by Dan Dowhal
Shane interrupts her with a long, deep kiss. “You can trust me, I promise. I’ll never hurt you.”
“Well, maybe you can hurt me in a good way.” She laughs, reaching beneath the sheet. “Get your guns up, Big Hoss, you got me wetter than a gully washer.”
NINETEEN
Shortly before the sun comes up, Tammy jolts awake in Shane’s arms.
“Damn. I hadn’t figured on staying this long. It’s near light. I hope Gracie ain’t woken up yet. She sometimes likes to come snuggle with me.” She pulls on her robe and stomps into her cowboy boots. The entire time, she has not cast a glance in Shane’s direction, let alone looked him in the eye. He starts to wonder whether she regrets last night. The thought that she may be ashamed of spending the night with him or that he may have again misread the depth of a woman’s feelings for him causes anger to rise inside Shane. He immediately makes an effort to smother it.
As if she has read his thoughts, Tammy comes over, kneels beside the mattress, and gives Shane a kiss. “Look, honey, we need to talk about things … or maybe not. Maybe we just oughta let it be what it is. My hubby did use to say I liked to talk things to death, but then again he was a fella liked to let his fists do the conversing a lot of the time. Just so you know, last night was special for me … and not just the screwing part. But I hope you don’t mind if we keep it our little secret for now, especially from Gracie, until we can get a sense of what exactly’s happening between us and all. Is that okay with you, Big Hoss?”
Shane nods. The smile he gets in return transforms Tammy’s face into a younger, carefree version that looks so much like Gracie, it’s as if the universe has condensed, and nothing separates the mother’s past from the daughter’s future.
“See ya at breakfast, then,” she says, and delivers a farewell peck.
It is obvious from the knowing smiles that Yolanda and Maybelline exchange over breakfast that they sense — or perhaps scent — the lovers’ union that has taken place, but they do not pass comment. Tammy tries unsuccessfully to avoid their eyes, but after seeing that there is no disapproval there, she allows a half grin of contentment to remain on her face.
When Shane escorts the children out to the school bus, he feels that a seismic shift has occurred in his feelings toward them: they are now charges in need of his protection and nurturing. The sensation is satisfying, as if a part of him previously missing has now clicked into place.
He listens to Gracie’s free-flowing little-girl babble, dipping in and out of her words occasionally to pass comment or offer encouragement. She again raises the subject of adopting a wild horse, and despite Tammy’s previous admonishment for raising false hope, he feels confident enough to make a tentative promise — though not confident enough to make the offer without requiring Tammy’s approval first.
With Vern, fewer words are necessary; the boy seems content just to be in Shane’s presence and accepted on equal footing. Perhaps it is only Shane’s imagination, but lately Vern seems to be standing straighter and laughing more. Shane briefs him on the day’s renovation plans, soliciting feedback on a few design issues and negotiating the boy’s after-school involvement in the work.
Shane is almost sad to see the bus arrive. Gracie gives him a big hug around the neck, and warmth spreads throughout his insides like melting toffee. He and Vern shake hands formally, in the manner of adults, but they are both grinning in appreciation of the half joke as they do it, and Shane cannot resist tousling the boy’s hair after. He watches the children depart, then strides back to the ranch, whistling a happy tune and imagining what the landscape around him will look like after a few years of applied improvements.
Shane is outside banging down loose pieces of the stable’s barn board when Maybelline comes fluttering out of the ranch house to tell him he’s got a phone call.
It is Morrie Getz on the line. The agent is audibly excited. “Bronk, you’re gonna want to kiss me when you hear the deal I cut for you! Two hundred and twenty K for a half-hour interview, just so long as we keep it an exclusive. Am I the best, or what?”
“Sweet! Who’s it with?”
“CelebTV.”
“CelebTV? I thought they only did movie stars and musicians and whatnot.”
“Are you kidding? Right now you’re a gazillion times bigger than any of them. Only thing is, it’s got to be on camera.”
