by Cd Brennan
Damian moved up the aisle to sing at the ladies. He was wearing a huge grin, but Brittany looked like she wanted to belt him. “A cucumber she wanted, my pickle she got!”
“Oh, I don't work there anymore!”
And then she did. Popped him right in the eye. Chaos erupted, the whole bus getting in on the fight. Time to exit. The bus door was open and the driver was yelling over the speaker for them to cut it out. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have a ride home from the party.
Rory stepped out into the cold. He shivered and tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants. The bus had pulled up right at the doors. He passed a couple smokers on his way in. They said hi, but in a distant way since they were watching the show on the bus.
Just inside the door, Assistant Coach Shaun and his wife were collecting money for tickets and raffles. Beyond them the party was spread out, the inn hosting multiple small, cozy rooms and an Irish-style bar in the middle. People wandered here and there, everyone mingling and chatting.
Rory leaned down close to Shaun. “Did Grace come in?”
“Haven’t seen her mate, but I went on a couple of drink runs to the bar.” He turned to his wife who was giving out change to an old Blues player from years past in the Old Boys club. “Did Grace come in?”
“Who’s Grace?”
Shaun answered, “She’s new. I told you about her. Wanted to play for the boys, but luckily Rory started up a women’s team.” He punched Rory in the arm playfully. “Good man.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know. She could have. I don’t know the women’s team yet.”
“About this tall.” Rory raised his hand to his chest. That’s where she fit perfectly. “Brown hair, big eyes, bright smile.” Beautiful.
She shook her head again. Unfortunately, Rory didn’t even know Shaun’s wife’s name although he’d seen her at every game for the last year. Everyone just referred to her as Shaun’s wife.
The crowd from the bus started lining up behind Rory, some pushing past in all their drunken glory, Shaun calling them back to pay up. There was quite a bit of shoving and loudness so Rory started a sweep of the other rooms looking for Grace. Parents of players mingled in twos. They were going to get a shocker when their adult children came in absolutely blootered. Or maybe not a shocker at all.
Some of the Old Boys were at the bar already, and past them Coach was setting up the awards table. Rory approached him. “Heya, Coach.”
He looked up from pulling an extension cord around the back of the table. “Hey, Rory.”
“You look good.”
Coach was wearing his dress kilt. “Thanks, where’s your kilt, son?”
“Didn’t wear it tonight.”
He plugged the upright speaker into the cord. “How come?”
He shrugged. “Dinnae ken.” But he did know. It seemed like a lot of work when he could just pull on a nice pair of trousers and shirt. And this year he was hoping for a Blues jacket, the one that each player earned after a certain level of service to the club. They were nothing fancy, just old, blue jackets found at Goodwill with a Blues logo patch sewn on the breast. But if you earned one, it was special. It made you feel special. Rory had yet to get one.
Maybe this year would be his year. Maybe the Blues would finally recognize his commitment to the club. It was his life. Everything he did was for the club, from what he ate and drank to how much training and sleep he got.
He’d put out some feelers. “How many jackets this year, Coach?”
Coach looked up briefly from winding the extra cable around the back of a large speaker on a stand. “Three.”
“Forwards or backs?”
Coach finished setting up the sound system and stood to look at him. “Everything all right, Ruaridh?” Coach used his Scottish name. Quite often he reverted to his proper name, didn’t like that Rory had changed it when he got here. It was just easier for everyone, less trouble, so that was what he’d done.
“Aye, all good.” That was the end to that query. “Have you seen Grace?”
Coach walked through the tables on his way back to the foyer, most likely to greet everyone as they came in. “Nope, but I’ve been pretty busy with setup. Me and the missus have been flat-out since we arrived over an hour ago.”
Rory followed Coach around the corner into a crowded foyer. Shit, he’d never find her now.
“Have you tried the bar?” Coach said, motioning toward his left.
