Page 5 of The Big Puck

“Let’s get out of here,” I say. “I mean, let’s get Krissy home so I can get back to work.” I turn and don’t hand Krissy back to her. Instead, I grab my car keys—the old-fashioned kind for my old Jeep—and the handle of the stroller, then gesture for her to follow me out of the office.

I lead her back to the garage where I came from not long ago, though it seems like another lifetime, like the dividing line in my life, the redline through center ice where I’ll look at my life before and after this moment. Which is ridiculous.

Unfortunately, no matter how ridiculous I find it as I stride back to my old Jeep, I can’t shake the feeling. It must have to do with starting my new job and nothing to do with Lainey Hall—except for the fact that she’s bailing me out today.

Maybe today is where my so-called luck—if I believe in luck—changes from bad to good. Or fate, or maybe my goddamn attitude. Maybe today is when I snap out of the sorry-ass slump where I’ve been mired, worried about what’s next, and I go back to putting one foot in front of another and doing what’s next. Stay in the present and deal.

Krissy falls asleep on my shoulder, and I manage to lock her into her car seat in the back without waking her. Lainey stands back and watches me like she’s going to grade me later, and I remember that she’s trained to be a kindergarten teacher.

“How’d I do?” I ask her when I straighten, and she finishes tossing the bag in the back and folding the stroller. I take it from her before she has a chance to toss that in the back, too, because I want to make sure nothing gets crushed. I rearrange things and close the door.

She throws her hands on her hips. “Well done. I give you a nine. I can’t give you a ten because you have absolutely no style whatsoever.”

I stifle an automatic smile and roll my eyes. This is good. I can deal with sassy Lainey, who’s like a kid sister and potential employee, someone I feel comfortable bossing around.

We get in the car, and I drive in silence the eight minutes to the big old house I bought on the outskirts of the historic district on a quiet tree-lined street. It cost me a fortune, and then I had to put money into fixing it up. It was my last extravagance, the last of my savings from my less-than-stellar hockey career after I paid off my brother’s debts and the legal fees to formalize Krissy’s adoption.

Mom and Aunt Hildie were the only ones who didn’t think I was crazy for spending the money. Still, if stability is what Krissy needs, it’s what I’m going to give her, and even if my coaching contract with the Whalers doesn’t get renewed at the end of the season, I’m going to stay put because this is where I grew up. I still have connections in the area, and Mom comes back now and then—in fact, she and her husband, who is a decent guy even though I’m not close to him, can stay with me and Krissy when they’re in town. And then there’s my Aunt Hildie and cousins who live nearby.

Perfect, right? As long as I don’t look too closely at the income and expense spreadsheet and the tiny margin for error I’ve allowed myself, I should be able to maintain my sanity. My focus needs to be on my job and Krissy. Or rather on Krissy and my job. Or maybe they’re both so intricately entwined in importance they can’t be separated.

Shit, I don’t remember ever being this out of whack, even when I was traded all those times. Then, I landed on my feet and played on. Until I stopped playing. That was the beginning of my disorientation. I knew exactly what to do and who I was until then. I played hockey. I was a hockey player.

Back then I had no one to worry about except myself, so I didn’t have a need to think ahead. How the hell do people do this parenting thing? I have new empathy for my father—but only for a blink.

When we pull into the driveway, I watch Lainey’s face transform from pensive to excited as she looks at the house. It’s an old Victorian that shouts stability and a place for kids to grow up, from the swing on the wrap-around porch to the third-story turret ideal for exploration.

“I plan to paint it gray—”

“Don’t you dare. That sunshine yellow is perfect for this gem.” She jumps from the Jeep before I can remind her it’s my house and I can dam well paint it whatever color I want. She grabs the bag and stroller, leaving Krissy to me, surprising me.

The baby is still asleep, and I manage to keep her that way as I lead Lainey up the front steps, cringing at the creaks, to the front door. Unlocking it, I shove it open gently and take the bag from Lainey, indicating with my hand that she should leave the stroller on the porch next to the door.

She does so and promptly wrestles the bag back from me as I walk almost on tiptoes to avoid as much creaking as I can on the way to the baby’s room upstairs.

Krissy’s still sleeping when we get to the nursery, decorated at Aunt Hildie’s suggestion in shades of peach and white because I refused to allow pink. Don’t ask me why. Maybe I’m anti-stereotyping. There’s a sturdy rocker-glider in the corner near the window, the crib, one bureau, and a matching changing table. The hardwood floor is nearly completely covered with a soft beige area rug splashed with white spots to make the floor inviting for play.

My entire contribution to decorating the room was handing my credit card to Aunt Hildie and then nodding in approval when she finished. That was a week ago. Two days ago, she went to the doctor for a sore hip, and yesterday she had surgery. When I called her this morning, she sounded cheery, her usual self. She and Lainey would get along great.

Not that it matters if they get along because, once Aunt Hildie comes back, Lainey will be history. In the meantime, whether or not I’m a fan of her relentless enthusiasm, all the bright smiling will be good for Krissy. When the kid grows up some and needs a dose of reality, I’ll be there to dish it out to her.

I’m perfect for that job.

Lying Krissy in her crib, I slowly remove my hands from under her and back away. With a finger to my lips, I face Lainey and head for the door. A rustling sound from behind me makes me stop. Lainey turns, and I whisper-shout, “Don’t—” But it’s too late.

Krissy makes a noise like she’s going to start crying, as if she’s awakened to find herself somewhere unexpected, and it scares her. Welcome to the world, kid. I get it.

Lainey reaches into the crib, making cooing noises, and lifts the baby into her arms, instantly soothing her. As she strokes the baby’s back, she gives me a smile over Krissy’s head, except it’s not just a smile. It’s the kind of look you’d imagine someone having as they arrive at the gates of heaven, deeply peaceful, home at last.

That’s when I know for sure Lainey’s perfect for this job, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to smooth things over with her brother, my fucking star player. Because I know there’s some smoothing over that needs to be done no matter what Lainey says. Her optimism is unreliable. Like most optimism.

It takes less than two minutes for Lainey to settle Krissy back in her crib, back asleep, and this time we escape the nursery after I turn on the intercom and we close the door behind us on the way out.

When we get to the bottom of the stairs, we stop in the entryway, and the silent pause has me feeling awkward. Once again, that feeling of being unprepared and out of control assaults me as I search for familiar territory and grasp onto my conversation with the nanny service from yesterday as my roadmap.

“The job is yours—to be Krissy’s nanny temporarily—if you want it. Somewhere between eight and twelve weeks.”

She blinds me with the perfect array of her white teeth and those lush lips turned upward at an uncannily pleasing angle. Does everyone smile like that? No, the better question is—does anyone else ever smile like that?