by Glenn Parker
Don undressed slowly, thinking of the lost opportunities. He also thought of how many times Ackerman had chosen to shoot from a bad angle rather than pass to him. If he had passed just once, it could have made the difference.
“Nice game, Don,” Lew said. “You looked great out there. I wish I could say that for everybody. With any luck you could have had a couple more goals.”
He looked over at Ackerman, but Ackerman didn’t lift his head. Had Lew noticed Ackerman’s refusal to pass the puck? He would have to be blind not to notice. Surely now he would separate them, put them on different lines.
When Lew and Don left the dressing room, Jennifer was waiting for them. She tried to smile when they approached but she didn’t quite make it.
“That was too bad,” she said. “I think you should have won. You had most of the play.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks that,” Lew said.
“You played a good game, Don,” she said. “It sure wasn’t your fault we lost.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I did the best I could. It just wasn’t good enough.”
They walked out of the arena and headed toward the parking lot. “I’m going home, Jennifer,” Lew said. “You can give Don a lift back to the hotel.”
He said goodnight and walked away from them. Don turned to Jennifer who was staring after her father.
“He wanted to win so badly tonight,” she said.
Don put his arm around her. “The season’s just getting started,” he said. “We’ll win our share of games.” She smiled up at him.
“I hope you’re right,” she replied.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was ten o’clock on a Monday night when Don sat in a booth at the Dew Drop Inn sipping his coffee. Except for two men sitting in the booth next to him, the place was deserted. At ten thirty the throng from the movie theatre would take possession and the quiet seclusion of the place would be broken. It would once more become the social centre for Fairmore’s young set and throb with the sounds of youth and the din of the juke box. But right now it was the way Don liked it.
He had got into the habit of coming to the Dew Drop Inn for an evening coffee. It was a break from the solitude of his room and the lack of privacy afforded by the inadequate lounge at the hotel. The nightly ritual of coffee and cinnamon buns offered by Ma Schaffer was tempting. Her cinnamon buns were, to say the least, unsurpassed. But Don preferred to be alone. He wasn’t up to the verbal calisthenics that were so favored by the others at the hotel. He was, by nature, reticent and the thought of debating philosophical and unanswerable questions did not interest him.
“That was quite a game on Saturday night,” Don heard one of the men in the next booth say.
The other laughed. “You can say that again. You coulda heard a pin drop when that guy took the penalty shot. It looks like another bad season for Lew.”
The first man cleared his throat. “Oh, I don’t know. This new guy…what’s his name? Jordan? He should help the club a lot.”
“He’s fast all right. And he’s got the moves. Too bad he wasn’t getting any help out there.”
“Heard he was playing junior for Saskatoon. I wonder how Lew got hold of him.”
It was the first man’s turn to laugh. “I’ll tell you, there’s more to that than meets the eye,” he added. “This kid’s working for Abernathy, you know. I guess he had to offer him a pretty sweet deal before he could get him to come down.”
He paused to drink his coffee.
“Anyway, it looks like Old Lew is on his way out. So he needs something to give him a shot in the arm you might say. And presto! Up turns this guy Jordan.”
“You don’t mean to say —”
“Exactly,” the first man replied with some relish. “Old Lew and Abernathy cooked this thing up between them and I’ll bet the stakes were pretty high. Old Lew’s not broke and you know how Jess likes the green stuff.”
“Lew doesn’t miss a trick, does he? This guy Jordan better pan out or Lew’s going to lose a big investment — and his coaching job.” They laughed again.
Don could scarcely breathe as he stared at the back of the booth the men were sitting in. He felt sick. The nausea engulfed him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He got up and strolled out of the café.
The cool autumn air revived him slightly as he walked down the street. He felt numb. Was it possible? he thought. Could what they had said be true? The numbness was suddenly replaced by anger. The thought of being manipulated by the two men he had trusted most in the town was too much for him.
And what about Jennifer? Was she part of the same game? Was her friendship just a softening up process? She had tried hard to get him to come out for the team. All that about her father and it being the end of him if he lost the coaching job — just one more lie to bring him around to her way of thinking no doubt.
He went back to the hotel and lay on the bed. He felt very alone. There was no one he could turn to, talk things over with. He was on his own. The two men he trusted most had never been friends at all — just people who had taken advantage of him.
Why had he decided to play again? If only he had stuck to his original decision, none of this would be happening. It had been because of Allan Bishop. “I would give anything to be able to play hockey again,” he had said. “Even give up my art.” The man’s passion had impressed Don. Here he was, perfectly able to play and yet choosing not to. It had struck him then as being a little rash, a little ridiculous. After all, a hockey career was a short one. Did he want to look back when he was 35 and regret that he hadn’t followed his dream? And so he had changed his mind and in doing so had played right into the hands of Jess Abernathy and Lew Simons. What a sap he had been. The two of them must be having a big laugh over it all.
Don slept little that night and went to work hollow-eyed and feeling as though he had been run over by a truck the next day. He had decided to go through the motions until he could sort things out. He needed to talk it over with someone and had decided that the only person who could fill that role was Allan Bishop. To do that, he needed a car.
