Chapter Eight
J eannie excused herself to the washroom before gift opening began. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Everett McCarthy was going to spend part of Christmas Day with her family.
Thank goodness he’d excused himself from the gift exchange. Lord only knew what he’d think about the Carpenters record she’d gotten her mother or the traditional matching fleece pyjama sets she knew her grandparents had wrapped up for them all. She loved the gift exchange and didn’t want anything to ruin it.
But…it was undeniably sweet the way he’d helped Erik, seemingly without a second thought. She liked to think she could be as selfless, but the idea of missing Christmas Day with her family was a dealbreaker. Didn’t he have his own family to go home to? It was strange that he didn’t seem too broken up about it.
When she exited the bathroom, Archie and Finn were on their way out the front door for their Christmas Day shift, and Everett had already disappeared back into his room.
“Left a message for CAA,” Sue said. “Hope they’ll be quick!”
Jeannie followed her grandmother down the hall, glancing back at the door to Everett’s room. Did he really want to be alone on Christmas morning, or should she invite him out again? She hesitated for a moment, then went to join her family. Who knew, maybe Christmas wasn’t a great time of year for him. She’d give him space.
*
An hour later, the Carmichael family was sitting amidst a sea of wrapping paper and a tower of things that no one really needed but had been delighted to open. Jeannie’s favourite gift was a Polaroid camera from her parents, and she’d loved the expression on her dad’s face when he’d opened the pocket calculator she’d bought for him.
“All right, who’s ready to kick some Larson Family butt?” asked Jim. Everyone involved took this tournament just as seriously as if it were pro hockey.
“Why don’t you go and see if Everett will come play?” Duke asked Jeannie.
Jeannie was still hesitant. According to Sue, it would likely be late afternoon at the earliest before CAA would be able to make it out to Keystone Ridge. Everett had been locked in his room all morning. But she couldn’t deny that he appeared potentially athletic, and after the disastrous end to the party, she wanted the win for her grandpa.
“Fine,” said Jeannie.
She left the great room and knocked on Everett’s door.
“Come in,” she heard, and slowly opened the door, peeking in to find him lying on the bed with his head propped up by pillows, legs crossed in front of him, and holding a different book than the one he’d picked out the night before.
“How’s that one?” Jeannie asked.
“I’ve read it a bunch of times. But I still love it.” He dog-eared the page, which made her bristle. She hated when people didn’t use a bookmark.
Everett swung his legs over the side of the bed. “So, did Santa bring you everything you asked for? An argyle sweater? Pocket protector? Pet Rock?
She felt her cheeks go warm. “I got some nice gifts, yes.” She straightened her shoulders. “You should come out and play. In the hockey game. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Are you playing?” he asked.
“No. I’ll be scorekeeping.”
“Of course,” said Everett. “I’d have guessed that, or referee. Ever the commitment to law and order.”
“Very funny,” said Jeannie. “You’ll be on team Carmichael, of course. Which means you’re playing for the good guys. Which also means win at all costs.”
“Good to know,” said Everett. “I’ve never been much of a goon. But I’ll do my best.” He nodded to the side table. “I guess your grandma left those there for a reason.”
On the table beside the bed was a tidy pile with a folded jersey, and a crewneck sweatshirt to wear underneath, with the logo of the local Royal Canadian Legion emblazoned on the front. Everett pulled off his knitted sweater, revealing a long, lean, and sculpted upper body, not overly muscular, but clearly he did more than just play guitar. Jeannie’s pulse quickened slightly, and she tried not to stare. Everett turned to look at her, his expression playful. “You’re cheering for me though, right?”
She steeled herself, then backed out of the doorway. “See you out there,” she said, almost slamming the door behind her.
*
Everett chuckled to himself, loving Jeannie’s reaction to his outfit change.
Spending a few hours out on the ice might actually be kind of fun. It had been a few years since he’d last played a game of drop-in shinny at the university rec centre in between lectures, papers, and Thursday nights at McSorley’s pub with his classmates. He’d be rusty, but that was okay.
He pulled on his jeans and the toque he’d been smart enough to shove in his coat pocket yesterday and checked his appearance in the mirror before going to join the world’s most functional family down at the lake.
Hearing them opening presents—the laughter, the exclamations of gratitude, the affirmations that someone had picked out the perfect gift —he’d hardly been able to make it through more than four pages of his book. He felt more than a tinge of jealousy, but mostly longing. He’d had that once, when his dad was alive. And he missed it, a great deal.
