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I turn, spotting my daughter as she emerges, her face flushed from the cold. But there’s no sign of Victor. Not today. Why does that bother me so much?
“Hey, sweetie,” I call out, waving her over.
The chill from the arena lingers on my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the cold knot of concern in my stomach as Olivia trudges up beside me. Her usual post-practice chatter is absent, replaced by a heavy silence that presses down on us both.
“Hey, Liv,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, “what’s eating at you?”
She shrugs, kicking at imaginary pebbles on the floor. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Olivia Bennett,” I press, stopping to crouch to her eye level, “I know that ‘fine’ doesn’t really mean fine. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.” But she shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Okay,” I relent, standing back up. “We can talk when you’re ready.”
We wave our goodbyes to the other moms, and soon enough, we’re cocooned in the car, the outside world a blur as we drive home.
Once inside, I putter around the kitchen, prepping dinner with one ear tuned to Olivia’s movements. She’s quiet and I realize just how much being on the hockey team has helped her come out of her shell and how much that newfound confidence is missing right now.
“Can you set the table, honey?” I call out. Maybe a simple task will loosen the words stuck in her throat. But all I get is a muted “Okay” before the clatter of cutlery fills the room.
Dinner’s ready, and we sit across from each other, bowls of steaming spaghetti between us. I twirl noodles onto my fork, watching her poke at her food listlessly.
“Sweetheart, talk to me. This isn’t like you,” I urge,reaching across to touch her hand. “Is it about Victor not being there today?”
That gets a reaction. Her face crumples, and she drops her fork with a clatter. “Some kids said he quit ‘cause of you,” she blurts, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “They said he’s mad because you’re fighting the development thing and now we won’t have him as a coach.”
“Liv...” My heart sinks. The last thing I wanted was for my battles to bleed into her world, to tarnish something she loves.
“Is it true?” she asks, bottom lip quivering. “Did you make him leave?”
“Of course not,” I assure her, even though uncertainty gnaws at me. “Victor’s his own person. He makes his own choices, and whatever’s going on, we’ll sort it out, okay? Together.”
“Okay,” she whispers, but the word is small, unsure.
“Let’s eat,” I say, squeezing her hand gently, “and then it’s bedtime for you, young lady.”
“Okay, Mom,” she replies, giving me a tremulous smile as she picks up her fork again. It’s a start.
As she eats, I watch her, my mind racing. I need answers, and there’s only one person who can give them to me.
We finish supper mostly in silence. I clear the plates, feeling a heaviness settle in my chest. Olivia’s somber mood has dimmed the lights of our cozy kitchen, and I can’t shake off the guilt clinging to me like a second skin.I should probably just let it go, but that’s a hard thing for me to do.
“Hey, Liv,” I start, leaning back against the counter as she sips water, “I’m really sorry those kids said that stuff. You know you can always talk to me about anything, right?”
She nods
, her eyes still clouded with hurt. “I just wish they hadn’t said it was your fault.”
I sigh. “Those kids... they don’t understand the whole story. And neither do we, not yet. But I promise, I’ll find out why Victor stopped coaching. It’s got nothing to do with you, okay?”
“Okay,” she replies, but her voice is hardly above a whisper.
“Go get ready for bed,” I tell her, offering a weak smile, “and I’ll come say goodnight in a bit. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.” She shuffles toward her room, her small frame seeming even smaller under the weight of her worries.
Once I hear the click of her bedroom door, I fish my cell phone out from my purse. My thumb hovers over Victor’s name in my contacts list. Part of me wants to call him out, to demand answers, but for Olivia’s sake, I need to play this cool.
Avery