Chapter Thirty-Two Elise
Everywhere I look, there are towering evergreens and overgrown bushes and lush trees.
Southwest Ohio is an agricultural hub; I’m no stranger to plant life. But Vancouver is something else. It’s like an uncontained garden instead of a farm field or a suburban landscape.
Beyond all that greenery is clear blue sky that provides the perfect backdrop for snow-peaked mountains so majestic, it could be a mirage.
I thought I was visiting a town with a fairytale setting. Instead, I walked into a postcard.
We’re navigating light traffic while driving in our rented SUV.
“Let’s make a stop,” Randall announces.
“Your dad doesn’t expect us at home?”
“We’re having dinner with everyone, but that’s not for a few more hours.”
It strikes me that “coming home” for Randall has little to do with seeing family.
It’s hard not to make a brief comparison to my situation. No one could stop Ma from picking me up at the airport if I haven’t seen her in months. Lily, too, for that matter. It tugs my heartstrings to realize Randall’s mom would be that person for him, but she’s no longer around.
The thought makes me reach out to squeeze his shoulder. He glances at me and winks.
We’re driving down a four-lane road with condos and houses on the left side and fruit stands and mansions on the right. It’s a weird combination. Randall explains that although this part of town is dense with residents, it also has a history of fruit orchards run by large families.
He veers into a gravel road after a sign that says, “Fresh Okanagan Cherries Have Arrived!” It’s a fruit stand.
As soon as we step out, Randall holds my hand and strolls to a cashier. He taps her shoulder.
When she turns, we’re faced with a gray-haired woman who hollers at the top of her lungs.
“Randi!”
“How are you, Kim?” he asks affectionately.
“Good, good. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in today?” she asks as she pats his jaw and squeezes his cheek.
Instead of answering, he gestures toward me.
“Auntie Kim, this is my girlfriend, Elise Chen. We just flew in from Columbus. Elise, Kim Nguyen grew up with my mother and together they were the most feared hockey moms this side of the Rocky Mountains.”
“So good to meet you, um, Miss Nguyen,” I stumble, not sure how to address her.
“Just Kim, sweetheart,” she says pulling me into a hug so soft and sweet I can’t quite picture her as a feared hockey mom at all. “Or Auntie!”
“We had to stop when I saw the sign for the cherries,” Randall explains.
“Good, good. Let me put something together for you.” She waves for us to follow. While she picks through a massive crate to find the reddest, plumpest cherries, she addresses Randall in a less enthusiastic voice.
“He knows you’re coming today?”
An understanding passes between them.
“We’re having dinner with Dad after we check into the Buck and Barrell Inn.”
She nods, although there’s a hint of reprimand in her narrowed eyes.
“One of these visits you should stay with him instead. Or with me! You can take Mel’s old room.” Kim turns to me and explains, “That’s my son. He lives in Winnipeg now, but Randall and he were teammates all through grade school.”
“That’s very generous of you,” I manage to answer despite feeling disoriented. Randall never mentioned we weren’t staying with his family.
“He prefers it this way, too,” he says with a hint of bitterness.
“Are you sure? Did you ask him?” She wraps the cherries in a bag and calls one of the employees. “Grab me a cooler and ice pack from the back, eh? We’ll be by the peaches.”
The young woman nods absentmindedly because she’s staring at Randall with heart eyes.
Kim snorts and makes a motion to shoo the girl away. We walk to the peaches where Randall grabs one, rubs it against his shirt, and offers me a bite.
“You have to buy it first,” I say, scandalized. He bites into it and the juices run down his chin.
“Gotta try before you buy.”
“Don’t say that too loudly,” Kim reprimands. “If I let everyone try the way you do, I’ll be out of business.”
“Let’s take a selfie,” Randall tells her. “I’ll tag the fruit stand and you’ll have more business than you can handle.”
Before I can offer to take it, Kim pulls me close so we’re shoulder to shoulder while Randall is behind both of us.
The young woman comes out with a Styrofoam cooler in which the cherries and ice pack are joined by peaches. A quick stop at the snap peas and blueberries fills the cooler to the brim.
When it’s time to pay, Kim scowls at his wallet.
“Your money is no good here. This is your welcome home gift.”
“Thank you.” He kisses her cheek and slips two fifty-dollar American bills in the tip jar.
As soon as we drive off, I venture to ask, “Why don’t you stay with your dad or brothers when you visit?”
“Dad moved to one of the new condos by the river. It isn’t comfortable for visitors. Jim is in another suburb close to where his wife, Corinne, works. It’s not too far from here, but it’s farther from downtown, so it isn’t practical for us. Traffic can be awful. As for Charles, we might crash at his townhouse by Kitsilano Beach for a night or two. I’ll figure out those dates when we see him later. Everyone’s coming for dinner.”
