Winter Longing (13 page)
I stared at my sketch pad but dismissed the idea of picking it up. I hadn’t felt a speck of inspiration since August. My hand didn’t itch to wrap around a drawing pencil like it used to. Maybe that dream had died along with Spencer.
Other than textbooks, I hadn’t read anything in a month. So I sank down in front of my bookshelves and scanned the titles. I pulled Dana Stabenow’s
A Deeper Sleep
off the shelf. I ran my fingers over the title and tried not to think of Spencer. Even so, I opened the cover to the page where I knew I’d see his familiar handwriting.
A Deeper Sleep
off the shelf. I ran my fingers over the title and tried not to think of Spencer. Even so, I opened the cover to the page where I knew I’d see his familiar handwriting.
“I think Kate Shugak is hot!”
I snorted, even as tears blurred my vision. He’d always teased me by saying some character, some actress, some singer was hot. As I looked back, I wondered if it had all been his careful attempt at flirting, to see how I’d react to him expressing interest in another woman, real or imagined.
“Oh, Spencer.” I closed the book and started to slide it back into its place between
A Taint in the Blood
and
Whisper to the Blood
. But a bookmark fell out of it into my lap—a bookmark I’d never seen before.
A Taint in the Blood
and
Whisper to the Blood
. But a bookmark fell out of it into my lap—a bookmark I’d never seen before.
I picked it up and noticed a quote in script.
“Where there is great love, there are always miracles.
—Willa Cather”
Was this a sign?
I got to my feet and paced the room. At the window, I stopped and looked toward the imposing mountains. Was Spencer really dead, and his spirit lingering? Or was he still up there and somehow, crazily, our bond was strong enough that he could reach out to me?
Or was I losing my grip on reality?
I slid down the wall to the carpet and stared at the bookshelf. The bookmark was just a coincidence. Or had Spencer slipped it into the book when I’d bought it, thinking I’d find it and figure out how he felt? My heart ached that I’d not seen it until now, when it was too late. That the bookmark, like the note in my locker, had stayed hidden until its appearance could stab me with grief.
I ran my hands back over my ponytail and stared at the bookshelf, restraining myself from leafing through every book in the hope of finding other hidden messages from Spencer.
All those books had held hours of enjoyment. They’d each been the topics of conversations between Spencer and myself. That’s why reading still held too much of Spencer for me to enjoy the stories now. I doubted even new books would carry me away.
Plus, I didn’t think I was ready to step foot in Tundra Books yet. I feared breaking down, and his parents didn’t need that. I’d seen them around town some, but I hadn’t been able to force myself to speak to them even though they were like second parents to me. I wondered if they felt the same, because I knew they’d seen me on more than one occasion since the memorial service.
Why couldn’t a broken heart heal as fast as a broken bone?
I flopped back on the thick red carpet—which I’d wanted because it reminded me of those Hollywood red carpets—and stared at the white expanse of my ceiling. I couldn’t even go to Lindsay’s to hang out, because she was off hiking with Caleb. Seemed the boy liked nature photography, so they’d hit the trail along the river to find subject matter.
If only I had something to do that had no ties to Spencer. Hard to find in a small town like Tundra, when so much of my life had been touched by him.
As my mind wandered aimlessly, Jesse’s invitation to the hockey scrimmage floated to the front of my thoughts. I’d skipped it, of course. But the fact that the team had a game against Homer today wound its way up from wherever my brain had stored this information. Hockey definitely didn’t bring Spencer immediately to mind—even though he was never far from the front of my thoughts. Maybe the game would allow me to escape, if only for a few minutes. I could always leave and do something else.
What, I didn’t know.
I raised myself from the floor and pulled on a University of Alaska sweatshirt and a pair of blue Chucks. Not exactly a red carpet outfit, but there weren’t any red carpets at Tundra Ice Rink.
When I went downstairs and grabbed my jacket off the back of the couch, Mom eyed me from where she was preparing a casserole in the kitchen.
“Going somewhere, sweetie?”
“Thought I’d drop in on the hockey game.”
