34. Jamie #2
I look around the hallway filled with laughter, volunteers, photographs, and children who know they matter. Then back at the woman standing beside me. "I was hoping you'd see that."
She smiles.
"I think..." Her fingers tighten around mine. "...I'm finally seeing all of you."
***
Noah practically drags us toward the small practice rink at the back of the building.
A dozen children are finishing the last skating session of the day while volunteers begin stacking chairs along one wall.
One little girl glides carefully across the ice, concentrating so hard her tongue peeks from the corner of her mouth.
Another boy waves enthusiastically the moment he spots me.
"Captain Jamie!"
Within seconds three more children skate over. Not asking for pictures. Not asking for autographs. Just talking.
"I passed my spelling test!"
"I finally stopped without falling!"
"My grandma's coming to watch next week!"
I answer every story as though it's the most important news I've heard all day.
Because to them...it is.
One little boy tugs gently on my sleeve. "Will you watch me?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
He skates toward the blue line with all the determination in the world.
His stop sprays snow everywhere except where he intended.
He beams anyway. "Did you see?"
"I did."
"It was better than yesterday."
"It absolutely was."
The grin on his face could have powered the entire building.
When he skates away, Annette quietly slips beside me. "They don't see a hockey captain."
"No?"
She watches another child wave as we walk past. "They see Jamie."
I smile. "I like that better."
"I know."
We continue through the hallway at an unhurried pace.
Nearly every volunteer calls hello. Some ask about my shoulder. Others simply wave before locking up classrooms for the night. No one treats me like a celebrity. They treat me like family.
Annette notices that too. "I've been trying to figure something out."
"Oh?"
"You've never once acted like you're doing anyone a favor."
I stop beside one of the photographs hanging on the wall. It shows the Foundation's opening day years ago.
Fresh paint.
Fold-up tables.
Exactly twelve children.
Mom is standing beside the popcorn machine.
Dad is assembling hockey nets in the background.
And me with a broom because apparently that was my assigned talent.
I smile. "I wasn't."
She looks at me.
"They've all done just as much for me."
She studies the picture. "How?"
I point toward the children. "They remind me what matters."
She follows my gaze.
"You really believe that."
"I do."
She slips her arm through mine. "I used to think hockey made you extraordinary."
"And now?"
She smiles. "I think hockey simply introduced people to you."
For a moment I can't answer, because some how she always finds the words I've spent years looking for.
Before I can say anything, Mrs. Henderson appears carrying two paper cups. "I had a feeling neither of you remembered to eat."
She hands each of us a cup of popcorn.
Annette laughs. "Thank you."
Mrs. Henderson smiles knowingly. "Take care of this one." She nods toward me.
"He spends so much time looking after everyone else that somebody has to remember to look after him."
Annette reaches for my hand. "I can do that."
Mrs. Henderson smiles as though she never doubted it. "I was hoping you'd say that."
She wanders off toward the front office, humming to herself.
I watch her disappear before looking at Annette. "You know, I think she likes you."
Annette laughs. "I think your entire town has already decided I'm staying."
"They're an optimistic group."
She stops walking. "So am I."
The words settle between us with quiet certainty. No dramatic declaration. No fanfare. Just the simple confidence of a woman who has finally come home.
I look around the building one last time.
The lights are beginning to dim. Volunteers switch off classrooms one by one.
Children call goodbye from the parking lot. The day is ending.
I smile. "Ready?"
She nods. "Where to now?"
I hold the front door open for her. "The people who taught me everything worth knowing."
She smiles.
"Your parents."
"My parents."
As we climb into the truck, she reaches for my hand before I even start the engine.
The drive is only a few minutes. Neither of us says much. Some silences aren't empty. Some are simply full.
When the familiar sign for Walker Rehabilitation comes into view, she smiles.
"I interviewed here once."
I glance over in surprise.
"You never told me that."
"I guess I was waiting for the right day."
I grin. "I think today qualifies."
