Breakaway (29 page)

I heard Brittni say today he’s here now. Somewhere in this hotel. Getting ready with Jamie and the rest of the guys.

You always knew you’d have one last crack at him, my little voice says. This is it, isn’t it?

It isn’t. It’s Brittni’s Big Day.

I check my phone. Think about deleting those angry texts from Kathy.

What kind of captain r u? Deserting yr team. I no Mark’s there. Tara told me. R u crazy?

I shut off my phone and tuck it in my clutch, along with my hotel key and a pack of gum. I drape my bare shoulders with a filmy silver shawl. As I step into the hallway chlorine fills my nose.

I’ve heard your sense of smell is the one tied closest to memory.

We stayed here during the Regina tournament in my first year of hockey. Kathy and Jennifer and Larissa got in trouble with Steve for some pranks down at the pool, and we all got bag skated at the next practice. But it didn’t matter because we got bag skated
together.

Good times.

As I take the elevator down to the lobby, I think about the fun I’ve had playing with the Oilers. And before that, the Rage. The Xtreme. There’s been some bad stuff too, but all in all, it’s been a great ride.

The elevator doors open.

I see a collection of guests in the lobby, including some of the bridesmaids. One’s a hair stylist, another’s a tattoo artist, and the matron of honour is a massage therapist. None of them have ever hefted a hockey stick, and only one of them has even been to Brittni’s hometown. I must be proof Brittni had friends in Estevan.

It’s been fun answering the “back in the day” questions about Brittni. I can’t out and out tell them we were ecstatic when she stormed out of the dressing room for the last time. I just tell them the good stuff she did. Like the time she calmed Jennifer down after one of Mr. Scott’s rants and took charge after Jodi had her accident.

I make my way towards the banquet hall Brittni and Jamie are using for the ceremony, supper and dance. Quite a few guests are assembled in the hallway.

I’m on high alert for Mark.

The matron of honour – I think her name’s Loni – waves me over.

“You look great!” she says. “That’s a terrific dress. Where did you get it?”

After I tell her about my outfit, she tells me about hers then introduces me to some of Brittni’s other friends.

But I’m on reconnaissance the whole time. He’s here somewhere.

“Jessie’s hockey team is playing at a tournament in Calgary,” Loni’s telling everyone. “She missed the tournament to be here. Isn’t that sweet?”

“How’s your team doing?” somebody asks.

“They went 1 and 3 in the round robin, so they didn’t make it out of their pool,” I explain. From the blank looks I’m getting, it’s clear the terminology is zooming right over their heads. “That means they’ll get to go shopping,” I add.

They all nod and smile.

“Jessie wants to play university hockey next year,” Loni says proudly. “If she makes the team, she’ll get to travel to Vancouver and Edmonton and Calgary for games.”

“No shit,” one says, the one who’s been chewing her gum like a cow. “Too many books for me, even with the perks.”

“Bet you’ll party like a rock star,” another one says.

“I have to make the team first, and after that there’re probably a lot of rules about conduct,” I assure her.

Everybody looks disappointed.

“But the men’s football team will come to the games, all painted up, to cheer for us,” I add.

“Cool.” Gum Chewer blows a bubble and pops it.

The conversation drifts to the topic of the gift opening tomorrow. I wish I could be as excited as they are about electric grills, food processors, crystal tumblers and dinnerware.

That’s when I see him.

He’s leaning on a cane. The rented black tuxedo doesn’t fit him quite right, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still the best-looking guy ever. His blond hair’s longer than I’ve ever seen it, but it’s neatly combed and tucked behind his ears. He’s talking to the groomsman who plays for the Brandon Wheat Kings.

Probably speculating on the outcome of the Team Canada–Russia game tonight. Wishing they were parked in a sports bar somewhere with a pitcher of beer and a widescreen plasma TV. Or on the ice with Team Canada.

I try to remember the last time I saw Mark. It’s been months.

Then we make eye contact.

He gives me a smile – a casual, oh-just-another-wedding-guest sort of smile – and turns back to his friend.

My heart sinks.

Then his head swivels back, and he mouths, “Jessie?”

I nod, heart flittering.

He makes his way over to me. It isn’t easy for him, because of the cane and the crowd, so I meet him halfway.

“Wow,” he says. “I’ve been looking for you ever since I got here, and you were standing there the whole time.” His grey eyes are as beautiful as ever.

“Yes, I was.” Scintillating conversation opener. “Is Holly here?” I ask.

“She’s at a tournament in Winnipeg,” he says. “I’m headed there tomorrow night.”

“Too bad she couldn’t make it,” I lie. “You probably don’t get to see her much.”

He smiles wryly and gestures at the cane. “Not much else to do – except go to class and the physiotherapist.”

“I’m sorry about your knee,” I tell him. “It’s a rotten way to end your season.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Naturally he asks me all about our league play, and I give him the straight facts. A recent split with PA and two losses to Notre Dame have dropped us to seventh place. We talk about my plans for next year – or lack thereof. Sure, I’ve filled out the application forms and mailed them off – with commerce, engineering and arts and science as my three choices. But I really have no idea if I want to do any of those.

“Why don’t you do a math degree?” he suggests. “You’ll find out damn quick if it’s the area for you.”

We’re talking so easily. It’s like old times. Maybe better than old times. Whenever I see him, Holly’s usually around, so it’s hard to tell how we fit.

All too soon, Loni starts rounding up the wedding party to go to their stations. It’s just ten minutes to show time.

“Talk to you later,” I say.

“You can count on it,” he says.

