out of the truck and I pulled the house keys out of my pocket. I unlocked the front door and walked into the house. Conor was following right behind me.

  “So are you really feeling okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I have a headache, but…”

  “I’m kind of worried you might have a concussion,” he said. “Maybe I should take you to the doctor.”

  “What? Are you crazy?” I asked. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Well, I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he said.

  “Gretchen’s around here somewhere. She hardly ever leaves. Unless I want to leave, and then she’s gone, history, see you,” I muttered.

  “Gretchen!” Conor called around the house, and his deep voice startled me.

  “Where is Gretchen?” I muttered. “Oh, yeah. Brett’s at a friend’s house, and Gretchen went out with her friends. She said she’d be back late. Ish.”

  “Ish? Do you feel nauseous?” he asked. “Should I get you to the bathroom—grab a trashcan?”

  “No. Late-ish, she said.”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “Okay, well, why don’t you sit on the sofa. I’ll get you a glass of water.” He turned on the fireplace and went to the kitchen.

  “So. Your name and date of birth are?” he asked as he returned.

  “Come on, I’m not that out of it.” I watched the flames dance in the fake fireplace.

  “Still. Just tell me,” Conor urged. “And drink some of this.” He handed me the water glass.

  “Kirsten. And I’m a Virgo.” I took a sip of the ice cold water and shivered. “Couldn’t you bring me room-temp water at least? You make a terrible nurse.”

  Conor frowned. “Okay. You seem coherent. You definitely seem like yourself. Are you sleepy at all?” Conor asked, crouching down in front of me.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “You didn’t seem like you suffered a loss of consciousness…. Then again, you weren’t exactly sure where you were when I picked you up.” Conor gazed into my eyes. “But that happened the other night, too, when you were coming home after going sledding, and you didn’t hit your head then. Or did you?”

  “Do you have to insult me while I’m sitting here feeling a major headache coming on?” I grabbed my purse, which I’d left on the sofa earlier that day. “Which reminds me, I have some ibuprofen in here.”

  “Don’t take anything yet. Hold on. I’m trying to remember all the things I should check,” Conor said, tapping his fingers against my knees.

  “Check?” I asked.

  “For a concussion. Okay, a couple more things. Are you vomiting? No, you’re not. Okay, I have to check your pupils,” he said. “First I want to make sure they’re both dilated the same amount—
the same width. Look at me.”

  He was leaning close to me, staring into my eyes, when the front door flew open. We jumped back as Sean rushed in, panting and out of breath.

  “I’m making sure she didn’t hit her head too hard. Ruling out a concussion,” Conor said.

  “What are you, a doctor? You don’t know anything about that!” Sean said.

  “Yes, I do,” Conor said. “Who do you think got a concussion once? Not you—me.”

  Was it me, or was this competition a little insane, when it came down to arguing over who had the most skull fractures?

  “You’re full of it.” Sean sat on the sofa beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. “How are you feeling?” He gave me a little squeeze. “You okay?”

  Conor pulled the fleece throw over my legs.

  “You can go now,” Sean said.

  “I want to make sure she’s okay,” Conor said.

  “I’ll look after her,” Sean said. He got up and followed Conor to the door. I could hear them arguing, but I was starting to get a headache, so I just leaned back against the pillows and relaxed. The door closed, and I assumed Conor was gone.

  “How’s it going?” Sean asked.

  I wasn’t sure if I was still seeing things. There was a hazy light. “Hey,” I said.

  “You okay? Really?”

  “Yeah, well. I should probably borrow Brett’s helmet next time I try to take Bear down to the rink.”

  “Ouch.”

  “But other than that, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He took off his hat and rubbed his head, making his hair do that cute static-y thing. “I kind of have some bad news for you, though. Something I forgot to tell you.”

  “What. You can’t go skiing that weekend?” I sat up so quickly that I did actually feel dizzy for a moment or two.

  “What weekend?”

  “Sean!” I threw the fleece blanket toward him. “I told you a hundred times, Groundhog Day weekend—”

  “I know, I know! Sorry. I just forgot for a second there.”

  “You did check to see if you can come. Right?”

  He nodded, handing the blanket back to me. “But I have to tell you I’m not completely sure yet. Because Coach keeps changing our schedule around, and we might have this game scheduled with a college JV team that day, but hopefully not. Anyway, the bad news I had to tell you is that…I’m not going to see you anymore—”

  “What?” How much bad news did he expect me to take in one sitting?

  “This week,” he finished the sentence. “I’m going away for four or five days, to North Dakota for a hockey camp thing and a tournament. We’re leaving tomorrow, actually.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” I leaned back on the pillows with a contented sigh. He still wasn’t completely sure about the Groundhog Getaway, but what was more important, really? The fact he was here with me now, or the fact I could bring him to meet all my friends?

  Wait a second. That was a tough call.

  Sean smiled and snuggled close to me on the sofa. “So I’ll see you when I get back. It should be a couple days before the Snow Ball,” he said.

  “Speaking of which. What should I wear?” I asked.

  “You know that habit you have of not wearing enough clothes or layers? Go with that.” He grinned at me.

  “Okay, but I’m not wearing the Snow White costume,” I replied.

  Chapter 14

  Conor had my double latte ready even before I claimed a table. He brought it over as I sat down, sliding the mug toward me.

  “Thanks for making sure I got home okay the other day.”

  “Oh. No problem,” he said.

  I could tell that we both sort of flashed on that awkward moment when he was gazing into my eyes, and Sean walked into the house.

  “See anything?” he asked, pointing to the mug.

