by R J Scott
“Yes, big dog. Eat face off people who come into yard. Keep Noah safe.” I nodded as if that was the end of the discussion. The Czar had spoken.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about the big face-eating dog,” he said, then hustled ahead of me. So much for the Czar having last say. My house was a democracy now. Fitting as this was America.
I found Coach Madsen on the ice and skated to him, my cell phone in my catcher.
“If sister call or text, come tell me. Much please and thank you.”
Coach Madsen plucked the phone from my big mitt and slid it into the inner pocket of his suit coat.
“I’ll make a beeline for you if this so much as twitches.” He patted his breast.
“Is good friend make beeline.” I cuffed him on the shoulder. “What is beeline?”
He rolled his arm a bit after I tapped him. “It means I’ll come straight to you. Like a bee flies.”
“But bee no fly straight. Bee go from flower to flower, sucking sweet, in funky curl lines.” I drew circles in the air with my finger.
Coach Madsen made that face. It was the face people make at me often when I point out that English sayings are not sensible sometimes.
“Okay, right, that’s true.”
“So, why is saying beeline if go straight? Why not say cowline? Cow go straight.”
“I don’t know why it’s not a cowline, Stan, it’s a beeline.”
“Also bird fly straight. As crow flies. Maybe say birdline.” I nodded. Coach stared up at me. I waited for him to say something.
“Fine, I’ll make a birdline to you if this so much as twitches.”
“Ah, good. Making sense. Thanks. I make saves now.”
“You do that.”
I skated to my pipes. Then I touched them. Stroked them. Whispered to them in sweet mother tongue. They hummed back, icy cold to the touch but warm to my ears.
“Moya lyubov k tebe gluboka I verna.” “My love for you is deep and true,” I told them as the team made laps around the ice to get the blood flowing.
“Didn’t you say that to me last night?” Erik said, coming to a short stop and spraying me with ice.
“Yes. What is point?”
“You’re cheating on your pipes with me,” he teased, gave me a saucy wink, then skated off to catch Tennant, which no one could but they all tried.
I chuckled. What a silly man. Still, I talked extra-long to my pipes that morning in case they got jealous.
My pipes knew I was true to them and they treated me well. Through scrimmages where no one scored to an important game with Florida where also no one scored. The middle Rowe brother, Jamie, tried, but I was tight in the head. That was what Ten had said. Tight in the head.
After the game, the team and Jamie were meeting somewhere to eat and drink beer. Erik and I were not going. He was taking me to the airport to pick up my sister and my mother. Usually after a game, I’m ravenous, but tonight I was unable to eat or even think of food.
One quick text from Galina several hours ago. Ten hours to be exact. They had gotten onto the plane with no issues. Mama had even stopped to talk hockey with one of the men who checks baggage. That was why I had shut out Florida and Jamie Rowe. My breast was filled with so much happiness.
“You’re smiling like Santa is about to land on your rooftop,” Erik commented as we waited inside the terminal. It was a busy airport in Harrisburg, with many gates. Not as big as others I had been in, but still a hustling place.
“Knowing Mama is safe is making me Santa happy.”
Erik rubbed a hand over my back as I bounced up and down trying to see. Not that I had to do so. I easily saw over all the heads moving past, but I couldn’t stop myself. I spotted Galina. Her dark head and beautiful gray eyes. She waved madly. I waved back and began muscling my way through the travelers coming and going. I had to move a fat man aside to see my mother.
She looked overwhelmed and scared. A thin, petite woman in a worn red coat, she stood out among the Americans dressed in the latest fashions. Galina pointed at me. Mama’s loving gray eyes landed on me. She started crying. I gathered her to me and wept like Noah, long and hard, clinging to my mother. I murmured to her in Russian. She called me her baby boy over and over as she peppered my face with kisses. I reached for Galina and tugged her to my side. Mama under my left arm, Galina on my right.
Looking over my family, I saw Erik standing alone, smiling, dragging his hand under his eye.
