Page 100 of Penalty Shot

“That was so much fun,” I declare. “You should post those, too. Tag the club.”

“I will. It helps with the sponsorship when I link them to my account. Keeps the registration costs low.”

“Randall Haughland, you are truly a hometown hero.”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“What? You are!”

“This hometown boy is hungry. Let’s grab some Tim Hortons Timbits before checking into the inn.”

When we drive toward my childhood street in Steveston Village, the congestion gives way to smaller streets and tall, narrow homes.

We’ve dropped off our bags at the inn and took a shower to freshen up. Together, to save time, obviously. That was my reasoning and I’m sticking to it.

Without conscious decision, I find myself on Hunt Street. We stop in view of the blue house with white trim around the windows and bright purple rhododendrons flanking a stone walkway.

“This is the house I grew up in,” I announce.

The pang of nostalgia makes it hard to speak, but I had to come out here. Visiting my childhood home is as significant as visiting my mother’s grave, which we’ll do first thing tomorrow.

In these moments, I allow myself to feel something I don’t usually let myself dwell on. Missing her feels like a chokehold.

Alongside the nostalgia, something else takes hold. Anger. My father sold it less than two years after Mom died. The sale closed in the middle of my first season in Columbus and it was like losing her all over again.

“It’s charming,” Elise says. “I bet you had one of those, huh.” She points out the ever-present hockey net.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Randall?” something in her voice draws me back to the present. I’m grateful because the last thing I need before facing my father is to be distracted by memories. Have to get through the evening. It’s what Mom would have wanted and what Dadexpects.

I blink slowly and focus on Elise. She’s wearing that flowing red dress with cherry blossoms. The one she had on when we decided to try our friends-without-benefits arrangement. I shudder a little because that’s not a conversation I ever plan to have again.

Except this time, she’s wearing a light-colored cardigan over her exposed back. I like knowing that underneath her modest cover is skin softer than anyone’s I’ve ever touched.

“Yeah, baby?” I respond with words and with the clasping of our fingers.

She takes a deep breath before speaking in a slow, soothing tone.

“When my father died, I couldn’t look at his favorite mug or the chair he always used in our kitchen without bursting into tears. And it wasn’t just sadness. It was frustration and anger and whatever other stages of grief smarter people have documented and studied. It’s never that simple, though, is it? It isn’t one phase after another. It’s all of those feelings, positive and negative, in a cauldron full of memories and…and wishes that can no longer be granted. I guess what I’m saying is, although you’re not crying, you look the way I felt.”

The chokehold tightens and it’s hard to breathe. I stare at our linked hands and try to get more oxygen into my lungs.

“You can talk to me,” Elise continues. “No loss is the same, but I want to be here for you. I lost someone important to me, too, and maybe, I don’t know, I can understand at a different level? I hope so, anyway.”

“Having you here makes a difference,” I state honestly. “Loving you makesallthe difference.”

“I love you, too,” she says. “I love learning about your childhood, your friends, your passion, your mentors. But I’m not here for only the good stuff. Learning about how you struggledwith this colossal loss, that’s important, too. I like being a tourist in your hometown, but I refuse to be a tourist in your life, OK?”

Her eyes brim with moisture. With her free hand, she wipes away a stray tear.

Elise is saying things I had no idea I needed to hear. I’m so stunned, all I can mutter in response is “OK.”

After a pause, she asks, “Is there anything I should know before we have dinner with your family?”

“Other than don’t bring up my mom because we’re a bunch of emotionally stunted men who can’t stray beyond the safe topics of the weather, work, and money?”

“Wow, money is a safe topic in your house?” she asks, wide-eyed and cute as she tries to lighten the mood.