We amble down the hallway, stopping near the front door where she bends down to put her shoes on. Practical white sneakers, her standard.
"I hate to say it, but Levi’s not wrong, my dear." Beth moves closer to me and grasps my hand. "Not all hope is lost… I have just the thing to help you." She reaches into the large olive greensatchel she’s been carrying around for the better part of five years and pulls out an aged, leather-bound book. "I can sense that you want to sit around and stew about this job, but I think you should do this instead."
I take the book from her outstretched hand, running my fingers over the embossed title: A Fate Found In Clues. Sliding my fingers under the twine tying it closed, I slowly unknot it. When I flip to the first page, I see a crossword puzzle that’s filled out except for the last clue. I know Beth shares my affinity for solving puzzles, as we often exchange our favorite ones or discuss unique words we’ve discovered. Yet, I can’t quite piece together why or how this is going to help me—who would give someone a puzzle that is all but almost solved?
"It’s basically complete." I lift the book toward her. "This is yours. You should be the one to finish it."
I’m no stranger to getting odd gifts from my mother’s friends. It’s one of those things that just seems to happen, like when you accidentally comment that you need to buy a new set of Tupperware and the next thing you know you’re walking out of Sally Jo’s house with a full set, well worn in with spaghetti sauce stains that will never come out. The kinds of things that probably belong in the trash but you have to seem grateful to receive—thankful for the gesture.
"Sadie, I wasn’t really asking." Beth pushes my hand and the book back toward me. "Your life, as you know it, isn’t the one you’ve been seeking. All the answers you need are here." She glides a hand over her heart.
"Thanks? I’m not really seeking anything other than a few extra hours in the day to get everything done." Her brows furrow, a look daring me to refuse the gift. "But I guess this will give me something to do," I course-correct. For a woman who’s not a mother—she’s got the guilt thing down.
Beth doesn’t respond. Instead, she simply walks out the front door. I watch her retreat, expecting her to turn back or to say something else.
I guess the conversation is over?
Returning to the patio, my sister raises an eyebrow. "What was that about?"
"Honestly, I have no idea. But she gave me this." I hold up the book. "She said it would help with my situation?"
"Well, that’s bizarre as fuck. Can you put it down and pass me the wine? My glass has been empty since you left."
"Mallory!" my mother scolds.
"What? It is."
I can’t help agreeing with her. I appreciate that Beth was trying to help, but this is just another weird gift to discard with all the others so I can focus on what’s really important—getting my job back.
two
Max
Help Wanted
Sweat drips down my forehead, blurring my vision as I dig my skates into the ice. I’ve been floating across this frozen glass for most of my life, but even Coach Perkins’ post-game sprints weren’t enough to prepare me for my current challenge.
"Bro, I’m going next," Miles shouts.
"It’s my turn. I already called it," Brady whines.
It doesn’t take long before the mites are brawling for the chance to race me, and while I’m a little proud, I’m also fucking tired. I spent my morning in the gym, then met some guys here for a skate, and now I’m racing kids for no other reason than their enjoyment.
"Listen up, if you don’t quit fighting, I’ll make you race each other until someone gives up." My ultimatum straightens them out instantly, but it also means I have to go again. "Miles, youhad a turn already. Get outta here." I wiggle my eyebrows up and down, trying to keep a stern face. "Alright, Brady… think you can take me?"
Brady just turned eight, and while the kid has potential, he also looks like a flailing duck on a frozen pond when he gets going too fast.
"Eat my dust, Skibidi," he spits out before taking a head start toward the opposite end of the rink. I let him get almost to center ice when I take off after him—he’s a funny kid and by far my favorite, sue me for giving him a little bigger advantage than the rest.
I chase after him, handing him a clear victory, before fist-bumping his tiny gloved hand and nodding toward the exit. His mom waves at me with a shy smile as her husband stands with his phone plastered to his ear on what I can assume is another work call. I’ve noticed he’s usually preoccupied, which is fine, but I’ve spent enough time around Brady to know it affects them both.
I toss her a wink, smirking. Every woman deserves a little harmless flirting to make them feel good. The same way my very devoted mother used to love getting hit on at the gas station. It’s a reminder that despite what she may get at home, she’s not invisible—someone still notices. No different from the boy beaming up at me being the real reason I help coach this team. I love kids and hockey—volunteering here is the only thing that’s keeping me sane after everything I’ve lost.
Brady glides to the boards and steps out of the rink, and I move around the circle picking up the cones from practice. Finishing my cleanup, I follow not far behind the mini version of myself, stepping out and taking a seat on the bench to undo my skates.
"Max, a word?" I look up to see Brady’s dad, Thomas, standing behind the bench.
"What’s up?"I’m probably about to pay for the kind gesture I showed his wife.