I pulled away from my mother and sister, took Mama by the hand—such a tiny hand and so cold with uncertainty—and led her to Erik.
I slipped an arm around his waist. The first time I had ever engaged in such a public display of affection. To some it was nothing, but to us…it was everything.
“Mama, this is Erik. The man I love.” I said that. In the airport. Tears threatened again.
She took his face in her work-rough hands and kissed his brow. “Noah,” she said. The only word she knew in English, and it was his son’s name. Mama prattled off a long line of questions, all in Russian. Erik looked at me.
“I will teach her good English. Like mine only gooder.”
The ride home was filled with talking. Mostly Galina and Mama, but also me. I tried to keep Erik in the chatter, but the two women were discussing Arvy now. Mama was not happy that Galina had married outside of church. Galina was not happy that Mama was being old fashioned. Things were getting heated in the back until we pulled up to my house.
“Stanislav,” Mama whispered in Russian, “this house is too fine for me.”
“Never, Mama, never.” I rushed to open her door and take her hand. Amy was awake, sitting with Noah, who was sound asleep in his crib upstairs. I took Mama through every room of my house, making the nursery last. Erik followed. Galina was tiffy, and went to see Arvy because she knew it would make Mama sputter.
“This house is so big. I’ll need a map to find the kitchen,” Mama said with good humor as we snuck into the nursery. Her kidding stopped when Erik scooped up his son and placed him in her waiting arms.
“Vash vnuk,” he said, his Russian accent terrible but the words “your grandson” beautiful. We had practiced for weeks those two words, Erik insisting he be able to tell her that he considered her his son’s other grandmother.
Mama’s eyes grew wet with tears. She padded over to the heavy oak rocker by the window, sat down, and with Noah’s curls resting on her shoulder, began to sing “Bayu Bayushki Bayu”, the same song she had sung to my sister and me, and the one that I sang to Noah when I put him down for bed.
“I’m still not sure about songs where wolves come and drag little kids into the forest because they slept too close to the edge of the bed,” Erik whispered, leaning in to me as we watched Mama and Noah rocking.
“Life is hard in Russia. Child is teached early.”
“Hmmm.”
I pressed a kiss to his curls. “I am happiest man ever.”
“Life is good?”
Mama smiled up at us.
“Life is wonderful good. Is good for you?”
“It’s wonderful good.”
Epilogue
Erik
Noah was spoiled for his first birthday. Seemed to me that everywhere I turned, someone was handing me gifts for him. Tiny Railers outfits from the equipment guys, the smallest hockey stick and puck I’d ever seen from Arvy and Galina, a savings bond from Connor, who said that every child should have a nest egg, and it didn’t end there.
Stan and I bought up the entirety of a toy store, then hid a lot of it away when we got it home, because a one-year-old didn’t really need a racing car game just yet, nor a set of metal construction pieces to build with.
Galina added extra bunnies to the mural so that it spread onto another wall, another family, all dressed in Railers uniforms. It was easy to identify Ten, and Arvy, and Stan in net, and me. She said she’d add in the Stanley Cup when we won it.
I pretended I hadn’t heard her, because the superstitious part of me th
ought maybe mentioning it meant we wouldn’t win. We weren’t the favorites going in, drawn against Philadelphia in the first round. That didn’t matter, though—we were a determined team.
The only dark spot on the horizon was the interview that needed to happen with Immigration for Galina and Arvy. They had to prove they’d married for love, but to be honest, anyone who saw them together knew they were in love. Or maybe I saw that because of how much I loved Stan. Who knows.
Stan was with Galina, thought that maybe his presence, NHL goalie brother with money, might add some support to her and Arvy’s case. Which left me pacing the house, bouncing a fractious Noah, who was sucking on his fist through teething. I knew every corner of this huge place now, but still there was nowhere to hide from the worry.
Nor from Stan’s momma, who didn’t speak English, and was currently stalking me as I paced. She said something to me as I turned into the kitchen on my fifth walk-through.
