Jase (11 page)

He was sitting down to a dinner one night, when an unknown number rang his phone. “Hello,” he called out, tapping the speakerphone feature so he could continue serving himself.

“Jason Spencer?” a woman’s voice came over the speaker, sounding unsure.

“Yep, that’s me,” he said loudly, looking around for his napkin. Flipping it extravagantly, he settled it across his legs, looking down at his meal of grilled chicken, broiled squash halves slathered with
soft
cheese, and pan-fried green beans.
I’m one hell of a cook
, he gloated, laughing silently.
Road Runner’s got nothing on me
.

“This is Anita Patterson,” she paused and took a breath, “Coach Patterson’s daughter.” She sounded more self-assured now, but there was a fragile tone threading through her voice.

“Nita, yeah. I remember you. You had
a good
slap shot. You hung out at practice and chased pucks.” He smiled at the memory; she was about thirteen when he moved away, first to Quebec and then to Russia. Coach Patterson was his hometown coach before
juniors,
and had helped shape him both as a player and as a man. He held him in the
highest
regard and always made time to see Coach when he went home to visit.

“Jase, Daddy died. Yesterday. I’m sorry I’ve left the call so late, but I just found the paper where he had written stuff down, so I’m calling now. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked and broke on the last words as she sobbed softly over the phone.

His stomach clenched and he reached out to pick up the phone, turning off the speaker. This conversation required more intimacy than yelling across the table. “Anita, honey, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“His heart,” she whispered and cleared her throat. “He had a heart attack. I found him when I went to pick him up for breakfast.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Jase didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t much experience with sympathy, on either side of the fence, so he didn’t have ready platitudes to offer her. Both sets of his grandparents were still alive, and he never had attended a funeral that was personal.

“So I found this paper. And you can say no, I realize it is late notice and a long way to come, but he put you down as someone he wanted at his funeral. He put this pre-planning thing together, and I didn’t know about it until I found this paper. He’s got you down as eulogy and pallbearer. I know I don’t have a right to ask for it, but I’d be pleased if you could. He thought a lot of you, eh?” Her voice trailed off, and then she spoke again, “I’m sorry to bother you, Jase. I found the paper—”

He interrupted her, “When is the service?”

“Day after tomorrow, five in the evening,” she responded quickly.

“I’ll be there. Count me in.” He shivered; those words sounded familiar.

“Oh, Jase, thank you. Daddy thought a lot of you, eh?” It sounded as if she was wiping her nose.

“Is this a good number to reach you?”

She said it was, and from there they talked small details. Jase kept her on the phone until she laughed at least twice, then finished the conversation, hanging up with a promise to text her his flight details.
He called his mother next, verifying he would be able to stay with his parents. He had been planning a trip up anyway, but sometimes she had his nephews over. When she did, there wasn’t enough quiet or room in the house to suit him and he could make other arrangements.

Next day, he was standing in customs at the Calgary airport, waiting on the woman in front of him to finish flirting with the customs agent and move along. Once he was through, he texted his parents then picked up the reserved rental car and headed north.
It was the early days of summer and the scenery this time of year was beautiful. Rolling green prairie to the west ran across a broad expanse of land up to the tree canopy pressed along and against the mountains in the distance. To the east was more prairie, broken only by scattered farms and homesteads.

The sun was slanting to the west when he pulled into Red Deer, and he hit up a Tim Horton’s drive-thru, asking for his usual hometown order of a double-double and a box of Tim Bits. He finished his trip with a grin on his face, popping donut holes into his mouth one-by-one as he navigated the surface streets to his parents’ neighborhood.
Sitting in their driveway for a moment, he looked around smiling. Home was the one place in his life he could count on remaining exactly the same, with an unchanging neighborhood and unchanging people. Simply unchanging.