“You mean, like, live?”
“No, no … but they’re a TV show, right? They want video they can air.”
Shane suddenly pictures a camera crew invading the ranch and grilling him in front of the others.
“I dunno, Morrie. Isn’t there anyone else? I mean, I’m not sure I want to be on TV.”
“Sure, there’s plenty of others, but these guys are offering the most by a long shot. And all the top bidders are TV shows. Look, right now the media is making you out to be Public Enemy Number One. Not the hockey press, necessarily, but the mainstream guys are on a feeding frenzy. You’ve got to try to tell your side of the story, so why not make some nice coin doing it? I’ll level with you, Bronk, you may need to hire a good lawyer if that DA in Chicago goes ahead with charges.”
“Shit, Morrie. You know I always come across looking like a doofus in interviews.”
“Frankly, kiddo, at the moment it would be pretty hard to look any worse than you already do. Might as well get paid for it.”
Shane sighs. “You’re right, Morrie. I can’t keep hiding from this, and it’s a damned good payday. So, how’s it going to work, the taping? I don’t want them coming here where I’m staying.”
“Shit, Bronk, I don’t even know where ‘here’ is … no, that’s a lie. I can tell from the area code you’re somewhere in New Fucking Mexico, of all places. Look, we can do the interview wherever you want, but I’d suggest someplace quiet, someplace neutral. Maybe a hotel suite. I know a couple of nice joints in Albuquerque. That work for you?”
“I think it’s about a four-hour drive.”
“Okay, then. And I’ll book you a suite so you can freshen up beforehand and look presentable for the interview. So, do I give them the thumbs-up?”
“Yeah, sure. I guess.”
“Great. I’ll get back to you. They’re chomping at the bit, so I figure it’ll happen in the next day or so. Still got to nail down the contract and arrange for a big chunk up front. And we have to figure out what we’re doing about a new bank account for you.”
“No problem there. I got all my ID back. Everything that was stolen, as a matter of fact.”
“No kidding! That’s great, Bronk. But what about a home address?”
“Home? What the fuck’s that, Morrie? I don’t have a home anymore. I’ve lived in nine different cities over the past eighteen years and I don’t have a damn thing to show for it.”
“Well, you’re going to need one for the bank. They’re going to want to see ID or something official with your home address on it.” There’s a pause, and when Morrie speaks again, his voice has softened. “You know, I could swing it for you to use my home address. Hell, kiddo, if you need a place to live for a while, you can come and bunk with Gertie and me. Stay for as long as you need to.”
Shane is annoyed to feel his eyes misting up. He blinks away the tears before they can fully form. “Thanks, Morrie. That means a lot to me. Really, though, for now I’m okay where I’m staying.” He wonders if sometime in the future he’ll be calling Rancho Crótalo his official home. Then he realizes his green card will soon be revoked, now that his pro-hockey days are over. He has plied his trade in the States for eighteen years now, but in the end, Shane is still a foreigner.
“Hey, you just gave me an idea. When I first broke into the league, I bought ninety acres outside my hometown in the Yukon. Pretty much the only thing Veronica didn’t get in the divorce. Never got around to building anything, but there’s a trailer home parked there I’ve been paying taxes on. And I’ve got a post office box in town where they send the bill. My dad’s got the key and collec
ts all the mail. So I guess technically I do have a home after all.”
“Well, there you go. You’ll need to get your dad to send you a copy of the tax notice, but that and your passport should be enough to get a bank account set up. Once you do, let me know where to send your dough, and I’ll call back to tell you when and where to meet CelebTV. Look, Bronk, it was an accident. We both know that. This is your chance to try to get the rest of the folks believing it, too. Okay, kiddo?”
“Sure.” He pauses, fumbling for the right words. “Hey, Morrie. You, know, um … you’re a good friend. Thanks for everything.”
“Someone’s got to look out for you, you big schmuck. Take care of yourself, and I’ll be in touch soon.”