Rory craned his neck but didn’t see her. “I dunno…”
But Coach had already made his way into a group of players, shaking each hand, clapping them on the back, kisses and hugs to their girlfriends and partners.
Rory would call Grace, but she didn’t have a phone. She could be in trouble. She could be passed out in her room. After he had researched diabetes, he should have shared that with the team, or Gillian or Del at least. It was scary stuff and complicated. Grace was a grown woman, and she had told him she’d had it all her life, so Rory had assumed it was second nature to her, but perhaps he should have done something more.
The worry kept spinning around in his head. Or maybe she hadn’t heard Rory earlier but didn’t answer for any unfathomable reason a woman wouldn’t, and maybe she’d gotten into a car accident on the way here. The roads were slick, and once they got outside of Traverse City, the country lanes were dark. She’d complained Bluegill didn’t handle the northern roads very well. He imagined her turned over in a ditch, unconscious, blood running down her head. Argh! He’d just imagined himself into a panic attack.
If she’d had a phone, it would take one call or text to let someone know she was okay. Like Rory. And why hadn’t she taken the bloody bus?
He strode to the bar and ordered a dram of scotch. He didn’t care if it wasn’t supplied by the club. He’d start his own tab. Jimmy was sitting at the bar next to him. “How goes it Rory?”
“Aye, grand.” But he wanted the bartender’s attention, and now.
“No kilt tonight?”
“Nope, not tonight.” No fucking kilt, all right? “Hey, have you seen Grace in the bar here?”
“Nope, can’t say that I have, and I’ve been sitting here since I got here.”
Their host, an ex-rugby player and a fellow Scotsman, was walking around shouting for everyone to take a seat since dinner was ready. He was wearing his kilt tonight, too. People were slow to respond, the alcohol and chatter keeping them in their groups. Then Del shouted, supporting their host at the inn, and finally folks started to take their seats.
Rory found his way to Del who had already rounded up Irish and Gillian. Junette was standing with them in a small circle. Irish was totally decked out, full suit, trendy tie and shoes, while Gillian wore a short blue dress with puffed sleeves and two ruffles in the skirt. And lots of blue eye shadow. Rory had to blink a few times at the glare. Wow.
He shook Irish’s hand and kissed Gillian on each cheek. “You look lovely.” And very blue. But even then, Gillian had that little something that made her shine. Grace did, too. There was an ache in his chest, and he rubbed it.
The four of them, including Del, took one of the tables at the front. Junette said she would sit with the other girls on the women’s team. The table was decorated with full silverware, linen napkins, all the posh elements that Rory didn’t miss a bit.
He slid next to Gillian as soon as she was seated, waited a lengthy moment before he could get her attention, and then asked her, “Have you seen Grace?”
Irish settled Gillian’s coat on the back of her chair and then took a seat on her far side. Gillian placed a small purse on the table and picked up her wine. “She isn’t here yet?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Huh, that’s a worry. I thought she was going to take the bus.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, but when Del and I left, she wasn’t around the house.” Or she had been but wasn’t responding. Perhaps she had locked her door for privacy. Her truck h
ad been in the driveway, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t left with someone else while the boys were getting ready.
Irish motioned for Del to sit at the head of the table. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
Gillian turned to Rory. “I don’t know… I saw her at Junette’s this afternoon, and she planned on going. I mean, that’s the reason she was at Junette’s.”
He was about to ask why Grace was with them, but just then Coach came over the speaker to announce the kick-off to the award ceremony. While servers went around with the first course, a beef barley soup, Shaun got up to give a review of the season, including the men’s team and the girls’ and boys’ high school teams. That took them through to the main course when Coach took over.
Without looking obvious, Rory scanned the room when he had a chance. Where was she?
Chapter 13
Slam!
What was that?
Grace blinked her eyes open to a dark room, and for a moment, she couldn’t recall where she was. The last thing she remembered was hanging the dress. Then lights out.
