Chapter 4
Dane
Ten days after the fire at Cornish Iron, I was doing my level best to run the memory of Chip Cornish out of my system.
Five miles had yet to do it. I was wondering if I would ever be able to erase that man’s eyes from my mind.
Nothing I had done so far had worked. To be fair, searching for a hockey player named Chip based in Rochester hadn’t exactly been a magic eraser.
I’d discovered that he played for the Copperheads, a team that I knew of and had had some marginal experience with via local charities, and he was good.
Hockey wasn’t my sport. I knew the basics of course, but baseball had my heart.
Devon and I had played T-ball—Dad coaching, Mom standing in to umpire when required—and had moved through the ranks as kids.
The day we lost my father was the day I laid down my bat and glove.
Playing just wasn’t the same. But I still watched every Yankees game I could.
So yeah, hockey. Great sport. Never paid it much mind. Until recently.
Now I was checking the local sports blogs to see when Chip was rumored to return.
Lower body injury. That was vague, but since I knew where he was hurt, I also knew he’d be out for a while.
Knees were touchy things. I’d hyperextended my ACL three years ago after slipping off a ladder while cleaning my neighbor’s gutters on our townhouse.
Nothing dramatic or heroic, sadly. Just a dope falling off a ladder at home, so I knew how much it hurt and how long I’d gimped around.
Tim had been in his glory, poking fun at me for not being able to kneel.
Ha-ha. This was right before his training to be sensitive.
Rounding the corner of my block in the charming section of Park Avenue, I slowed to catch my breath.
Five years ago, I’d bought one half of an older brick townhouse in this section of town because it was famed for its queer-friendly scene.
My neighbor, Rabbi Eli Greenburg, had gifted me a candle and a Starbucks gift card the day after I’d hung my pride flag outside my door.
Amazingly, as happened quite often, thinking of the little man with the loving smile made him appear.
The bright yellow-and-blue yarmulke on his bald head stood out from down the block.
Slowing to a trot, covered in sweat, I headed down the recently shoveled sidewalk to our shared front gate.
His half of the townhouse was on the right, mine on the left.
His side had flowers and a little birdbath in the summer.
Now it just had snow, same as mine, which only had weeds in the hot months unless my neighbor snuck over to pull them.
“There you are,” he called as I neared our home. Every house on this street was a duplex and packed in tightly, but it was a nice neighborhood filled with a variety of amazing people. “I knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer.”
He straightened from dipping salt out of a five-gallon bucket, grimacing at the tug of his lower back.
The good rabbi was sixty-eight and two years from retiring.
Or so he said. Probably he’d stay on as long as he could.
He was proud of his congregation at Beth Sholom.
He and his late wife had worked hard for many years to grow their flock.
“Because I wasn’t home,” I teased, easing through the front gate to flop on my front step.
“Always a joker,” he replied as he handed me a knitted hat from his compact garden cart, which was just a child’s red wagon, but since it carried his gardening tools, he called it a garden cart.
He never left home without some hats in a bag.
“I went to the market while you were out circling the neighborhood like a shark to pick up things for our next dinner.”
Ah cool. We took turns cooking for each other on Thursday nights, if I wasn’t on rotation.
I’d eaten some fabulous meals at his home over the years, and he at mine if I dared to be boastful.
I pulled the hat on even though my head was far from cold.
Eli enjoyed handing out hats in the winter and paper fans in the summer.
“What are we having? I asked, dabbing at my face with the front of my shirt. The air was cold on my bare stomach. “And leave that. I’ll toss some salt around before I head to the station.”
“Already done,” he replied as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat.
His large nose was as red as a certain famous reindeer’s.
“I was going to try something new. I found an old recipe card tucked into one of Myrna’s old cookbooks.
Her mother used to make a beef brisket that was so tender and perfectly seasoned it would lift you from your chair and float you to heaven. ”
“Sounds amazing. I’m on call today but then have four days off. I was going to go see my mother on one of those days.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful. You know, you could invite your mother to join us for some brisket. It’s kosher.
