“Daddy! Let’s race again!” Libby begs.
An indulgent smile lifts my lips. “You got it, Libby-Lu.”
And so we run through the same routine again—Libby cheating to get a head start, and me pretending I don’t know how to move my legs on skates.
“Kid’s a natural,” Wesley remarks, skating up to us. “Ever thought about signing her up for some hockey lessons?”
“I think she’s more interested in figure skating,” I admit. Once again, Libby’s eyes are glued to the pretty brunette and those graceful spins. “Who is that, by the way?”
“Remember Hal said we’re getting a new skating coach? That’s her.”
“No way!” It’s hysterical, really. Half the team will have their tongues hanging out, because the young woman is really something to look at. And the other half will get all bent out of shape at the idea of a female figure-skating coach telling them what to do. “This is gonna be interesting.”
“I know, right?” Wesley snickers.
As we watch, a guy I’ve never seen before skates out and takes her hand. The two of them do a graceful arc of back crossovers. Then she spins in closer to her partner and he lifts her off the ice, tossing her into the air. The children clap when she lands on one foot, gliding backwards as if it required no effort at all.
“Daddy! Let’s do that!” Libby says, tugging on my hand. “Throw me, kay?”
“I’m not throwing you,” I say as Wesley chuckles at my fearless kid.
“Why?”
“In the first place, Mommy will have a cow…”
She isn’t listening, though. Libby abandons my boring adult explanation in favor of skating as fast as she can in a circle. She tosses her arms out and tries to spin, but her feet get tangled up and she goes down hard.
“Honey!” I say sharply. “Don’t…”
“S’okay!” she says, getting up quickly enough. She skates in a circle again, picking up speed, her hair streaming out from under her wool hat. “Look how fast I can—”
Wesley and I watch it happen in slow motion. One minute, Libby is tearing around, her little white skates kicking up ice shavings. The next, one of the sleds crosses her path. She doesn’t stop. I open my mouth to call out a warning just as she tears toward the ropes between my teammate Lemming and the sled he’s pulling.
Libby hits the ropes and I brace myself. Instead of bouncing backward she sort of vaults over them. My heart is in my throat as her head angles toward the ice. But then she keeps rotating, landing on her side instead of her head. She’s crumpled on the ice, kicking her feet and wailing louder than Blake Riley’s mother at a home game.
Fear and adrenaline surge through my blood, propelling me to action. I leap forward and race toward my little girl. I scoop her off the ice before Lemming can even turn the sled around and stare at us.
“Oh God!” my teammate bellows. “What happened?”
It isn’t his fault, of course. I don’t even answer. I’m too busy checking Libby’s tearful face. “Where does it hurt?” I demand.
“My…a-arm…” she cries.
And holy shit—arms aren’t supposed to bend where hers is bending. It’s like a parody of a broken arm.
I have exactly two more thoughts before I snap into fix-it mode. One: I hope my daughter isn’t about to see her father cry. And, two: Kara is going to murder me.
Twenty-Four
Because of Radiators
Matt
“What did you do to our child!!!!”
I brace myself as Kara’s shout of terror-laced accusation echoes off the hospital waiting room walls. Her high-heeled boots click impatiently across the linoleum as she marches in my direction. She’s followed by Dan the dentist, who can barely keep up. I glance across to the far corner of the waiting room, where Hailey is seated with June. They’re splitting a bag of peanut M&Ms and flipping through a magazine together.
“Kara.” My voice has a warning in it. Not that she’ll heed it. “Take it easy.”
“I will NOT take it easy!” she shrieks. “I leave her alone with you for two hours and—”
“Stop,” I bark. It comes out louder than I intend, and several heads turn in our direction. Ignoring our audience, I look at Kara—really look at her. She’s as impeccably dressed as always, but her eyes are red and her mouth is a tight line of stress. She looks completely frazzled. “I know you’re scared,” I say, my voice low. “But Libby is going to be fine.”
“Never again,” she hisses. “I told you this was a bad—”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t pretend I’m some incompetent babysitter who doesn’t know how to take care of my own child. I’m her father, and accidents happen.”
“Not to me they don’t,” Kara snaps.
Knock wood, you stupid… I take a deep breath and dig deep, looking for my last reservoir of calm. I can face down any opponent—go chin to chin with a six-four bruiser on skates, and still keep my cool. But Kara makes me nuts. And not in a good way. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned, okay?”
“You don’t, though!” she shrieks. “You don’t learn. They’re never going to one of your team events, ever again.”
These last couple of months it’s been a real struggle to be civil to Kara. I’ve tried to pull out of the rut I’m in with her. But when she lays down the law like this, I know I have to end it right now.
“Enough.” The word is like an anvil dropped onto the floor. “I’m tired of letting you pretend to take the high road. I’m done, Kara.” Several more heads turn in our direction. I don’t want a scene, even if Kara is willing to make one. I lower my voice. “You’re better than this. If I’m such a shitty dad, why are the first words out of your mouth about me? If today was reversed, and I ran in here, the first words out of my mouth would be, ‘Where is Libby?’ But not you, right? You attack me first. You throw down that gauntlet, and you don’t even have time to slow down and let me tell you that Libby is having an x-ray right now.”
My ex-wife gulps, trying to maintain her equilibrium.
Watching her, I feel like my eyes are finally all the way open. “Thing is? You’re not a shitty parent, even though you’re acting like one right now. You’ve been playing this game for so long you’re not even yourself. Blame Matt. Demonize Matt. Try not to think too hard about why you wanted a divorce.”
Her eyes widen, and her cheeks turn bright pink.
“Yeah, I know. We’re going to get to the bottom of that real soon.”
Sensing trouble, Dentist Dan moves closer, his eyes narrowing. “What if you saved the threats for another time?”
I can’t stand the sight of his face right now, and I basically snap. “Are you good at saving things for later?” I ask, equally cold.
He blinks, having no clue where I’m going with the question. But Kara gets it. She never was a stupid woman. Her mouth begins to open and close like a fish’s.
“Tell me this,” I press. “How many Fridays did you take my wife out for a fancy lunch before I even knew I was getting a divorce?”