“Take the day,” I said.
“What?”
“Take the day off. Sleep in and handle the tire later.”
She hesitated, then, “Thanks. I’ll come in after lunch.”
I nodded.
She’d handled these trips better than expected, given the pace we were keeping. Picked things up fast, didn’t overstep, didn’t shrink either. A rare combo. She was useful without making it a performance, which frankly was refreshing and slightly disarming.
She looked young, but not fresh-out-of-school young. Late twenties had been my guess. I was tempted to ask, but there was no professional way to phrase that at dawn in a car.
Then it hit me. Two months back, the public skate night, twisted ankle, tall guy with her. A date? Boyfriend? No clue. She was off-limits until proven otherwise.
At a red light, I stopped and rubbed my temple. Long day, long season, too much on the line to be distracted by things that weren’t the game.
“Folsom. A rental?” slipped out anyway.
“My parents’ house,” she said, eyes soft with fatigue.
So, she still lived at home? I needed to shut these questions up before I turned this ride into a questionnaire.
She shifted in her seat, adjusted her hair. A flicker of copper caught in its light brown color. Not something I’d normally notice, but exhaustion had me staring too long. Soon, we were pulling up in front of her house.
She paused a second before unbuckling. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Sleep off the flat tires and all,” I said, watching her fingers tighten briefly on the handle.
She gave a tired smile. “I’ll try.” Then she disappeared inside.
I didn’t sleep much afterward. The internal debate about game strategy, the precise shade of someone’s hair, and flashes of coral and flamingo-pink undies competed for space in my head.
It was Saturday. Game 7 on home ice. We had to take advantage of that. Those words stuck as I moved quietly through the kitchen, trying not to wake anyone, or so I thought.
“Uncle Sean, can I come with you?” a small voice rang out behind me.
I turned, surprised. Cassy stood at the entrance in her socked feet, clutching the stuffed penguin she fell asleep with every night. My pint-sized moral compass.
“Hey, Sweet. I didn’t want to wake you up this early.”
“But I wanted to,” she said, stepping forward. “Can I come with you?”
I set my coffee down and scooped her up. She was getting tall for five. She wrapped her arms around my neck, the very thing I needed this morning.
“Not today, kiddo. I’ve got a big day full of giant hockey players.”
“But you always say I can skate,” she mumbled into my shoulder.
“I know,” I said, gently pulling back to look at her. “And I mean it, but another time. Promise.”
She pouted. “Mom said you lost.”
The words pricked sharper than they should have. Out of the mouths of babes, the truth never came sweetened.
“She’s right. We did lose. That’s why I’ve gotta do everything I can to win today. Think you can help me with that?”
She nodded solemnly. “I’ll root real hard.”
