Chapter 28 - Scene of The Crime
SCENE OF THE CRIME
CLEO
One month later
WOW, THIS ROAD IS A BLAST FROM THE PAST. THIS IS WHERE IT ALL STARTED: A HOCKEY ROMANCE for the ages, I announce.
We’re driving to Marjorie’s home for dinner, but now most of the snow is gone and the signs of spring are everywhere.
A hockey romance for the ages? Mats’s raised eyebrow means I’m getting carried away.
What else do you call it when two of the best hockey players at Monarch College date each other? I muse. Of course, it would be better if I dated the captain and top scorer on the men’s team. What is Big Z up to these days?
Still allergic to relationships, I’m afraid.
I ruffle Mats’s unruly hair. Guess I’ll have to settle.
Who am I kidding? I still feel like I have to pinch myself every day. How did I end up with someone so gorgeous, sweet, and considerate? Each day, Mats reveals some new and charming part of his personality.
Even Becks can’t find anything to criticize, so she settles for blaming Mats every time Minnie destroys another hair tie.
Our house kitten moved in and stole everyone’s hearts.
She gets into everything, even our mini-stick games.
Our biggest argument is about who gets to take her home for the summer.
And here, we are going for a long-awaited dinner at Marjorie’s.
I’m cradling my personal trophy to show her.
Our championship win was a dream come true.
The finals were held at Monarch, where we had everything: sold-out crowds, tight wins, and even Musty the Mustang.
I even had my own cheering section when my mother, her sisters, my cousins, and Graham all came to the semi-final and final games.
They screamed for me and waved this huge Go Cleo flag that my Aunt Kelsie had sewn. And that felt fucking great.
Cleo, Mats begins, and I tense. It’s his serious voice.
What is it?
I think we should tell Marjorie the truth about us. That we weren’t really dating from the beginning.
We’ve had this discussion before. Now that we’re really dating, I don’t see why we need to dig up the past. But Barb Peachy said that Marjorie is very close to finalizing the bequest. She asked for all the paperwork. What if we say something and she changes her mind?
He exhales. I would feel worse if she pledged money to the school, then found out we misled her and regretted her donation.
I groan. All this work, for nothing?
Well, if you call our relationship nothing, then yes.
I can tell he’s rolling his eyes without even looking at him. Ugh. You know what I mean, I huff. Everything is about the details with him.
We drive on for a few more minutes. Mats has the strongest moral compass of anyone I know, whereas I was blinded by my family ties until very recently. So, he’s probably right. Okay, definitely right.
I sigh heavily. Fine. Let’s tell her.
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. I think it’s the right thing to do. Besides, Marjorie has a great sense of humour. Maybe she’ll laugh it off.
I’m doubtful. Maybe. Are you going to do the talking?
Sure. I wonder what we’re going to have for dinner, he says.
I phoned ahead to request funeral potatoes. Just for old times, I joke.
Until I actually see that dish in the wild, I’m going to believe that all three of you are pranking me. It’s inconceivable that anyone could put so many unhealthy things together. Mats is up on his healthy-eating soapbox.
But you have to admit, it tastes good.
He shoots me a you-must-be-insane look, and I can’t help giggling.
Soon I’ll get to visit Vancouver and taste all the weird things there, I say.
I guarantee you’ll love everything. The city, the food… and the company, he brags.
This summer, Andy and Jack are going on a big trip to Asia. Their first stop will be Vancouver, so I’m going to visit at the same time and the four of us can tour all the city’s hot spots, according to Mats and Jack. Now all I have to do is figure out how to pay for all this shit.
The mansion looks totally different now. There’s a vast lawn with shoots of new grass, manicured hedges, and tulips poking out of the curving flower beds. It looks as stately as I imagined that first night.
When we get to the front door, I lift the giant door knocker. Then we wait.
Geraldine swings open the door.
Well, if it isn’t ‘Monarch’s foul-mouthed captain with a heart of gold,’ she quotes.
Damn right, I respond.
After we won the championship, Andy pitched a story to the Minneapolis Star Tribune about how our win almost didn’t happen.
The most important playoff goal I scored was in the overtime of our first game—the one I was supposed to miss.
Sure, I scored other big goals during our playoff run, but that was the only game winner.