” His dark eyes lit up. Rabbi Eli had a big crush on my mother.
He’d been a widower for over ten years. That loneliness was hard on a man accustomed to being around people.
I was sure that was part of the reason he hadn't retired yet. He’d mentioned that when we had an extra glass of Manischewitz at Passover last year.
I wasn’t Jewish, but he loved to have gentiles over to help celebrate and share the Seder.
“I’ll make some of those little bow-tie cookies that she’s so fond of. ”
I had to smile. “I’ll see if she’s busy. She may have a date.”
His face fell. “She’s dating?”
“No, no, sorry, I meant she might have plans. She hasn’t mentioned seeing anyone.”
His relief was evident. “Wonderful. Tell her I look forward to another rousing discussion about what’s taking place in our soaps.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her.” My smartwatch beeped to tell me I had an hour to clean up and report for duty.
“I need to roll.” I rose and gave him a clap on his thin shoulder.
“I’m sure she’ll show up. She loves discussing what’s happening with Mona, Jim, and Jim’s evil twin who everyone thought was dead. ”
“He was in Istanbul working for a mushroom farmer until he hit his head on a rafter in the basement while picking crops and jarred his amnesia out of his head!”
“Uh-oh. I bet he comes back to try to woo Mona.” I had no clue who these characters were other than hearing my mother and my neighbor discussing them over meals.
“He isn’t to be trusted,” Eli said with a wave of a finger in the air. That made me laugh. I said goodbye, ran inside to shower and change, and headed off to the station for a long, hopefully boring day. Ho-hum days were good in my business.
As it happens on occasion, the gods listened to mortal men.
Things were quiet at Station Eight today.
Tim was napping after a late-night out. Morgan and Courtney were watching a movie on her phone as I dug some hot dogs out of the huge stainless-steel fridge.
Tonight we were having chili dogs with onions and homemade coleslaw on the side.
I’d just finished shredding the cabbage and dousing it with my mother’s slaw dressing.
Somewhere in the back were some pickles that would go well with the dogs as soon as I could find them.
Also, some cheese was needed. Grated finely.
Sharp cheddar. There should be a block of that in this mess of a refrigerator as well.
Sully would be bummed when he returned to the station after his meeting with the city budget planning committee to see that the cheese had been eaten.
That’s if he hadn’t gotten to it already. God knows that man loved his cheese.
“What is going on in this damn movie?” Morgan asked as I rummaged about while the chili warmed over a low heat on the stove.
“These kids go to some hippie camp in Sweden, which is fine. But when they get there, they see a bear in a wooden cage and not one person asks, ‘Why the hell is there a bear in a cage?’ in this camp. Is that just a White person thing to not ask about the bear because if I saw that at my vacation mindfulness camp, I’d be asking about the mother humping bear. ”
“Just watch,” Courtney said as I emerged from the fridge with a half block of cheese, a jar of pickles, and a nice white onion.
“You’ll see.” Snickering at the two of them, I glanced up from placing my finds on the counter to see Tim arrive, yawning widely, and dropping into a chair on the other side of the table from Morgan and Courtney.
“When will dinner be ready?” Tim asked, stretching widely. “I’m starving. Last night was exhausting.”
“Pleasuring all those gigabytes must be so tiring,” Courtney fired off without lifting her sight from her screen.
Morgan guffawed. I chuckled softly, my sight darting to the doorway when it filled with someone I thought I might never see again.
Chip Cornish in all his adorably awkward glory.
There he stood, holding a bakery box, his hair a little rumpled, a crutch under his arm.
His gaze flew around the room until he found me, then it stayed locked on me as his cheeks went slightly pink.
Tim was rambling on about his night being filled with flesh-and-blood women. He was just too easy.
“I brought cupcakes,” Chip said.
“I see that.” God, he was cute.
“I called the station yesterday to confirm shift assignments because I wanted to bring the right number, and because I wanted to know who specifically was with Station Eight on the seventeenth. Sully—Captain Wright—gave me the names. He was very helpful. I told him what they were for.”