The guests pour into the banquet hall, half of which is set up with chairs and an archway wrapped in tulle and calla lilies. I deposit my clutch and shawl at my place at the head table and rejoin the other bridesmaids.

I am amazed at how downscale Brittni’s wedding is. No elaborate and frivolous expenses or wasted time. By now, Brittni and Jamie have already had a barrage of wedding photos taken. After the wedding, there will be a brief photo shoot with the wedding party in the adjoining banquet room, followed by supper and speeches and a deejay and dance. The gift opening is at Brittni and Jamie’s house tomorrow.

We bridesmaids wait patiently outside the banquet hall for Brittni’s arrival. Classical music is playing softly in the background. The JP is serene, book tucked under his arm. The groom and his entourage are assembled, looking handsome but slightly uncomfortable in their formal wear. I predict those bow ties will be strapped around their foreheads by midnight.

Brittni doesn’t come.

It better go ahead after all this. I wish I could check my phone for the time. I look at Jamie, standing with the other groomsmen, looking nervous. He’d be heartbroken if Brittni left him at the altar.

Then Mrs. Wade appears around a corner, wearing a red sheath and heels, hair elaborately coiffed. She’s holding Brittni’s bouquet in front of her as if it’s her own. Brittni’s right behind her, holding hands with the three-year-old flower girl, Loni’s daughter. I forget her name. It starts with an L too. In her other hand Brittni carries a basket of crimson rose petals. The flower girl has red blotches around her eyes, and she’s wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“See, Leticia? There’s your mommy, right there,” Brittni says.

I knew her name started with an L.

Loni bends over, picks up her daughter, and attacks the snot and tears with a tissue.

“She wanted to stay with me until we came down,” Brittni explains. “Then she changed her mind. I don’t know if she’ll walk by herself.”

As I am the first bridesmaid down the aisle after Leticia, it falls to me to salvage the rose petals.

“Leticia, will you let me carry you?” I suggest. “I have gum in my purse.”

Magic words.

Leticia holds out her arms to me, and I take her from her mother.

“You hold the basket while I hold you,” I say. “I’ll tell you when to start scattering the petals.”

Everyone beams at me. Clearly, I have saved the day.

Brittni gives Leticia the basket, and Mrs. Wade hands Brittni her bouquet. For the first time I really
look
at Brittni. She’s dazzling.

“Are you ready, Honey?” Mrs. Wade says.

Brittni nods.

I look over Leticia’s head to the place where Mark and the rest of the groomsmen are standing.

“Leticia, let’s rock and roll,” I say.

– Chapter Forty-one –

I
’ve never seen
Mark like this.

When we dated, we didn’t go to many parties, and when we did, he didn’t drink a drop if he was driving. Even if we tagged along with Shauna and her boyfriend Brian, Mark’s limit was two beer.

So it’s peculiar to watch him toss back double ryes, chased with water. Clearly there’s something going on, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what.

Team Canada beat the Russians earlier tonight. During the speeches, the best man razzed Jamie mercilessly about making his buddies miss the game. Mark didn’t laugh at any of it. I could see his mood get darker by the minute as he sat, slumped in his chair. Good thing he wasn’t making any toasts. Good thing the bridal party photo shoot was
before
supper.

I sat with him at the head table after the obligatory dances, and we’ve been sitting here ever since. He’s been telling me about his hockey season, his conversations with the World Junior coach and some NHL scouts and agents.

“I was close,” he says, “but it’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be over,” I tell him. “Lots of players come back after knee surgery.
And you’ve got a year of major junior left.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “It doesn’t matter any more.” He takes a drink of his rye. “My dad.”

“I heard,” I tell him. “His cancer is back, isn’t it?”

“He kept telling me he was feeling good, so I wouldn’t worry. So I’d focus on hockey, and getting an invite to the December camp.” He takes another drink. “But he’s dying.”

“Mark, I’m so sorry.” I gently touch his clenched fist. His hand gradually relaxes, rolls over, wraps around mine. “When did you find out?”

“A week ago. I found Gary, crying. He told me the cancer’s spread to what’s left of Dad’s pancreas and liver and his lungs.” Mark squeezes my hand, but I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“There I was, thinking I could make a difference by playing hockey. How stupid was that?”

I don’t know what to say, so I decide to listen instead. Maybe he needs silence more than he needs assurance.

Right then, the deejay cranks up the tunes, and I have to lean closer to Mark to hear anything. I catch about every third word. All can I do is sit and nod and smile and look sympathetic and hope he doesn’t ask a question. One of the other groomsman brings him a pair of drinks, and I shake my head at him, but Mark picks one up and tips it back.

At this rate, he’s going to be under the table before long.

The rest of the bridesmaids swarm me, urging me to dance with them.

“Maybe later!” I shout in Loni’s ear.

Mark shifts back to the subject of his knee. Apparently he has a video of his surgery, which he can’t bring himself to watch. The
likelihood of a return to Major Junior next season is remote.

“Dad...pointless...wait...talk?” He looks at me expectantly.

I smile at him and nod, hoping
yes
is the right answer.

He stands, tugging the hand he’s still holding, and picks up his cane.

Obviously we’re going somewhere. I grab my clutch and my shawl and follow him out of the banquet hall, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

Is there a reason I should feel guilty? We’re not doing anything wrong.

The music and voices are left behind, and the air is lighter and cooler.

“Better, huh?” he says over his shoulder.

“Definitely.” My ears are ringing.

He leads me to the lobby, which is deserted apart from the lady behind the registration desk. Mark lowers himself onto one of the couches by the fireplace and beckons me to join him.

My heart does a little flip.

You know where you want to sit, says my little voice. If you’re not doing anything wrong, what’s the big deal?