“Sounds fun. I hear they’re good this year.” She didn’t make a big deal out of my going, and I was grateful.
The difference in temperature between the inside of the house and outside made my nose run. The winter chill was sniffing at Alaska’s door, trying to find a way in so she could blanket the land with snow, freeze the Naknek into a rough sheet of ice, and invite long hours of darkness out to play. Already, wood smoke floated on the air.
For a moment, I considered going back inside. It still felt too soon to venture forth, to undertake an activity that wasn’t required to get from one day to the next. But the thought of returning to my room, of having to answer Mom’s questions about my change in plans, prompted me down the steps and out into the street.
It felt weird walking alone.
When I reached the town square, I thought maybe I’d just keep walking down some random road, skipping the game and the looks I’d no doubt receive. This would be my first social outing since the crash.
“Hey, Winter.” J. C. Watson, editor at the weekly
Tundra Tribune
, waved from where he was placing more papers in the coin-operated dispenser outside the newspaper office. “Going to the game?”
Tundra Tribune
, waved from where he was placing more papers in the coin-operated dispenser outside the newspaper office. “Going to the game?”
“Yeah.” Guess I was committed to it now.
“Hear the Homer team has a player as big as a snowplow. Hope none of our boys get hurt. I’ve got Chris taking notes and pictures for me.” Chris, J. C.’s son, was in my class.
The image of Jesse being slammed into the boards by a snowplow made me wince.
As I walked through the town center and down Aurora Road on the other side of the square, thoughts of Jesse accompanied me. Could I say he was a friend now? He’d certainly held up his end of what friendship was supposed to be.
But did friends have the types of dreams about each other that I’d had that night about Jesse? My skin warmed at the mere thought. I shook my head, hoping to dislodge the memory. The warmth zinged through me, and my lips tingled.
I reached the rink, an oddity for rural Alaska. If it weren’t for Tom Rutledge, the wealthy owner of the Brown Bear Lodge a couple of miles up the river, we wouldn’t have one. He’d made his fortune in Montana real estate before cashing out and heading to Alaska. He was a huge hockey fan and had built the rink for Tundra and nearby Jasperton, even helping teams afford to fly in for games.
As I stared at the testament to his love of the game, I considered turning around and going home or heading to the river—anywhere but here.
I sat beside Spencer’s bed, checking his fever by placing my palm against his forehead.
“Hey,” he croaked when he saw me.
“You do know April is a really dumb month to get the flu, right?”
“I don’t like to be ordinary.”
I rolled my eyes and poured him a glass of water.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“All morning. I told your mom I’d sit with you so she could go to work.”
He smiled weakly. “Hey, I might get sick more often if I get a pretty, private nurse.”
CHAPTER 17
By
the time I decided to enter the rink and prove to myself that there was nothing—and never would be anything—between Jesse and me, more than six minutes of the first period had elapsed. The score already stood at two to zero in favor of Homer. Even before I took a seat on the top row of the stands, I spotted the snowplow on the visiting team. Good grief, he was huge. It looked like it would take three of the Tundra/Jasperton players to handle him.
the time I decided to enter the rink and prove to myself that there was nothing—and never would be anything—between Jesse and me, more than six minutes of the first period had elapsed. The score already stood at two to zero in favor of Homer. Even before I took a seat on the top row of the stands, I spotted the snowplow on the visiting team. Good grief, he was huge. It looked like it would take three of the Tundra/Jasperton players to handle him.
I focused on the puck, wishing that little circle of hard, frozen rubber would somehow absorb all of the disturbing thoughts that plagued me. Of course, I noticed Jesse. It was impossible not to, considering how much he was on the ice. But I forced myself to watch all the other players, too, to try to guess what they might do before they did it. The game was so fast-paced that it proved difficult to keep up with everything that was going on.
Something weird had begun to happen to me by the time the first period drew to a close. I’d begun to “ohhh” when snowplow boy, whose jersey read Ooglichuk, knocked Tundra players out of the way like pesky mosquitoes. When Shawn Petterson made the first goal for Tundra, I cheered along with the rest of the parents and students in the stands. Instead of leaving as I’d originally thought I might, I wandered out to the concession stand.