I simply nod, patching together the dynamics of the Haughland family based on these snippets of information.
“Are we checking into, what did you call it, the Buck and Barrell Inn?”
“Best accommodations within walking distance to Garry Point. It’s got a bar at the main floor that plays live music. Which is why I brought earplugs.”
“Oh my god, will there be sea shanty music tonight?”
“No, but there will be a grunge era cover band since it’s Thursday,” he says with little enthusiasm. “Do you mind if we head to our stop now?” he asks.
“It wasn’t the fruit stand?”
“No, but we had to grab the cherries before they ran out.”
“Good call. Yes, I’m happy to go wherever you want to go,” I say and totally mean it. “God, Randall, this place is gorgeous. And the people are amazing. How did you manage to leave?”
He doesn’t answer and I don’t push it. We drive for about ten minutes in comfortable silence, until we arrive at the parking lot of a sports complex.
“Is this your hockey arena? Where you learned to play?”
“Yup. Home of the Steveston Seahawks, the dynasty of peewee championships,” he declares with a mix of self-deprecation and true pride. “It’s my first club.”
“Ben’s club,” I guess.
“Yeah. He always runs a summer camp for kids. It’s cheaper to do it now because the adult leagues won’t start up until the fall. I promised him we’d come by before the trip gets too busy. It won’t take long.”
“We should stay as long as you want. Are you skating with them?”
“Nah, I didn’t plan on it.” He points to his regular shoes to confirm the answer.
We’re holding hands as Randall pushes through the main doors. It’s eerily quiet. A shadow of doubt clouds his features.
“Maybe I got the time wrong. I don’t hear anyone on the ice,” he mumbles and takes out his phone. “I’ll text him.”
But before he presses his screen, the chant begins.
“Ran-di, Ran-di, Ran-di,” it continues from down a hall. The second he pushes through another set of metal doors, I feel the rush of cold air and hear the screaming kids slamming their hockey jersey cuteness against the plexiglass. It’s chaos and joy in equal measure.
“Oh my god,” I say. “It’s like a team of baby Mavericks!” They really look like elfish versions of the big athletes, with their uniforms and equipment. So adorable.
An older man approaches. Randall hugs him.
“Your cheering section gets more elaborate every time.”
“Gotta surprise the hometown hero,” he says.
“Ben Nakamura, this is my girlfriend, Elise Chen. Elise, this is Coach Ben.”
We shake hands, Coach Ben briefly holding my hand inside two of his. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Me too. Randall claims you taught him everything he knows,” I fib a little.
“He’s exaggerating. Elise, are you OK if we steal Randi for a few minutes for a turn on the ice? The kids have been chomping on the bits to skate with him. You”—now he points at Randall—“have been my bribe all season.”
“I didn’t bring my skates,” Randall says, putting his hand on my lower back.
He’s probably worried about entertaining me—a notion I plan to divest him of as soon as possible. Nothing could be more entertaining right now than Randall skating with his delightful mini-me’s.
“You have to skate with them,” I declare.
“Like I said, didn’t plan on it.”
“Already put aside your size,” Ben assures him.
“Do you want to skate, too? I can teach you,” Randall suggests. I’m already shaking my head before the words come out.
“Teach me some other time. Give me your phone so I can take a video of you with your new team,” I say with a wink.
I get comfortable in the middle of the stands, taking pictures and videos. Randall leading a skating choo-choo train with the kids. Randall standing in front of a net and pretending to miss a couple of saves so the kids can celebrate their victory scoring on a professional goaltender. Randall teaching a bunch of them to skate backward which entails swishing his gorgeous bubble butt. Definitely a footage-worthy moment.
Coach Ben is out there with him, playing traffic cop to swarming children and generally providing structure amidst mayhem. The two men skate around each other easily, as if they are more comfortable interacting on the ice than anywhere else. I make sure to grab pictures of them leaning on their sticks and laughing.
In what feels like a blink, the resurfacing machine sits at the gate and it’s time for everyone to leave the ice. Randall is the first to take off his skates. He signs some shirts and takes more pictures, but I can tell he’s ready to go when he tilts his head toward the metal doors. We say our goodbyes to Coach Ben with promises to catch a drink.
When we leave the complex, the sun is a shock to the eyes and the heat a welcome balm.
“That was so much fun,” I declare. “You should post those, too. Tag the club.”
“I will. It helps with the sponsorship when I link them to my account. Keeps the registration costs low.”
“Randall Haughland, you are truly a hometown hero.”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“What? You are!”
“This hometown boy is hungry. Let’s grab some Tim Hortons Timbits before checking into the inn.”