She moved between me and the door I was about to go through, holding out her arms for Noah, and I passed him to her. She bobbled him, jiggled him, then handed him the cold gel teether that Stan had bought yesterday. The magic happened nearly instantly, Noah chewing and relaxing a little with each passing moment until finally he was quiet in her arms.
“Little rabbit,” she said affectionately, in English, then smiled at me and patted my head.
This family thing? It really rocked.
Stan
“I see this in movie,” I told a large woman sitting behind a desk. My sister and brother-in-law were having their green card interviews. In separate rooms. I was sitting out here with a woman who looked like she was trying to digest a porcupine. “Funny movie. Woman from Canada. Be sent back. Marries assistant. He is most pretty.”
“She is most pretty, you mean,” Grumpy Big Woman replied with no emotion.
“No, I mean he.”
“Oh.” She looked even more like a pokey animal was sitting in her bowels now.
“They go to place in Alaska. Make many funny things. Bird steal puppy. But drop, so puppy is fine. I get dog soon. Find good shelter run by handsome man. Big dog. Make loud woofs and eat men in brown shorts.”
“And you’re here in America for what reason?” She pursed her lips. Her lipstick was orange. Not a good color for her.
“I play hockey. Goalie. You know of hockey?” Her phone rang, but she ignored it to stare at me. I glanced behind me to see if something unsettling was there, but there was just a wall.
“I hate sports.”
“Oh. Sorry for you. Sports is good. Keep fit. You should try.”
The sour man who was interviewing my sister exited his office, Galina following him, looking calm and steady. I stood up. The sour man with the ugly brown tie gave me a look and then went into the next office to talk to Arvy.
“Did you make good answers?” I asked my sister.
“I told him the truth and nothing but the truth.”
We both looked at the angry big woman. She finally answered her phone. I draped an arm around my sister and led her to a water fountain.
“I tell you watch Perry Mason be good. Know good lawyer-speak.”
Galina smiled as she filled up a pointy paper cup with water. “Stan, you should go. This is going to take a couple more hours at least. They have about five hundred questions.” She paused to drink. “They ask about the number of windows in our bedroom, what our Wi-Fi password is, and do we have any siblings. So many nosy questions! I told him if he wished to see my sibling, just look out in the office. He’s that massive Russian in the dark suit wearing a dopey smile.”
“My smile is dopey with love.”
“Yeah, I know.” She lifted to her toes to press her chilly lips to my cheek. “Go home. Rest. You have to face Philadelphia for the first round of the playoffs in two days.”
“Dieter say Trent’s babushka make voodoo doll for each Railer.” That worried me. Russians are superstitious. We never shake hands over a threshold, whistle indoors, sit at a corner table, and never wish someone a happy birthday prematurely. I spat three times over my shoulder. Big Angry Woman glowered at me. Galina giggled into her water cup.
“Stan, voodoo dolls are silly. Go home. Snuggle with Noah and Erik. I’ll call when we’re done.”
“You come for dinner? Mama is making stroganoff with vatrushka for dessert. I have vodka for celebrating good green card day.”
“I’m going to be so fat now that Mama is here.” Galina sighed. I patted my stomach and nodded. “We’ll be there as soon as we’re done here. Go.”
I gave her a look.
“Go! I can sit and read. Go. Shoo.”
“Okay, I go.”
She nodded at the door. When I stepped out onto the street, I was surprised to see Erik waiting for me. He looked so good leaning against our car, a warm spring breeze pushing a few curls into his eyes.
“Why are you here?” I strolled over to him and ran my hand down his arm.
“Arvy texted me to come get you. Said they’re suffering through the interview that may never end and you were driving the office workers crazy.”
I looked back at the tall government office. “Me? I no drive crazy.” My gaze went to my betrothed. “Do I make crazy?”
“I’m crazy in love with you. Does that count?”
My heart stuttered a bit. I took his hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles, each one. Right on the street in downtown Harrisburg.
“It counts most big.”