*
The rink was freshly shovelled in a wide rectangle, the far side lined with benches made from overturned buckets and long wooden planks set into the snowbanks. The two teams had assembled down at the ice, a ragtag collection of players of all ages wearing their distinct jerseys of yellow or blue.
Everett grinned when he saw Sue skating some warm-up laps wearing figure skates and holding a hockey stick. “Don’t you look at me like that,” she yelled as he approached the edge of the rink. “I might look like a lady, but you don’t want to mess with me!” She was moving pretty well for her age and had a great sense of humour. In fact, Everett loved her.
He crossed the rink carefully in his boots, sliding a little to avoid falling, then sat at the end of the bench and shook off his gloves to lace up his loaner skates. They were a little roomy.
As he tugged on the yellow laces, a memory flashed in his mind of his dad kneeling in front of him on the ice rink he flooded in the backyard for Everett to practice on. He’d blow on his bare hands to warm them up in between lacing up and tightening Everett’s right and left skates, then he’d stand at the side of the rink to coach him, stomping his feet on the ice every so often to keep them from freezing.
Ronan McCarthy, who had moved to Canada from Ireland in his early teens after his own father accepted a teaching position at the University of Calgary, had never been a hockey player himself, but he wanted to give the experience to his son, given how popular the sport was in his adopted country.
Everett could remember his dad, an environmental engineer, bringing home a stack of books from the library and making notes about drills he wanted to teach his son. They’d spent hours out on the rink, and at the end of the practice, they’d sit and drink hot chocolate out of a thermos while Ronan told Everett all about how ice froze, how the temperature affected snowfall, and all sorts of other nature trivia.
Everett tugged the laces extra tight. He took a long, deep breath. What he wouldn’t give to look up and see his father at the side of the rink again on this glorious Christmas Day.
He often dreamed about what it would be like to have him around. Sitting at the back of one of Everett’s gigs, enjoying a pint of Guinness. Taking a day trip together to a hiking area. Calling him up to discuss the latest Premier League game.
When his dad died, Everett didn’t just lose his father. He lost his whole family. His mom retreated into herself for the first few months, and then, as though she couldn’t exist without a man by her side but couldn’t be troubled to find a good one, the string of loser boyfriends started to appear in their lives. Jessie had already been an anxious child, and the disruption and unpredictability did such a number on her that she’d never really recovered. Everett felt like he was the only one who was holding it together, even though there had been many days he’d barely been able to fight through the sadness.
He looked up from his skates, watching as Jeannie and her mother set up the scoring table and Jim skated by, blowing kisses at his wife. Duke was carting equipment around, and Sue and Lyndsay were practicing passes. Did they know how lucky they were?
“Stick?” Everett heard. Duke was approaching him with an armful of options.
“What, you’re not playing?” asked Everett. “I’d have figured you for the ringer.”
Duke laughed. “Back in my time, maybe,” he said. “They don’t call me Rocket Richard for nothing. Haven’t been able to skate since they put a new hip in me, though.” He smacked his left side.
Everett selected a stick that seemed about the right size. “Well, I’m a little rusty myself. Wish me luck.”
He pushed off from the bench and took some long strides forward to get his bearings.
The Carmichael team was made up of Sue; Jeannie’s dad; Jacob, who didn’t have a shift that day; and two of Jeannie’s second cousins, ten-year-old Collin and a teenage girl named Lyndsay, who apparently was trying to get a new sport called ringette going in the area, but in the meantime was content to play what she called the boys’ game . She was a terrific skater, and after a few minutes of warm up, she and Everett had established an easy pass system that could yield them some goals.
“Two minutes to puck drop!” Duke called.
Everett took the chance to skate by the scoring table. Jeannie was wearing a bright-green toque and a white jacket with a fur trim. She was organizing a pile of numbers for the flip chart in front of her. “Is there a prize for winning?” he asked.
She looked up. “Well, of course there’s a prize.”
Everett leaned on his stick. “A date? I’d like another chance.”
She scoffed, but he knew from the slight grin she couldn’t suppress that he was chipping away at her. “No, that’s not the prize.” But then her expression changed, and Everett turned to see Duke giving Sue a pep talk at the side of the rink. “Actually, fine,” she said. “Since you failed at guessing my favourite dance-floor song.”
“Is it a Kate Bush track? It’s Kate Bush, isn’t it?”
“No, not even close.” She bit the corner of her bottom lip and dipped her chin a little so she was looking up at him with those bright, enchanting eyes. “It’s ‘I Feel Love’ by Donna Summer. You want to get me on any dance floor, put that one on.”
