Page 140 of Pucking Around

“That really depends on the extent of the injury, but a safe window would be four months. Maybe six,” he adds. “I’ll go prepare the cortisone shot.”

He leaves and I’m left alone with Rachel. She glances up at me, her face relaxed. She’s still holding my hand. “Now we know,” she murmurs, raising a hand to push my hair back behind my ear. “Doesn’t it feel so much better to know for certain? Now we can make a plan. We can fix this, Mars.”

I fight the urge to lean into her hand. Yes, now I know. But I’m not thinking about the injury right now. My mind is spinning over the details of an entirely different kind of plan.

64

This is a nice restaurant. Situated on the water’s edge, a view of the skyline blinks before us all yellow, white, and orange. There’s a light rain, making the lights look hazy through the glass. A live jazz group plays in the corner while a woman sings. I’ve got an expensive glass of red wine in my hand, and a beautiful man sits at my side.

I should be feeling light as air, relaxed to finally have the answers I’ve been craving for weeks. But I’m not. How can I be, when the tension between Ilmari and Doctor Halla sits heavier than a lead balloon?

I clear my throat, taking a sip of my wine. Apparently, Finns are comfortable sitting in the world’s most awkward silences. Neither of them has spoken for a whole three minutes. That may not seem like a long time, but sit perfectly still for three minutes across from another person and see how quickly the tension sets in.

Maybe I’m the only one who feels it. Am I the only one squirming in my chair?

“I find it hard to believe you were so surprised to see me today,” Doctor Halla says at last, his gaze locked on Ilmari.

“I can’t see why,” Ilmari replies.

Halla purses his lips in slight annoyance, setting aside his wine. He ordered the bottle for the table. I’m not surprised when Ilmari drinks only water. “You were traveling to Cincinnati to see a hip and knee specialist,” Halla says. “You truly didn’t consider whether it would be me?”

It’s a fair point. I’m curious myself. I glance over at Mars.

“I would have to consider you at all,” Ilmari replies. “And I don’t.”

The chill in the air is enough to give us all frostbite.

Doctor Halla clears his throat. “Not even when you’re going to see a specialist? You never thought to ask for the doctor’s name?” He turns slowly to look at me. “You didn’t think it important to inform your patient of who they were seeing?”

“I trusted my doctor,” Ilmari says for me. “And the last I heard, you were in San Francisco.”

“That was five years ago,” Halla replies, taking a sip of his wine. “I’ve made contact since then. Christmas cards, birthdays. And I’m told you received my gift when you signed with the Rays.”

“I don’t need your money and never have,” Ilmari counters, seeming almost bored with the whole conversation. “I donated it all to a local charity. Your generous gift is now preserving sea turtle habitats.”

I fight my smile, hiding it behind my wine glass. Mars and his sea turtles.

“Good,” Halla murmurs. “The money was yours to do with as you wished. I’m glad you made use of it for such a noble cause.”

I glance between them, surprised Halla was able to turn that around so smoothly. Clearly, Ilmari is annoyed. He wanted it to sting more than it did.

“How is your mother?” says Halla.

At that question, Ilmari freezes, his hand reaching for his water glass. He snatches it off the table, taking a sip. “Dead,” he replies, setting it back down with a hard clink.

Doctor Halla and I both shift uncomfortably. “How?” he murmurs. “When?”

Ilmari glares at him. “Cancer. Thirteen years ago.”

I do the math quickly. I know he’s thirty years old, meaning he was still a boy when she died, only seventeen. His own father didn’t know about his mother’s death? Ilmari has been alone for thirteen years?

“Do you have any siblings, Mars?” I ask.

“No.”

“Other family?”

“I have the Kinnunen’s,” he replies. “Juhani took me in and paid for my hockey.”