There is a Yellow Pages on the floor below the wall phone. Looking under Banks, Shane chooses one in Deming, then phones to get their fax number, plus instructions for setting up a new account. Afterward, he calls his father’s house. The caregiver, Oksana, answers, explaining that his dad is preoccupied in the bathroom. Shane tells her what he’s after.
“Sure, Shane. Your dad may be a while, but I know where he files your papers. He keeps all your stuff in the shrine.”
“The what?”
She laughs. “Sorry. That’s what I call it. He’s filled your old room with pictures and posters and memorabilia, along with albums upon albums of clippings.”
“What clippings?”
“Didn’t you know? Your dad has probably got a copy of every article ever written about you anywhere. Even bought himself a PC and learned how to use it, just so he could print off all the online stuff, too.”
“You’re kidding. I thought he’d disowned me. All he ever seemed to do was chew me out for my mistakes and tell me to try harder.”
“Oh, you know your dad, Shane. Has to show the world how tough he is by barking at it, but deep down he’s got a caring heart. At least I’ve come to think so, since coming to work with him. He really loves you — don’t believe otherwise.” Her voice softens. “Your dad and I have spent so such time going through those scrapbooks together, I feel like I know you intimately. Well, not intimately like, you know … oh, darn, if you could see me blushing right now. Twenty-five years later and I still feel like a gawky, stupid girl when I talk to you. Not that you would have noticed, but I had a big crush on you back then. Of course, every girl did. But you were only interested in Helen Dubrovich. My, she did fill out a sweater. Mind you, these days she fills out just about everything else, too. Ooh, that’s catty, forget I said that. She still lives here, you know. Brags about how hot and heavy you two were, even when her husband’s right there. Cripes, listen to me prattle.”
“I remember,” says Shane.
“Helen? I should hope so. You guys went out for, what, two years?”
“No, I remember you, Oksana. You used to come out and play shinny with us. Skinny little thing with pink laces on your Tacks, but a damned good skater with a wicked shot, and you weren’t afraid to go into the corners.”
“Yeah, that was me. I’d get myself beat up if it meant you might talk to me. Improved my game, though. Good enough to get a hockey scholarship to Michigan. Paid for my nursing degree.”
“And you came back to Peel Crossing? Why?”
“Why not? Oh, I worked in Vancouver for a while, but I didn’t like it. I missed the Yukon. More room to breathe, and a better place to raise kids.”
“Oh, you got kids?”
There’s an awkward silence. Even over the phone he senses she’s flustered. “No … well, not yet. Hopefully still time. Listen, I’ve jawed long enough. Where do you want me to send the tax papers?”
Shane relays the bank’s fax number and tells her what to write on the cover sheet.
“No problem,” she tells him. “Your dad has a scanner on his PC … and a fax app. I can do all that right from here. It was really nice talking to you, Shane. I hope this trouble blows over. For what it’s worth, I watched that hit — the whole play, not just the couple of seconds they keep showing over and over — and it was a hard body check, but it was clean. Looks to me like you caught Linton off balance with his head down, that’s all. It was an accident. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a tragedy he’s dead, but it’s a damned crime what the media’s doing to you. I hope it all works out for you, Shane. Come say hi when you’re up this way next. You know, you really should come visit your dad. He’s not getting any younger.”
TWENTY
Two days later Getz phones back with final arrangements for Shane’s interview in Albuquerque with CelebTV, along with confirmation that an advance of fifty thousand dollars, less what Morrie is owed, has been deposited into Shane’s new bank. Shane ponders how, at one time, the amount of money in question would barely have registered in the shadow of his NHL earnings. True, Shane’s pay was closer to the league minimum than to the multimillions commanded by the superstars, but it was still enough to make him once brag to his father (somewhat maliciously, he now recalls) that he earned more in a single eight-month season than the old man had in a lifetime.