After work he walked over to the Ford dealership across the tracks. He had earlier contemplated buying a car but resources or lack of them, had made him hesitate. Well, he would have one financed, he decided. During the long winter season he would need one anyway, whether he was here or back in Saskatoon.
It took him half-an-hour to decide on a car. Within an hour, he drove off the lot with a very sensible sedan that had low mileage and a good reputation. Now, he no longer had to depend on anybody for transportation.
After supper he drove the five miles out to his land to see Allan Bishop. It was tricky finding his way in the dark. He had only been paying scant attention when Jennifer had driven him out.
Finally, however, his headlights shone on the bridge and seconds later he drew up to the cabin.
The back door opened and Don saw Allan framed in the doorway. He got out of the car and walked up to him. “Thought I’d pay you a visit,” he said to the surprised artist.
“Come on in, Don. It’s great to see you again.”
Peg was sitting in front of the fireplace reading a book. She smiled up at him. “Hi again,” she said. “Come to evict us?”
Don grinned and sat down beside her. “Nothing like that.”
“Where’s Jennifer tonight?” Allan asked. “Or should I ask?”
Don sighed. “Well, that’s one of the reasons I came out tonight.”
“Can I get you a coffee?” Peg asked and Don nodded.
Allan came and sat across from Don, a look of concern on his face. “You two have a fight?”
“No, nothing like that,” Don said. “And she’s just a friend. There’s nothing between us, you know. We only met a while ago.” And then Don told him everything. When he had finished, he looked into the fire. “I had to talk to somebody about it. You were the only people I could think of.”
“I know how you must feel, Don,�
�� Allan said. “But what you heard in the café could be just speculation. It might not be true at all; just two old men talking through their hats.”
“I thought of that. It’s one of the reasons I’m still here. But when I started thinking about everything that’s happened since I arrived, it all seems to add up to one thing. I can’t help feeling that I’ve been used.”
“Have you talked to Jennifer about it?” Peg asked.
“No, I haven’t seen her,” Don admitted. “I couldn’t face her. If she had anything to do with this, I don’t know what I would do. But of course, Lew is her Dad. I don’t know how far she would go to help him out. She doesn’t seem like the manipulative type, does she?”
“I’m sure she isn’t,” Peg said. “She didn’t strike me as that kind of person at all.”
“My advice,” Allan said, “and you can take this for what it’s worth. I’m no psychologist, just a guy trying to get by. I would just let things ride for a while. Don’t do anything rash. I’m sure in the end you’ll find out the truth — then you can make a decision. But if you do something now, you may regret it later on.”
Don nodded. “You’re probably right. The problem is how do I deal with these people as things are? I’m not very good at pretending. I get angry just thinking about it.”
‘Just try to put it out of your mind,” Allan said. “Forget that it even happened. Get past it. I know that’s hard but it can be done if you try. I’ve been doing it for two years now. How do you think I was able to accept my handicap and stop from thinking about how things might have been?”
Don felt a pang of guilt. His plight seemed petty beside Allan’s. But at least Allan had his art, that was something. He had nothing to look forward to but a lot of doubt and suspicion.
“I’ll try,” he said at last. “I guess it’s the only thing I can do.”
Before Don left, Allan turned to him. “I’m glad you’re playing again. I don’t think you’d be happy sitting on the sidelines anyway, if you love the game like I do.”
They shook hands and Don walked toward his car. “Let us know how it works out for you,” Allan said. “And good luck.”
The drive back to Fairmore seemed to take forever. It gave Don too much time to think. How could he just put something like this out of his mind? No doubt it was sound advice, but it wasn’t practical — at least not for him.
When he arrived back at the hotel, Mrs. Schafer caught him as he was going up to his room. “My, you’re popular tonight,” she said. “Jennifer Simons was here looking for you. She said to telephone her when you got in. You also had a long distance phone call from Saskatoon.”
Don thanked her and went to the phone. He looked up Jennifer’s number and dialed it. It rang twice before Jennifer answered.
“It’s Don,” he said. “Were you looking for me?”
She laughed. “Oh Don. I was around to see you but Mrs. Schafer said you had gone out. She didn’t know where.” She paused as though waiting for Don to explain. When he didn’t, she said, “The reason I dropped around was to invite you to a party on Friday night. It’s a kind of reunion of our graduating class of two years ago. We’re all getting together. Can you come?”
“I…I’d like to but I can’t,” he said. His voice sounded strange, forced somehow as though it belonged to someone else. He regretted turning her down almost as soon as he had said it.
“Oh, I’m disappointed,” she said. There was a pause. “I was looking forward to your coming.”
“Maybe some other time,” Don said distantly.
“Is anything wrong, Don?” she asked. “You sound different tonight.”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” he lied. “It’s just that I’ve had a long day I guess. I’m tired.”
