“Seven’s with you, isn’t he? I had a vision that he jumped through your kitchen window and asked for lunch.”
She’d tell me she’s a little bit psychic. I’d say she’s a good guesser. My mom taught me better than to argue with a smart, savvy woman, so I say, “Yup. Bringing him back right now.”
“You’re a good man.”
I end the call, then cruise the rest of the mile or so to Annabelle’s bungalow at the end of the street, wind chimes in her trees greeting me with a tinkle as I pull up on the sidewalk.
A few seconds after I ring the bell, Annabelle swings the door open, bracelets jangling on the warm brown skin of her arms, long black braids piled high on her head, and a reprimand in her crinkled eyes for the cat.
“Seven. You were supposed to help me garden, not wander off,” she chides, then reaches for the naughty feline. Once the critter is in her arms, she scrutinizes my face, then whispers, “I’m picking something up from you right now, honey. Your energy. It’s vibrating.”
Here we go. “Probably because I’m about to go work out. I plan to show Riggs I have way more energy than he does, which is why I can skate circles around him.”
When in doubt, throw your teammates under the bus.
But she’s not buying it. “No. It’s like lightning is crackling all around your head. As if a storm is brewing in your mind.”
Well, shit. Is it that obvious I’m thinking too much about Mabel? “Nah,” I say, with ano big dealsmile, then I hand her the monkey bread. “Here’s something for you. And I assure you, the only thing on my mind is our next game.”
She takes the bread. “Thank you. You know I love your goodies, but your distraction tactics don’t work on me.” She swings the door all the way open. “Something big is about to happen. And it’s not about hockey. It’s happening here,” she says, gesturing to the ground, and maybe to all of Cozy Valley. “Come inside. That way, I can give you a proper energy reading.”
I believe in things I can see and things I can do. I believe in exercise. I believe in showing up. I believe in the science of food and the way ingredients can come together. But Annabelle’s an old friend of my mother’s, and my mom tried to visit her more in the end, to learn whether energycouldheal you. That was a futile effort—you can’t cure Parkinson’s.
My throat tightens uncomfortably. “Another time. I really should go.”
Her eyes go glassy for a beat, like she’s focusing on a point way off in the distance. “Don’t let the storm in your head distract you from making a good decision.”
“Thanks, Annabelle. Enjoy the bread,” I grunt, then hop back on my bike and take the hell off.
Don’t let the storm distract me? I make decisions all the time—split-second ones on the ice. Pass here, shoot there, pick off the puck from the other team, skate the other way.
I’ve made plenty of decisions off the ice, too, like finding the best doctors for my mom, visiting the top physical therapists, moving her in with Charlotte and me at the end.
All I’ve done for the last few years is make lots of quick decisions. Lots of big ones too.
As I bike to the gym, getting some distance from that conversation, my phone rings again. It’s Theo this time. Tension slams into me. Will it always be that way after that brief hookup with his sister? No idea, but I can’t avoid my friend.
I figure it’s best to be as normal as I can. That means being as one-upmanly as possible. So, I answer as I pedal: “Let me guess—my agent negotiated a salary bump for me as a surprise, and you want to take me out to dinner to celebrate how lucky you are to have me on your team.”
Theo retorts without missing a beat. “Actually, the opposite. I convinced him to lower your pay, and the cost savings helped me nab the promotion to GM.”
“Hold on. Agent’s texting. Says I got an offer to finish out my career with the New York Ice Kings.”
“And this round goes to…the player,” Theo concedes. Before I can gloat, he quickly shifts gears. “You on your way to the gym?”
Maybehe’spsychic. “Do you have a ring camera installed on my ass?”
“Thanks, man. It’ll take me a lifetime to erase that image. Anyway, I just know you and your routines. But instead of hitting the weights for the second time today—yes, I know you already worked out this morning—why don’t you get your camera-less ass down to the old firehouse and meet me right now?”
“That abandoned one? On Holly Springs Street?”
“Yup.”
I’ll go, friendship code and all, but why the hell does he want to meetthere? “You need me to help you bury a body, obviously.”
“Nope. I just got off the phone with my sister,” he says, done joking. “She’ll be coming too.”
And he hangs up.