  “A very hot coffee with my name on it?” I asked. “Oh, you probably want your three dollars, don’t you?”

  “Plus tip, yeah.” He smiled. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

  I looked around the bakery café, wondering if they’d made some change I hadn’t noticed when I walked in. All I noticed were several new posters for Winter Carnival on the bulletin board.

  “I made a pattern.” Conor gestured toward the mug again.

  “What?” I felt confused.

  “A pattern. In the foam. It’s…well, it’s supposed to be a snowball. It kind of looks like a formless blob, now, doesn’t it.” He pulled over an empty chair from the next table and straddled it.

  “Does that really look like a snowball to you?” I joked. “Well, snow, maybe. It is white.” I lifted the coffee cup to my lips to take a sip.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey—part of the reason I came here is because we need to order a cake for Brett’s birthday.”

  “Cool! Hold on a sec.” Conor got up from the chair and went over to the counter. He came back carrying a small piece of paper.

  “How old is he going to be?” Conor asked. “Four, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Vanilla? Chocolate?” he suggested. “No, wait. It’s Brett. It has to be strawberry.” He tapped his pen against the table. “We don’t actually make a strawberry cake. How about a white cake with strawberry frosting?”

  “That’d work,” I said.

  “What did Gretchen say?”

  “She said get anything, but make sure it’s not her favorite. She’s been trying to lose weight. Her fave is chocolate, so this should be safe.”

  “What’s your favorite?” Conor asked.

  “Mine?” I laughed. “Chocolate, too. With chocolate frosting. No, wait—even better? Banana cake with chocolate icing—”

  “Yeah, but have you ever had raspberry chocolate cake?” Conor said. “The baker here makes a killer torte like that.”

  “A killer torte,” I repeated. “Hmm.”

  “Yeah, okay, maybe I’ve been working here too long. So, about this coffee thing,” Conor said.

  “What…coffee thing?” I wondered.

  “The snowball. Have you heard about this Snow Ball party thing?” Conor asked.

  Oh, no, I thought. He wasn’t really going to do this, was he? “Is everything a thing?” I joked.

  “Hey, I’m all about the things,” he replied.

  I laughed, hating to tell him something he wouldn’t want to hear. Because it seemed like he was about to invite me to the party, though I couldn’t understand why. Did he think Sean and I had a falling-out? Or had we had one…without Sean telling me? Was there something I didn’t know?

  “Remember that day at Buck Hill?” I said.

  “Unfortunately,” Conor mumbled. “I mean—not the hanging out with you part. The being on a float part.”

  “We weren’t on a float, we were on a bed!” I said.

  A few people sitting at the table beside us turned to look when I said that. Conor and I looked at each other and laughed.

  “Same difference. So what were you saying?” Conor asked.

  “Oh. Just that, yeah. Sean asked me to the Snow Ball then. I’m sorry, Conor.”

  “Oh, it’s cool. You know, I just thought…you’re here. I’m here. The party is fun.” He shrugged. “We could have fun together, snarking on the seven hockey players and their dates.” He coughed. “Six hockey players. Whatever.”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged.

  “Yeah. Well, speed has never really been one of my strong suits. Actually I don’t even have a suit, which is going to be a problem if I go to this thing, so maybe it’s just as well.”

  We sat there in awkward silence for a minute. I willed Bear to bark at a police car siren, to race off with a heavy metal object, anything. Just get me out of this weird situation.

  Finally Conor forced a smile. “Well, maybe I’ll see you there if I get that suit thing together. In the meantime, I’d better get this cake order turned in.” He stood up and shoved the chair back to its original table.r />
  About twenty minutes later, I was about to go ask Conor for a coffee refill when he suddenly grabbed his coat and left the bakery. He didn’t even say goodbye to me. I watched him walk down the block and then turn the corner.

  “Where’s he going?” I asked Paula when I went up to the counter. She held out her hand, and I held out my mug.

  “He went to the market. We’re almost out of half-and-half and our delivery’s not until later today,” Paula said. “What did you say to him, anyway? You’d think he was dying.”

  “Not much,” I said. “He asked me to go to this party, but I couldn’t go with him because I’m going with his brother.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Paula nodded. “No wonder he’s acting like this. Do you know how much he and his brother compete? And do you know how long it’s been since he liked anyone?”

  Liked anyone? I thought. So Conor really did like me—he wasn’t just inviting me to spite Sean? “How long?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, exactly,” Paula said. “But I’ve known him a year and there’s been no one. Absolutely no one.”

  “Oh,” I said. I was surprised. Conor kind of sounded like me. He didn’t go around dating just to date. He hadn’t had tons of girlfriends, just like I hadn’t had more than one boyfriend, and even he hardly counted.

  So what was my situation now? I wondered. Did I have a boyfriend, or just a date for the Snow Ball?

  I went back to my table, sat at the computer, and emailed Jones. I wanted her advice, her take on things. I wanted to know what I should do. Instead I just asked her:

  JONES, are you coming down for Winter Carnival or not?

  Before she could respond, Conor walked back into the bakery carrying three plastic bags, filled with cartons of milk and half-and-half.

  I waited a minute to let him get settled, then walked over to the counter. “Want to go to Winter Carnival tomorrow?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Do you want to go to Winter Carnival with me tomorrow? My friends were supposed to come down, but I don’t know if they’re going to.”

  He frowned.

  Oh, no. I’d totally said the wrong thing. I’d blurted out this invitation without thinking it through. Of course he didn’t want to go with me. I was seeing his brother; it was probably wrong for me to hang out with him.