“Well, I won’t keep you. Goodnight.” She hung up abruptly without saying anything more. Don stood with the phone still in his hand. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he knew he had. He hung up the phone. If only he hadn’t heard that conversation in the cafe, he thought. At least then he would be in blissful ignorance. That was better than what he was going through now.
He looked at his watch. It was almost eleven. He wondered who had phoned him from Saskatoon. His mother? It didn’t seem likely somehow. He had just received an email from her and she hadn’t mentioned anything. Brush? He couldn’t imagine Brush wanting to get a hold of him. That wasn’t Brush’s style. He was much too stubborn to phone Don and beg him to come back.
Well, whoever it was would no doubt phone tomorrow again if it was that important. He had enough on his mind for one day and he had no intentions of adding anything more.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning when Don went into the dining room for breakfast, Lew was there having a coffee.
“Ah, thought I might catch you,” he said. There was an uncharacteristic cheeriness about him that Don found disturbing. Of all the people in Fairmore, Lew was the last person Don felt like talking to at that moment.
“We missed you last night. Where were you?” he asked.
Don looked over at him. The cheeriness had turned to concern. No doubt he was worrying about his investment, Don thought. He had been so wound up about this business, he had forgotten completely about hockey practice.
“I went for a little ride last night,” he said noncommittally. “I bought a car.”
Lew grinned. “I thought so when I saw you drive out of Henderson’s. Well, just as long as you haven’t given up on us. I thought you would want to get into shape as soon as possible though.” He gave Don an inquiring look.
“Yeah,” Don said, gulping his coffee. “I’ll be out on Thursday night again.”
Lew rose and put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “Well, I’ve got a lot to do this morning. Guess I’d better go and do it. See you on Thursday.”
The dining room was empty. Don was thankful for that. Most of the other boarders ate later than he did. Mrs. Shafer came in with bacon and eggs.
“Not this morning, Mrs. Schafer, thanks,” he said. “I’m not very hungry.” She looked disappointed. Don learned shortly after coming to Mrs. Shafer’s that she liked to see her boarders eat well. And that they did.
“Did the caller last night leave his name?” he asked her.
“Harvey, I think it was. Said it was important. Are you sure you won’t have some bacon and eggs? Seems a pity to waste it and you’ll never get through the morning on just toast and coffee.”
“I’ll make up for it at lunch,” he said. She went back into the kitchen shaking her head.
Don went into the hallway and took out his cell phone. He knew Brush’s number and dialed it, anxious to hear what Brush wanted.
“What’s this I hear about you playing hockey down there?” Brush demanded. He was never a man to beat around the bush. He always came straight to the point.
“It’s a long story,” Don said.
“You told me you had quit hockey for good. The next thing I hear, you’re playing again for some bush league down there. What’s going on? I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I’m sorry Brush, but I just can’t explain it over the phone. It’s too complicated.”
There was a pause. “We need you up here,” Brush interrupted. “As long as you’re playing hockey again, you might as well be playing with us. I never did agree with your reason for quitting in the first place.”
“I’d like to, Brush, but I can’t just now. I’m sort of committed here for a while.”
“You’re committed to me,” he said.
“I know how you must feel, but I can’t just pack up and leave. Not right now anyway. I’ve got a few things to work out first.”
“Like what?” Brush asked.
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“I could be sticky about this, you know. Your release was conditional. Officially you’re still our property.”
“But you won’t. I think I know you better than that.”
“Look, we’re getting nowhere th
is way. Just tell me when you’re coming back.”
Don sighed. “I can’t tell you, Brush — I really can’t. It might take weeks and then again I might stay here for the rest of the season.”
There was an impatient grunt on the other end of the line. “You’re throwing away a whole year of junior hockey to play in some bush league? I don’t get it.”
“It’s not a bush league, Brush. Honestly. Some of these guys have played junior. It’ll be a good experience for me, give me a chance to see if I can get my temper under control.”
“You’ll be passed over in the draft. Did you think of that?”
“I thought of it, but it doesn’t matter. There’s always next year.”
“Okay Don, I’ll expect to hear from you. Let me know just as soon as you decide what you’re going to do.”
“That’s a promise. How’s the team doing?”
“Lousy. Why do you think I phoned?”
“I’m sorry to hear it. By the way, how did you know I was playing again?”
Brush laughed. “Now it’s my turn to be cute. A little bird told me.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Don replied.
“Gotta go. Take care and phone me as soon as you know anything.”
Don wondered after the phone call, just how Brush did know he had been playing. He decided there were probably a dozen possibilities.
* * *
Somehow he got through the day. The joy seemed to have gone out of his job. He now went about the routine, wanting only to finish the day’s work and go home. He found himself watching Jess Abernathy. What he expected to see he wasn’t sure. But Jess, always strictly business at work, went about in his usual methodical way. He gave no indication that he had anything on his conscience. If he was guilty, Don thought, he was covering it up very well.
When he got home that night, he lay on his bed and thought about his problem. He recalled all the events that had taken place since he had arrived, turning them over in his mind, analyzing them. Each succeeding event seemed to point to one obvious fact. His coming to Fairmore was not the chance occurrence he had thought it was.