It all was a bit dreamlike. It was that strange sensation a person got when they slept soundly during the day that threw off their body clock. Especially having gone to sleep when it was light out and awoken when it was dark.
At a glance to the clock, she’d panicked. She’d been asleep for over two hours! There was no way she’d make the booze bus to the banquet. She jumped out of bed and clicked on all the lights. She was thirsty, but the glass on her bedside table was empty. And she had to pee, really bad. She should make herself a proper meal, but there wasn’t really time. And she’d have to drive Bluegill. Sheeit. That was gonna suck.
Grace used the walls to keep her upright to get out of the room and down the stairs to the bathroom and then the kitchen. The lights were out, and the boys had gone. The slam of the door was what most likely had woken her up.
Instead of preparing some brown rice, chicken breast, and veggies, a good meal for diabetics, and one that she’d eaten a million times in her lifetime, she grabbed a microwaveable meal of Del’s from the freezer and chucked it into the microwave.
At the mirror in the bathroom, she tried to resurrect her curls. They weren’t as bouncy as before but looked better this way, in Grace’s opinion. Not so unnatural, more like a curl caused from salt spray. She must not have tossed and turned while sleeping like she usually did. Wow, that was some sleep. Her makeup was still pretty good, too.
In her room, she carefully pulled the dress from the plastic and admired the garment one last time before yanking off her clothes down to her bra and panties. She considered fresh ones, but that would mean digging around her laundry basket, and she was already late. The black T-shirt bra and mismatching blue striped underwear would have to do.
She tugged the dress over her head and let the soft fabric fall. It was simple yet elegant, a shimmery blue-green scoop neck. It came just above her knee. Jewelry? She hadn’t even thought of it. She had a pair of old silver dangly earrings she could use, and that was about it. She did remove her sports watch, though, that left a band mark around her wrist. Lovely.
No time! Grace grabbed the black heels and rushed downstairs. She yanked the steaming meal from the microwave and pulled back the cardboard. At the last minute, she grabbed a tea towel and shoved it in the top of her dress so she wouldn’t splatter. She started eating before it cooled and, dayum, burned the roof of her mouth.
She was puffing and blowing, but no time! She took another mouthful and burned her tongue, but swallowed it down with a drink of water. This Heartyman’s Meal tasted like cardboard. She would have been better off with one of her token salad with chicken breast. She craved junk food constantly, but hmmm…this wasn’t half as good as she’d imagined.
Where were her jacket and purse? Shoot, she didn’t even own a nice purse! Grace dashed back up the stairs, grabbed her regular fleece coat and big bag out of her room, and rushed downstairs again. With her heels in her hand, she stepped into her boots and jogged out to Bluegill, the dunk dunk of the heavy boots on the cement.
Girl, don’t fail me now. The night was cold, and Grace shivered as she jammed her key into the ignition to start the truck.
But nothing. Seriously? Oh no. No no no no no no no. She tried again, but it wouldn’t even turn over, completely dead. She punched the steering wheel, then felt bad so rubbed out the spot. “Sorry, Bluey, I know you don’t mean it.”
Grace could cry. She really could. She was halfway there already, and the only thing keeping the tears at bay was her desire to keep her makeup intact. Junette had spent plenty of her own precious time on Grace’s face, and she didn’t want to ruin it.
She took a deep breath and counted to ten. She could only do what she could do. Okay, so her brothers had taught her the basics for Bluegill. Since the truck was a classic, there wasn’t much to the guts of her. Spark, air, and gas. She had half a tank so that wasn’t it. She pulled the lever to pop the hood and, with a groan, stepped back out into the frigid air. Then immediately returned to the cab and dug through her purse until she found the pen with the tiny flashlight on the end.
Securing that in her mouth, she opened the hood and then checked the air filter. That was fine. It must be her battery or spark plugs. Well, she’d try the battery, and if that wasn’t it, she’d have to call it a night. But she needed Del’s car for that. Parked right next to Bluegill, it was a stroke of luck. Or a message from the gods she needed to get her southwestern ass to that banquet.
