"It’s over, Pop."His voice is firm and certain."I knew it the moment I hit the ice.I'm done.I could probably get another season or two out of my body, but I'd suck.I'd rather retire now and have people remember how good I was.If I tried to keep playing, that would be overshadowed by my last shitty season or two.'Sides, I can play through pain.But what it would take to rehab this?"He lifts his right hand."It was fuckingshattered, Pop.Pulverized.Screws and plates are keeping it together.I've tried some stick-handling drills and…" he shakes his head."I've got nothing.No finesse.I had better handles in fucking peewee."
"Fuck, son.I'm sorry.That has to be hard to deal with, having your career ended like that."
He shrugs, nods."Yeah, it does.But it makes the decision easy.Coming home is easy, now.I've got no reason to stay in Seattle anymore.You need me, Mom needs me, and my career is toast.But honestly, Pop, even if I was totally healthy, I'd still be here.Who gives a single, solitary flying fuck about a goddamnedgamewhen my mother is dying?"His voice breaks on the last word.
“So you'rebackback?'I ask.
He nods."Yup.I've got people packing up my condo, shipping my shit up here, and selling the place.I sold my R8, too.Not a lotta use for a hyper-car up here."
“You loved that thing, Noel."
"Sure did.It was a sweet ride.But if I'm being totally honest, I really only bought it because I could.I'm a simple guy, Pop.I'm honestly kinda relieved it's all over.I can go back to being an Alaskan.I miss the sunrises on the river.I miss hikes out in the bush.I miss spending an entire week fishing in the middle of nowhere with you.I miss the community."He swallows hard."I just…I'm scared, Pop.Losing her…"
My eyes burn.I've held this back since we found out.I gotta hold it back a bit longer."I know, son.Trust me, I know.She's been my best friend for more than thirty years.I haven't been apart from her for a single day our entire lives.I mean, yeah, I spend days at work, but I still talk to her.There hasn't been a single shift where she hasn't brought me dinner.I don't—" my voice dissolves like salt stirred into water."I don't know what I'll do without her, Noel."
"Me either."He leans against me, shoulder to shoulder."I'm here for good, Pop.We'll face it together."
September, 2023
I think I'm going to have to tell the meal-train ladies to slow down a little bit.My fridge, freezer, and deep freezer are all packed to the damned gills with casseroles, pasta bakes, and chimichangas, of all things.I think I've had more halibut Olympia and Kodiak Casserole in the last couple months, than in the rest of my life combined, and Taylor used to bring me both dishes several times a shift.
Even after bringing stacks of them to the firehouse for the guys, I'm still drowning in casseroles.I mean, don't me wrong, I'm grateful as hell to our community for taking care of Noel and me.But dear god,so manycasseroles.
I'm hungry, now, though, and the shift was a doozy—a major house fire, a three-car collision with multiple injuries, a fatal heart attack on a construction site, and a bar fight at Rooster's resulting in property damages, a concussion, and missing teeth.LA, this ain't, so to us here in li'l ol' Tomlin Falls, that's a busy day.
I pull out a tray of chimichangas—Marta Collins's specialty, apparently—and put them in the oven, which I set to bake at three-fifty.Yes, I put the food in while it's preheating.No, I can't cook for shit.It’ll probably be a little crispy, but whatever.
While the oven is going, I strip out of my work clothes, rinse off, and pull on sweats and a tank top.Pop a beer, lean on the porch railing, and watch a bald eagle circle on a wingtip overhead.
Eventually, I figure the food must be hot.My brain is elsewhere, though—on decisions at work, on Noel's upcoming CPAT—and I grab the glass dish with my bare hands like a dumbfuck.
And because I am exactly that dumb and stubborn, I refuse to drop the dish on the floor.Instead, I yowl and curse and toss the thing onto the stove, and then rinse my hands in cold water until the burning subsides.I'll have blisters, but I've got the next couple days off.
I rummage in the junk drawer of the island, looking for the aloe burn gel that's always lived in the drawer.I find it and slather it on liberally.Toss it back in…where it lands next to a tube of Taylor's favorite lotion.It's this stuff that comes in a tiny little tube that she could only get from one particular website because she likes it in the tiny tubes because those fit in the tiny purses she prefers.Every year for her birthday, I buy her several tubes of the stuff, and she always uses it sparingly.She keeps a tube here, another in her bedside table, and one in her purse.
I grab the tube, twist off the cap, and sniff; the familiar scent of the lotion rips through me like a back draft.Fuck, it hurts; fuck, I miss her; I miss her with a viciousness that sends me to my knees.
Noel is fucked up.
He stayed with me for a few weeks after he first moved back up here, but we’re too much alike, and he’s too used to being on his own, so he bought a penthouse condo in the new building downtown.He’s taken to training to become a firefighter with a single-minded determination that eclipses even his dedication to hockey—which, since the first time he hit the ice on skates at three years old, was utterly singular.He studied for the written exam and trained for the CPAT twenty hours a day.Already in peak physical condition being a pro athlete, he spent hours a day running, lifting, throwing med balls, coiling hoses, climbing ladders in a fifty-pound vest, and carrying Sam, the 170-pound dummy, as well as continuing the rehab for his wrist—which is good enough for this work, but would never have withstood the demands of professional hockey.
He barely speaks.
Not that I'm much better, I just have to fake it for the guys.I'm the captain.I can't just take an extended leave of absence.Maybe if this was Juneau or a big city like that, there'd be someone to fill in for a few months while I grieve, but this is Tomlin Falls, and there's only me; Doug, as my LT, does a bang-up job when I'm off, but he can’t cover my duties and his indefinitely.
Once I get my shit back together, I scrub my face with cold water and dish myself a sloppy pile of chimichangas slathered liberally with sour cream and salsa.I can hear Tay in my head, yammering about my cholesterol, but fuck it.Maybe I'll run a few miles with Noel tomorrow.
My phone rings as I'm rinsing my plate; it's Jimmy Tanner, the president of the Chamber of Commerce and one of my best friends since childhood—he, Doug, Frankie O'Donnell, and me have been inseparable our whole lives.
I answer."Hey, Jimbo.I don't suppose you and Kath need a few dozen casseroles?"
He chuckles—it's a throaty, phlegmy sound.He's been fighting a summer cold."We'll take some off your hands, sure.How're you holding up, buddy?"
I sigh."Eh, you know.Okay sometimes, not okay others."
"We're here for you, brother."
"I know, Jimbo.You and Kath are a godsend."
