“Oh, and Evan? Next time you want to threaten my family, maybe don’t do it in front of twenty guys who make their living hitting people.”
The doors slam shut behind them. For a moment, the arena is dead quiet except for the hum of the ventilation system.
Then Barrett’s whistle pierces the silence. “Everyone off the ice. Conference room. Bring your phones.”
“AND THEN THEGUINEA PIG JUST VANISHED!” Blythe’s dramatic conclusion to what has apparently been a very involved story about classroom pet drama greets me as Golda opens the front door that evening.
“Like, into thin air?” I ask, setting down bags of takeout on the entry table. “Or more of a tactical retreat situation?”
“Ms. Miller says he’s just hiding somewhere in the classroom,” Blythe informs me with the skepticism of someone who’s clearly considered all possibilities. “But I think there’s been foul play. A guinea pig conspiracy.”
“Conspiracy by who?”
“Haven’t figured that part out yet. But the evidence is suspicious.”
Tyson appears from the living room, book in hand. “She’s been working on this theory all day. There’s diagrams.”
“Diagrams?” I raise an eyebrow. “This is serious investigative work.”
“Very serious,” Blythe confirms. “I’m considering a career in guinea pig detective services.”
“Market’s probably pretty specialized,” I agree solemnly.
Golda laughs, taking one of the food bags from me. “How was practice? After your unexpected visitor?”
I glance at the kids, not sure how much to share with them in earshot. “Educational. For him, mostly.”
“What happened?” Tyson asks, perking up with interest.
I look at Golda, who nods slightly. “Your dad showed up at practice. Made some threats. The whole team made it very clear that wasn’t acceptable.”
“The whole team?” Tyson’s eyes widen.
“All twenty guys. Barrett too. And it’s all on video, so if he tries to say we were the problem, we’ve got proof otherwise.”
Tyson processes this with the seriousness he brings to everything important. “So he won’t try that again?”
“Not after today. Too many witnesses, too many people clearly not on his side.”
Relief flickers across his face, followed by something that might be pride. “Good.”
“Very good,” Golda agrees, ruffling his hair. “Now, who’s hungry? Dex brought enough food to feed an army.”
“I wasn’t sure what everyone liked,” I admit, following her to the kitchen. “So I got a little of everything.”
“A little?” She starts unpacking containers, eyebrows rising as the counter fills with food. “Dex, there’s enough here for a week.”
“Better to have too much than too little.”
“Dad never brought us Indian food,” Blythe announces, climbing onto a stool at the kitchen island. “He said it was too greasy and bad for our development.”
But before I can figure out how to respond, Tyson’s already moving past it.
“Can I try that? I’ve never had it before.”
“Of course. Try whatever you want.”
Dinner ends up being surprisingly normal. Blythe explains her guinea pig conspiracy theories in elaborate detail, complete with hand gestures and sound effects. Tyson asks intelligent questions about hockey strategy that make me realize the kid’s been studying the game seriously. Golda tells stories about her more ridiculous voice acting jobs, including one where she had to voice a talking washing machine with a Brooklyn accent.