Grace tried Del’s car. It was unlocked! She popped the hood, but then remembered she still needed his keys to start his car. But he would’ve taken them with him. He always stayed out later than Rory. But just maybe…
Grace dashed back inside to the cupboard where they hung all their keys. Yes! His keychain was unique and obvious with a child’s pacifier and a white tribal carving that looked like a swirly fishhook. She’d always meant to ask him about that.
Back at the truck, her heart raced as she grabbed the jumper cables from under her seat. Sheeit. The cables were a mess, all tangled in knots. As she unraveled, she tried to remember how her brother, Ted, had taught her. Red first or black? Dayum. He had made her attach the black clip to its own cable first so they wouldn’t touch. That must mean the red was first. And something about the black on her car going to the frame instead of the negative terminal. Her car first and then Del’s.
She started his up. It was an old piece of brown junk, but who was she to say? Bluegill was no sport’s car. And at least Del’s started.
She said a quick prayer before she tried her Ford. C’mon girl. The engine cranked over and over, but didn’t catch. She ran over to Del’s and gunned the motor, then ran back to her own and tried again. Again it cranked, the engine whining at the effort. At least it was noise. She popped out and gunned Del’s again, pumping his accelerator pedal. Then back to Bluey. This time she caught, and Grace whooped in victory.
It was a mad scramble to unhook the cables and lock up Del’s car. She didn’t bother to put his keys back. She’d give them to him when she saw him. Now she just had to remember how to get there. Little Traverse Inn, a half hour outside of Traverse City, past Maple City. Left on 72 and then right and then another right. Or was it a left?
Grace didn’t bother to let Bluegill idle a bit before she took off. She probably should have, but the minutes were slipping away. She wanted Rory to see her in a different way, more than the Grace from before. The new Grace. The one that tried new things, lived vivaciously, seized the day. All while sexy. A woman of the millennium.
Without a phone, she had no GPS, and she had thought she was taking the bus… Shit on a stick. She yanked hard on the wheel as she was passing a gas station. She left Bluegill running and bounded into the shop. There was only one person in line paying at the register. But man, the older gentleman was as slow as the sloth in Zootopia as he determined what pump he was at—he couldn’t remember the number, but the silver car over th
ere—then he bought cigs and a few lottery tickets. Argh! C’mon already.
Grace danced from one foot to the other, not able to keep still. She was going to be sooo late. Finally, the man stepped aside, and before he was fully away from the counter, Grace rushed out. “Can I get directions to the Little Traverse Inn?”
The young clerk just stood there.
“Little Traverse Inn past Maple City?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Never heard of it. Maple City is out of town a bit.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Do you have maps here?”
“Down that aisle there.”
Grace followed where he pointed and jogged over. Sweet divine, there were a gazillion maps. One of Michigan, one of Grand Traverse County, one of Mission peninsula, one of the wineries in the area. Wow, they looked really nice. Shoot, Focus! Lawd, help her. The buzzer for the store went off as someone entered. And then another buzz. It was like it was prodding her, taunting her inaction. She wanted to grab her head and scream.
“Here,” the clerk sang out, “I’ve got it on my phone.”
Thank the good man above. She went back to him. “But I can’t take your phone…”
Obviously, his face seemed to say.
Grace dug in her purse for her notepad and a pen, but the clerk already had a piece of scrap paper out that he was making lines on. When she snatched both from him, he gave her one of those disgruntled young-person looks her sister always did, the one that said the equivalent of OMG, but he did turn his phone so she could see better.
As she followed the route, she had to keep moving the screen around on his phone. She could hear a line of folk forming behind her, but tonight her southern manners were going to have to wait a goddamn second. She took another scan of the full map before she returned the phone to him.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” The clerk barely acknowledged her, but she addressed the small crowd of people waiting. “Sorry! I’m off to win a heart. Wish me luck!”