THE END
Chapter One
Ben
“No, see… that’s not exactly the kind of… We’re hoping to open up the search for more volunteers to help out over the summer.” I leaned back in my chair, grimacing a bit when the old gal creaked loudly. The AC blowing into my face was measly but given I’d had it in that window for years and it had been donated, it was doing all I could ask of it. Papers shuffled about on my desk, the semi-cool air rustling over the mounds of paperwork that now fell to me. Gone were the days spent working with the animals at the Crossroads Shelter. Now I spent most of my time in this damn office, talking on the damn phone, trying to wheedle rich people into giving the shelter more of their money. It really kinda sucked.
Leaning back a bit more, I let my eyes drift shut. Lenny, over at the Harrisburg Herald, rambled on and on about the cost of ads and how he didn’t feel he could continue giving us a discount.
“No, we do understand. I need you to understand we need every penny of help we can get. We’re a no-kill shelter. We’re not state supported. Every dime— I know I tell you this all the time. That’s because you complain about taking five percent off the cost of an ad every time I call.”
Lenny prattled on a bit more about overheads.
Yeah, tell me about overheads, Lenny. I know all about them.
The harping turned into a droning noise, like Charlie Brown’s teacher, and my mind began to wander. My gaze touched on the personal stuff practically buried under the piles of papers on my desk. A laptop with the shelter logo of a dog, a cat, and a human standing at a crossroads, bouncing around the screen. The laptop made a funny squeaking sound when I turned it on in the morning, but I ignored that. An empty coffee cup with the same logo on it, several books about miserable things like fundraising objectives and managerial and administrative duties in today’s modern shelters, and a gay romance.
I picked up the book, flipped it open, and continued reading about a con man and a stripper who were working together to outfox some Mafiosi. The plot was a little weak, but the sex was hot, and, oh my stars, the romance was incredible. I missed romance. I missed that emotional connection to another man. I missed meaningful sex too. The few hookups I’d had since losing Liam had been cold and mechanical. I missed Liam so badly I ached. Yet I was too much of a coward to date. If I dated I might meet someone. And that someone might be perfect, as Liam had been. And that someone might marry me. And then that someone might die. No. No way was I capable of surviving that again. Be
tter to have hollow fucks behind some gay club. That only hurt a little when the futility sank in.
Two years he’d been gone. My gaze left the romance novel and traveled to the picture that was almost obscured by stacks of folders. I reached over the debris and shoved the folders aside. Liam smiled at me from within the frame, his goofy face so endearing and special, and so beloved. Both of us had been hamming it up at the fundraiser it had been snapped at.
His blond hair glistened in the summer sun. Blue eyes sparkling. I was hanging off my husband, laughing like a fool, cradling Bucky, our new malamute pup, a shelter rescue of course. We’d had no idea then that within a month Liam would be dead. Multiple myeloma. Stage four bone cancer. He found a lump in his groin and three weeks later he was dead. At thirty-three years old. What the ever-loving fuck!? I mean, how did something like that even happen to a man that strong and vibrant?
“Yeah, no, I get it,” I said after the long pause on the other end of the phone finally registered. I picked up the image of Liam and me in happier times and held it up in front of the AC. He’d always hated to be hot. Slept with a fan on all winter long. There I’d be under four layers of covers in long johns and wool socks, cussing about the icy wind blowing over us, and he’d just stretch those long athletic limbs out and sigh. Tennis players from Sweden were not right in the head.
“Stupid man, sleeping naked all winter,” I mumbled wistfully. “Right, I get it. Just for another month? Thanks, Lenny. You’re the best. Yeah, the standard plea for volunteers and helpers in the kennels. Kitten cuddlers, puppy smoochers—you know. Play up the fuzzy factor. Next week’s paper sounds good. Thanks again.”
I hung up before he could change his mind. Not that he would. I didn’t think. I hoped. We were walking a financial tightrope now as it was. Having to shell out more for advertising to lure people in to work for free would mean one less paid staffer. And that was just not a doable thing. We only had one kennel manager, Diana Pierce, and an adoption counselor, Abby Barnes, on the payroll, and that was about all we could manage.