In that moment he knew he must really like Jeannie, because as far as he was concerned, Donna Summer could sing, but disco was trash. But the way Jeannie’s eyes were sparkling made it easy for him to overlook her questionable taste in music.
“I suppose you haven’t heard of the Carmichael Cup,” she continued. “It’s second only to the Stanley Cup in its degree of coveted-ness.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is. And you bring home the cup—I’ll go on a date with you.”
“Clear your calendar,” Everett said. The ref’s whistle blew, and he left to join the rest of the players gathered around centre ice for face-off. Everett skated to his position, then looked back at Jeannie, her cheeks and nose flush from the cold. She was as gorgeous as ever, smiling as she gave him a thumbs-up.
He was going to win this game.
*
After the first period, the Larsons were up two to nothing. The teams were fairly even in the players’ skills, and those who knew how to handle the puck made sure that the less experienced players were included while at the same time engaging in some healthy competition with those who were more at their level. Everett found himself somewhere in the middle. He’d had a few good chances on net, but Cole Larson, who was built like a brick, was a decent goalie, if not for any notable reflexes and dexterity but for the sheer amount of space he blocked just by standing in the net.
The temperature had warmed up considerably since the morning, and with the sun shining right overhead, the ice had started to melt slightly, leaving a light slushy layer on the surface. They were all soaked, both from the ice and from sweat.
Jim brought them to within one goal at the beginning of the third period, and when Everett skated by the scoring table, Jeannie called out to him. “You told me you’re a sniper!” she yelled, her eyes dancing with mischief. He’d be damned if he didn’t win this game.
With just over three minutes to go, Everett called a time-out. He could still remember every detail his dad had taught him about the strategy for playing on wet ice. The team huddled around him, and he spoke quietly so his voice wouldn’t carry.
“Their goalie is going down early, and by now his pads are wet and heavy, so pump fake, and when he goes down, bury it upstairs, preferably stick side,” he whispered. “And keep passing—we want them skating as much as possible. It’s more tiring to skate on the wet ice. Got it?”
“Got it,” his teammates answered. After a quick team cheer, they skated back to take a face-off in the offensive end.
They played hard but smart for three minutes, moving the puck around as much as possible and keeping their passes short. As expected, the opposition was really winded, and finally they had to call a time-out to catch their breath.
“One minute remaining!” called Duke from the sidelines. Jeannie gave Everett another thumbs-up, and he looked over at Lyndsay and nodded. “Let’s go,” he said.
Shortly after play resumed, Everett saw his opening, and it was now or never. With a quick burst of speed, he swept past two yellow jerseys, and Lyndsay saucered a pass that landed right on the tape of his stick blade. Now in the clear and sweeping in on net, he glanced up at Cole, then faked a quick snapshot and, just as he’d hoped, the goalie immediately went down. Everett fired the puck at the top left corner with a powerful flick of his wrist, where for a heart-stopping moment he heard a familiar clang as the puck hit the crossbar before deflecting down into the net. Goal!
Seconds later, team Carmichael had surrounded Everett in a raucous huddle, and through the high fives and hugs, he strained to catch a glimpse at Jeannie. She had her arms up in the air and a huge grin on her face.
“You’re a hero for the second time in twenty-four hours!” said Sue, wrapping her arm around Everett’s shoulders. “Way to go, my boy!”
They were one goal away from tying, and two from him locking down a night out with his dream woman.
They skated hard; they executed passes; and Duke, Gloria, and Jeannie yelled like maniacs from the sidelines.
But it wasn’t to be.
All three of their shots on goal within the last minute were deflected, and to add insult to injury, the opposing team scored with three seconds left in the game, earning a four-to-two victory.
The Larsons were presented with the Carmichael Cup, which was actually an oversized ornate beer stein from a trip Duke and Sue had taken to Scotland for their honeymoon over thirty years ago where they’d come across the vessel emblazoned with the family name. It had a Scottish bagpiper in traditional costume on the front, with dragons and castles and a large silver dagger decorating the rest of it.
Now, Duke told Everett, after every Christmas Day hockey tournament, the winning team was added to a paper on the inside, under the silver latched cover.
Graciously, the Larsons returned the cup to its rightful owner. “She’s home again,” Duke exclaimed, but Everett could tell by the slight downturn in Jeannie’s eyes that even though it was a friendly game between families, she was disappointed they hadn’t won.
Everett hated to lose.
But even more, he hated that he still didn’t have a date with Jeannie Carmichael.