***
As soon as we enter, Carol comes around the counter and gives me a careful hug. "I swear you look better every time I see you."
"I'm trying."
"I can tell."
Her eyes shift to Annette. "This must be Annette."
Annette smiles and offers her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Carol ignores the hand entirely and pulls her into a hug instead. "Oh, honey, around here we hug."
Annette laughs as she hugs her back. "I'll remember that."
Carol steps back and looks between us with unmistakable satisfaction.
"I've been waiting to meet the woman who finally convinced this stubborn man to listen."
"I did not—"
She raises an eyebrow. "Jamie."
"...Okay, eventually."
"That's what I thought."
Annette grins. "I like her."
"You will," I say. "Everybody does."
Carol glances toward the hallway. "Your parents are just finishing up with their last patients. Susan's saying goodbye, and Richard's probably still finishing his notes."
"Some things never change."
"They certainly don't."
Almost on cue, a door opens farther down the hall.
Mom steps out first, carrying a patient file tucked against her chest. She's smiling as she walks beside an elderly gentleman using a cane. "You keep doing those exercises," she says gently. "I expect a full report next week."
"I will."
"And don't carry the groceries."
He chuckles. "Yes, ma'am."
His wife thanks Mom before the couple slowly make their way toward the exit.
Mom waits until the door closes behind them before turning back toward the hallway.
***
That's when she sees us.
She stops.
The file slips slightly in her hands.
"Oh..."
The word is barely more than a whisper.
Her eyes find mine.
Then Annette.
Then back again.
For just a second, she doesn't move.
Then the biggest smile I've ever seen spreads across her face.
"My goodness."
She hurries toward us, abandoning every ounce of professional composure she'd been wearing moments before.
"You must be Annette."
Annette smiles. "I am."
"My dear..."
Mom opens her arms. Annette steps into the embrace without hesitation. Mom holds her for a long moment, then leans back just enough to look at her.
"It's so wonderful to finally meet you."
"You too."
"No." Mom shakes her head with a smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this moment."
Behind us, another office door opens. Dad appears, reading through a chart as he walks.
He doesn't look up until he's almost beside us. When he does, his eyes immediately settle on Annette. He closes the chart, looks at me, then back at her.
A slow smile spreads across his face. "So..."
I already know that look.
"So?"
"You're Annette."
She nods. "I am."
He reaches out to shake her hand. Instead, she surprises both of us by stepping forward and hugging him. Dad freezes for half a heartbeat, then laughs softly as he returns the hug.
When they step apart, he looks at me.
"I like her."
"I thought you might."
He studies us together for another quiet moment. Then says simply: "You're smiling again."
The words aren't directed at Annette; they're meant for me.
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. "I am."
He nods once. "I've missed that."
Before the moment can become too emotional, Mom claps her hands together.
"Well."
She hooks her arm through Annette's as though they've known each other for years.
"You're both coming home for dinner."
Annette starts to protest. "Oh, I couldn't impose."
"Nonsense." Mom smiles. "The roast has been in the slow cooker all day."
Dad slips his keys into his pocket. "And Susan made enough to feed half the town."
"I always do."
She pats Annette's hand. "I've learned that's the safest way when Jamie comes over."
"I've been accused of many things," I say.
"Eating thirds isn't one of them."
Dad chuckles. "It should be."
Annette laughs, the sound light and effortless. Watching her standing between my parents feels strangely ordinary.
As though she'd always been meant to be there.
And maybe...
she was.
***
Mom's house smells exactly the way it always has.
Fresh bread.
Rosemary.
Something roasting in the oven.
Home.
Annette inhales the moment we step inside.
"Oh..."
Mom smiles over her shoulder. "I take it that's a good 'oh'?"
"The very best kind."
"I'll take that."
She disappears toward the kitchen. Dad hangs his keys by the back door while I help Annette with her sweater.
She glances around the cozy living room. Family photographs cover nearly every shelf.