Monica, whose brother Charlie was on the team, handed me my popcorn. “Can’t remember seeing you at many hockey games before.”
“Felt like getting out of the house, and Lindsay’s on a date with Caleb.”
“Those two seem to be hitting it off! I know some girls are mighty jealous.”
I met her eyes as I took a sip of my drink. “You?”
“Nah. I mean, he’s hot, but I met a guy online.”
“Really?” I scooted out of the way of the rest of the line.
Monica leaned closer to me. “Yeah. He’s from Togiak. When he sent me his picture, I almost fell out of my chair. On my honor, he’s the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen. I’m thinking about asking if he could come here for the Snow Ball.”
Evidently, Mr. Online in Togiak was hot enough to make her forget about her previous lusting over Ryan Davis.
Just when life had given me a temporary reprieve, the mention of the dance drained away any enjoyment. God, this was going to keep happening until that stupid dance was over.
“Winter? ”
I didn’t want Monica’s concern, so I dipped my fingers into my popcorn and acted as if her words hadn’t twisted my heart into painful contortions. “If he’s that hot, you better be prepared to knock off girls with Charlie’s hockey stick.”
Monica laughed, then stepped to her left to take an order. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”
I nodded and retraced my steps to my seat. Part of me wanted to leave, to distance myself from the images of Spencer. But if I was honest with myself, I’d admit they would just follow me wherever I went. So I might as well stay and see if the game could carry me away again.
The Tundra guys came out fast at the first of the second period, and Jesse scored a goal, followed by a game-tying goal by Charlie less than a minute later. That unexpected turn of events left the Homer team looking baffled. By then, the entire home crowd was rocking. The sound system blasted Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle.”
People all around the rink stood and danced, clapped, screamed.
I didn’t feel like dancing, but the clapping came naturally. Why hadn’t I ever enjoyed hockey games enough to come to them more often? The feeling making its way through the crowd was infectious, and I noticed it was affecting the players as well. Tundra/Jasperton’s in a good way. Homer’s, not so much.
I found myself sitting closer to the edge of my seat, desperately trying to keep track of where the puck was on the ice. When Jesse got slammed into the boards by two of Homer’s frustrated players, I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. How did he take that kind of pounding and not get seriously injured? I imagined seeing him wheeled out on a gurney after the game. That image made my heart squeeze, and I found myself praying silently that he would come out of this game safely.
When he pushed away from the boards, he looked up into the crowd and his eyes locked on mine. My breath caught in my throat until he broke eye contact and skated away. What had just happened? I’d swear it’d felt like an electrical charge had arced between us.
Guilt gnawed at me. These types of feelings were wrong. So why had I come to the game knowing their possibility existed?
Because I’d thought the dream had been a fluke.
When he flew down the ice only moments later, his skates shaving the surface of the rink into a mini snowstorm when he made quick turns, I watched his every move. Despite my guilt, I had to admit I liked watching him gliding across the ice. I tried to convince myself it was no different than watching Lindsay go in for a layup during her basketball games, but deep down I knew it wasn’t. Jesse wasn’t my best friend, and I wasn’t rooting for him because of any loyalty.
Why was I? Maybe it was some speck of school spirit, or maybe I felt like I owed him that much support after everything that had happened between us lately. And because he had been nicer to me than I probably deserved.
It was
not
because I had any feelings for him.
not
because I had any feelings for him.
Whatever the reason, I had to admit I was feeling better than I had in weeks. Spencer was still there, just below the surface, but at least I didn’t feel the need to curl into a fetal position and listen to Breaking Benjamin’s
Phobia
album over and over. It had been one of my favorites since its release, but now the lyrics and music seemed to take on new meaning. The chorus of “Breath” was burned into my mind: “You take the breath right out of me / You left a hole where my heart should be.”
Phobia
album over and over. It had been one of my favorites since its release, but now the lyrics and music seemed to take on new meaning. The chorus of “Breath” was burned into my mind: “You take the breath right out of me / You left a hole where my heart should be.”
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