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“Guys don’t care about shit like that.” Michael’s gaze returned to the game as play resumed. “Believe me, buddy will be thrilled to see you back at the museum.”

Georgie shuddered. Michael knew most of her secrets, but he wasn’t privy to her lifelong museum dread or what caused it. In fact, no one was. It was just too embarrassing.

“Just think of all the inspiration there,” he continued. “If those walls could talk…”

Yeah. They’d yell, ‘Stay away!’ Georgie glanced sidelong at the two strangers sat to her left, their forlorn faces covered in melting blue and white paint. The owner of those seats rarely showed up, choosing instead to sell. Her gaze boomeranged back to Michael. “But I’m already stretched too thin as it is. If anything, I need to help myself before I help someone else. It’s like when you’re flying: always put your oxygen mask on first before helping others.”

“This coming from the woman who hasn’t been on a plane in years,” said Michael.

“Humour me, okay?” A hand landed on Georgie’s shoulder. She glanced back.

Leesa angled forward. “You guys going out after?”

Georgie shook her head. “School night.”

“Definitely!” They spoke at the same time. Michael grinned.

Ezio sprung out of his seat. “You are SUCH a friggin’ BUM!”

Who he was criticizing, a referee, a player? Georgie wasn’t sure.

He sat down again, wringing his hands as Terry cursed heavily and the woeful wail of a plastic horn cried out from the upper reaches of the neighbouring section.

Michael tried again. “Listen, if time is an issue, set strict boundaries. Meet him for an hour after school on say, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and never on a game night.”

It would be nice to see him again, but… She squinted down at a few fans in the distant golds leaving before the final whistle. “I dunno. What if I end up being of no help to him?”

“Bullshit. You always go above and beyond.”

“But what if helping him means my work suffers?”

Michael bent his neck to meet her downward gaze. “What’s going on, Gi? What are you afraid of?”

Glancing at the handful of seconds remaining on the time clock, she worried her lower lip. “Losing, Michael. Losing everything I’ve worked for…”

SIX

GEORGIE

One week later, Tuesday, October 13, 1992

Leafs record: 0 wins, 2 losses, 1 tie (in overtime)

On the heels of the three-day Thanksgiving weekend, Georgie had many things to feel grateful for. A colossal migraine hangover, however, wasn’t one of them.

Dealing with the lingering after-effects—exhaustion, dull pain above her left eye, and the occasional disturbance in her vision—from an attack on the holiday Monday, most likely triggered by a combo of Vimy stress, her period, and Toronto’s seesaw of a weather forecast, she arrived at work two hours early, hoping to catch a few private minutes with Laporte. He’d been unavailable the previous week, busy with off-site meetings and a rumoured root canal.

Finding his office dark and locked, Georgie left a note on his assistant’s desk and returned to her classroom. She used her time wisely, making reports for the upcoming parent-teacher night and updating her bulletin board displays. The photocopied pages from the Johnny Canuck wartime comic book released in 1942 came down, replaced by replicas of Canadian and British posters and pamphlets from that era, including several featuring recipes from the UK’s Ministry of Food, which encouraged citizens to make healthy meals from rations of eggs, milk, and meat. She also pinned up photos of several Leaf players who had served Canada overseas, lending local context for her students.

Georgie stepped back, surveying her work. “Perfect,” she murmured, then glanced to the rear of her classroom where a photo display of antiquities from ancient Egypt graced the wall.

Oliver’s gorgeous smile and thoughtful compliments crossed her mind. He hadn’t shown up for chocolate chip pancakes at the Golden Griddle on Saturday or Sunday morning, and his absence had left her wondering how he’d spent his first Thanksgiving. Holiday weekends in the city could feel long and lonely without cozy get-togethers with friends or family.

The hinges on her classroom’s door let out a woeful whine.

“Good, you’re here.” Eden barged in, her arms overwhelmed by a shifting heap of student projects in duotangs. “I was worried you’d be struck down with food poisoning again.” She dumped the disintegrating stack onto the nearest desk.

Georgie lunged forward, saving two student assignments before they tumbled to the floor. “Michael’s mum wouldn’t let Fleur or Florence near the kitchen this year. Felicia cooked, Francesca and Fabienne baked with Mum.”