My attention left Philly (she had turned back to the ice too), and I watched as Logan’s head came up, as if he were on alert.
Oh shit.Whatever was about to happen was a surprise to Logan. Not good.
“Please welcome James and Tricia Fields, parents of James Fields III, who succumbed to leukemia in July.”
Ouch. I didn’t know he was a third. Not that it mattered, but there was now the added thing of that name not continuing on in its natural lineage. Yes, Logan could someday name a son James—would that count? Weird thoughts to be having while I watched Logan’s parents make their way gingerly out onto the ice, accompanied by a man wearing a suit.
The player next to Logan, someone I hadn’t met, nudged Logan and motioned for him to join his parents at center ice.
“James Fields was a starting forward for Bribury before tragedy struck,” the announcer said, laying it on a bit thick, in my opinion. “Joining James’s parents is his brother, Logan, sophomore defenseman.”
Logan skated to meet his parents. His mother held his face and kissed his cheek. His father held out his hand, prompting Logan to remove his glove and return the gesture. His mother then grabbed one of his arms and positioned him between them, hanging on to him like she was standing on shaky ground.
Shaky ice.
Logan bent down to say something to the petite woman, who answered him with a shake of her head and clutched his arm even tighter.
His parents were both in their early to mid-fifties, I’d guess. She had a chin-length bob of lightly greying hair and was wearing black slacks and an ivory sweater. Logan’s father was a bigger man, but still very fit—and, it seemed from where I was sitting, was the origin of Logan’s chiseled cheekbones and chin dent. Neither would be smiling, so I wouldn’t get to know if they also shared Logan’s dimples.
He was definitely not smiling now.
We in deep grief did not appreciate surprises. We needed constants to hang on to. And this was not a happy surprise to Logan.
They ran a video of James on the scoreboard. A montage of his childhood, content that could have only been supplied by Logan’s parents. There was toddler James on skates for the first time. James and Logan in matching hockey gear at around six and eight. Family photos of them all skating on an outdoor lake that was frozen over. Fishing together on what looked to be the same lake. James in his Bribury uniform. The last photo was of the family of four together with James and Logan both in their Bribury uniforms.
It had to have been taken just weeks before James’s relapse became apparent.
“Please stand if you are able, and join us in a moment of silence for our fallen teammate,” the announcer said.
Several people around me bowed their heads, but I didn’t. I kept my eyes on Logan. When his eyes left the scoreboard, his head turned and he scanned our section, coming to rest only when his eyes met mine.
The pain on his face would have been crippling if I had not gone through the year I just had. I held his gaze, trying to convey strength, trying to give him whatever I could.
Whatever I had left, meager as it was.
I put my hand on my heart and nodded to him. He knew that I knew what he was feeling. Not the public spectacle aspect of it, thank God. But the helplessness, the sharing of something that was so profoundly private as mourning the person you loved.
He nodded back.
When the announcer broke the moment with the announcement to continue standing for the national anthem, Logan kissed his mother again and then skated to rejoin his teammates for “The Star-Spangled Banner.” As he skated by, his teammates all tapped his legs with their sticks. Hockey’s version of a slap on the butt, I guessed.
Bribury easily won in a game that would have been uneventful if not for the amount of time Logan spent in the penalty box.
“Is that unusual?” I asked Emily after Logan’s third penalty.
“Kind of. Defensemen get their share of penalties, being the enforcers and all, and if opposing skaters get by them, but yeah, not this many. Three in one game is a lot.”
“Seems like they’d go easy on him after that opening moment,” I said, getting defensive on Logan’s behalf. Whether he deserved it or not.
Emily laughed. “Oh, I think they were being a little easy on him. I saw a few more that could have been called if they’d wanted to.”
When the game ended and the players had about all cleared the ice, Logan skated over to where we were sitting and motioned for me to come down to ice level. We were only ten rows up, so it wasn’t much of a descent.
“You’ll stick around? We’ll still get something to eat. Emily too, if she wants.”
“I think your parents are going to want to see you,” I said, but he was already nodding.
“Yeah. I know. Sorry. I didn’t know they’d be here.”