But now this money shimmers wildly in Shane’s imagination. A larger payment will follow the interview, but he has the power to put some plans into action right now.
First, however, he must get to Albuquerque for the interview. The cast on his hand makes him hesitant to try driving there on his motorcycle, so he sets out to borrow the ranch’s pickup, which he has been using regularly, anyway. But Shane seeks not only Tammy’s permission, but also her company. He envisions a little honeymoon-like excursion to the city, with a couple of carefree nights spent in a luxury hotel. He especially wants to wake up with Tammy in his arms, and not have her slinking off before the sun comes up, as she has every night since their first together. The tricky part will be getting away to do the actual interview … unless he finally comes clean about his predicament. He resolves to do so soon so he can stop hiding things from Tammy, and goes looking to tell her about the trip.
She is in the kitchen hemming a skirt. Coming up behind her, Shane slips his hand under her shirt and begins kissing her neck.
“Stop that!” she snaps, jerking away from him. She seems genuinely angry.
“No one’s looking. The kids are outside,” Shane says, hurt by the rebuke.
“That ain’t the point. If you expect me to drop my drawers and do you right here on the floor in the middle of the afternoon, just ’cause you’re feeling randy, you got another think coming.”
“Take it easy, sweetie. I was just saying hi.”
“You’re the one that needs to take it easy. I ain’t no floozy you can just come in and start pawing whenever you feel like it.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean any disrespect by it. I guess I got a little carried away when I came in to give you the good news.”
“And what good news would that be?”
“Well, I landed an all-expenses-paid trip to Albuquerque for the weekend, and I thought you could come along and spend a couple of romantic nights with me in a posh hotel.”
“Did you, now? You figured I’d up and go gallivanting with you, just like that? What about Gracie? Not to mention that thick-skulled nephew of mine. And who’s going to run things here while I’m gone?”
Tammy’s reaction confuses Shane. “Don’t be like that, sweetie,” he protests. “I just thought we deserved a little holiday together. Surely Yolanda and Maybelline can take care of the kids, and the ranch can survive for a couple of days without us. Don’t you want to be alone with me?”
She stands up and tosses her sewing onto the floor. “What I want is a man who’ll buck up and carry his share of the weight,” she shouts. “I want someone who won’t go running off the first chance he gets.”
Shane cannot comprehend Tammy’s anger and feels his own stirring. “It’s not like that, damn it. This is work.”
“You saying going away with me would be work? Like I’m some kinda hard-luck case needs tending to? You’re one to talk.”
He
has stepped into the sort of verbal snare that the women he’s with always seem to have a knack for laying, and he resents it. But even though his pulse is elevated and his face flushes with heat, for once his ire does not spill out into loud words or violence the way it has so many times in the past. Outside the game, he has never attacked anyone, and certainly he’s never struck a woman, not even in his worst fits of rage. He did, however, habitually punch walls or smash furniture in furious accompaniment to heated words. Now, however, he is separated from his anger. While it is still there, burning like a red-hot coal, it feels contained — caged — as if it’s not really his own, and he’s watching from the outside.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I have to go to Albuquerque for work, so I thought it would be great if you came along.”
“Work? What kind of work? You fixing to leave the ranch?”
“No, honey, I’m still staying … if you’ll let me. But I have to do an interview — for television — and they’re paying me, and springing for the hotel room, too.”
“Why the heck would anyone put you on the television?”
This is Shane’s golden opportunity to confess everything, but Tammy’s acerbic mood stops him. He is afraid an unbridgeable gulf could open between them. Accident or not, he has killed a man.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s about my hockey career.”
“I thought you were done with hockey.”
“I am, but it looks like hockey’s not done with me. So, how about it? You interested?”
He moves in to try for a hug, but Tammy pushes him away. “Goddarn it, I said leave me alone. Look, if you gotta go, then go, but I ain’t feeling up to it right now. If you must know, I’m fixing to fall off the roof.”