Later, Andy treated me to lunch and told me the newspaper had loved the human-interest aspect of the championship, and that she’d received an official job offer from them, starting in September.
She thanked me, but it was all her writing.
Her profile in the Messenger was like a mirror that let me see my life from a distance.
I felt a lot less guilty about my dad and Jordan after reading it.
Andy’s story in the Star Tribune had been read by many more people than the Messenger one—including Geraldine. Not a shock, since they still get the physical newspaper here.
She eyes Mats, who is looking so gorgeous in a blue floral-print shirt and dark wash jeans that I can’t wait until we’re alone and I can rip those clothes off him.
Captain and… escort, she says. As usual, she’s grim-faced, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes.
Ouch. Mats puts a hand to his heart. We made it to the semi-finals, Geraldine.
Winning is the only thing, she replies. Double-ouch, since we don’t quote Wisconsin coaches ’round these parts. She guides us down the familiar polished hallway, which looks more spring-like with the addition of fresh flowers on a side table.
What happened to your drug dealer brother? she asks.
I wince. Nobody is as blunt as these two elderly women. They have zero patience for bullshit, something I usually appreciate, but fuck. A fine and probation. And he’s doing community service.
It turned out that no fancy lawyer was even needed, since as a first-time offender, Jordan got a predetermined sentence.
But he and Dad are complaining anyway. Luckily, I never have to hear a word of it.
Hopefully, Jordan has learned something from the ordeal.
One day, he’ll grow up and learn to take responsibility.
Then maybe we can have a relationship again.
We enter the living room, which looks identical, except the fireplace isn’t going.
Your guests are here, Geraldine announces.
Marjorie is sitting in her customary chair with her foot propped up. It’s wrapped in one of those walking casts. I wasn’t aware that they came in an emerald green, though, which matches her ensemble of a turquoise pantsuit and a bright green bow-tied blouse.
She twinkles up at us. Forgive me if I don’t stand.
Yeah, it was a shame you couldn’t come to any of our playoff games, I say loudly. What happened to your ankle, anyway?
Tango lessons with Mateo, she replies cheerfully.
I giggle, but when Marjorie remains straight-faced, my laughter peters out. I still can’t tell when she’s kidding. Mats is no help, as he’s busy having a passionate reunion with Mr. Fluffer, who is exposing his skinny orange ribs for a tummy rub. Since that cat scratched me, I have steered clear.
Anyway, here’s my trophy. In case you wanted to see it, I offer.
She takes it in her hands and examines it. Kinda small, isn’t it? Considering how hard you worked.
There was a big one, and I got to skate around the rink with it. But we each get one to keep forever.
Well, congratulations. Barb Peachy sent me a whole bunch of photos from the championship game. Then she looks at Mats. Nothing about your team, though.
Man, between you and Geraldine, my ego really takes a beating here, he complains.
Marjorie smirks. I’m just joshing. She sent a few photos of you scoring some big goal or something.
He scored the winning goal in their first playoff game and the tying goal in their quarter-final game, I announce proudly.
Well, your children are bound to be good hockey players, aren’t they? she comments.
Mats pales a bit. For me, it’s enough that we’re together now, and hopefully all during my senior year too.
I’ll leave it up to Mats to make the long-term life plans.
However, I am prepared if Marjorie springs a career question on me.
I’ve talked to Burty, and I’m a good candidate for her internship program.
I regale Marjorie with the highlights of our playoff run and she seems to appreciate all the gory details, including when Becks got cut with a skate, took twenty-four stitches, and then came back for the third period. A true warrior.
Everything is the same, from the drinks cart to the eyeball appetizers.
When the gong sounds for dinner, Mats offers his arm to Marjorie for support, and we head for the dining room.
We sit down in our usual places, and Geraldine brings in the meal.
It turns out to be lamb with mint jelly, mashed potatoes, and green beans.
Mats is delighted with this relatively healthy meal—he’s so adorably easy to please.
I can’t believe I ever thought he was a snob.
Too bad, babe, I murmur softly. No funeral potatoes tonight. Don’t worry, I have the recipe.
As usual, he doesn’t react, unless you count the corner of his lip twitching, which I do.
During dinner, Marjorie tells us about the bats that were living in her attic and had to be rehomed, which I suspect might be a euphemism for exterminated, but with all her money, who knows? Maybe they’re living in a ritzy South American cave now.