He exited the car, stretching and rolling the tension of driving for several hours out of his back and shoulders. He was about to pull his bag out of the trunk, when the front door
of
the house opened. “Jase,” his mother called, walking towards him with arms stretched open wide. Jacqueline Spencer was an attractive woman, even at sixty-five. She was nearly as tall as he was, and he thought with a wry twist to his mouth that she would probably still be able to take him down. Shaking his head, he smiled and wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her tightly.

“Hi, Ma.” Grabbing the bag, he turned to walk with her. “You’re looking good. Where’s Da?”

“He’s inside. I’m about to put food on the table, eh? Come in and eat. I’ve made brown toast with the eggs; it’s breakfast for dinner. Your Dad wanted white, but I’m making enough concessions with the frying, aren’t I? You’re looking good, fit and
healthy
.
Healthy
is good. We watched the games, saw you got a
lotta
ice time during playoffs,
didn’t ya
? Congratulations, Jase! My boy’s a cup winner. Oh, it’s good to see you, son.” She never slowed her chatter, just wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him alongside her towards the house.

Entering his parents’ home was like stepping into a time warp back to high school, the décor unaltered and the layout still the same; even the furniture placement hadn’t changed. He craned his neck to look into a hallway to verify and saw that yes, in fact, the same pictures from high school of him and his older brothers were still hanging on the wall. He saw there was a single empty rectangle and sighed, shaking his head.

“Son,” his
father
greeted him, standing at the head of the dining room table and gesturing him over. Ignoring the hand that Jase offered, Kenneth Spencer pulled his son in for a
hug
, thumping him heartily on the back as he released him. “Good to see you, Jase. Go ahead, pull up a chair and help yourself, son. You know how we do it here,” he said, sitting back down and handing Jase a plate. “Looks like you made good time from Calgary.”

“Good time, yeah. Was a shame, though. Traffic was a bit congested in Olds.”

His parents both laughed at the old family
joke,
because while Olds was the largest town between Red Deer and Calgary, it was small enough it was unlikely to ever have a traffic jam.

Conversation continued back and forth during and after dinner, talking about his mother’s charity work and his dad’s staffing issues at the firm where he was a partner. Jase told them about the playoff series, reliving some of the
critical
moments with them. After dinner, one of his brothers showed, bringing his two oldest boys for a quick visit. Their favorite
Unka
Jase wrestled and played with the kids until they were exhausted and irritable, handing the boys back over to their dad with a wicked grin and a shrug.

Bedtime came and he was standing in the doorway of his childhood room, studying the furnishings with a sigh. This was one place he would have enjoyed seeing a change, but time had stopped in this room, too.
Oh, well
, he thought,
I slept my last two years under this
roof with my big, cold feet sticking off the end of the bed. It won’t hurt me to do it a couple more nights
.

The next morning, he dressed for a run and stepped outside, taking a deep breath and
noting
, not for the first time, that the air smelled so different here from Chicago. After stretching, he
set
off slowly, gradually building his speed as he crossed and re-crossed the river for which the city was named, settling into a moderately fast pace for the last half of his run.

***

Breathing hard, Jase paced back and forth in front of the coffee shop for a few minutes, trying to cool down a little before he went inside. It had been a good, hard run through the city he loved, but now he needed some caffeine before heading back to his parents’ house.

Yesterday, he texted Anita when he got into town. He hadn’t wanted to call and pull her away from anything important, but hoped to provide simple assurance that he made it into town and would be ready and prepared this afternoon as he promised.
His mind was circling the coming events, trying to shove down his nervousness not only about speaking in front of a gathering of people, but about the funeral itself. H
e had never
attended one as an adult and wasn’t
sure
what to expect.

He headed inside and placed his order, then strolled down to the other end of the line to wait for his coffee. Glancing around the small shop, he was surprised to see Anita seated at one of the tables, her eyes on the laptop in front of her. Asking the girl behind the counter for another of whatever she was drinking, he bought the frothy cup of mocha-something and picked up both mugs.

Slipping into the seat opposite her, he grinned when without looking up, she told him, “Gimme a sec, I have to get this uploaded.” He
was surprised,
because he didn’t think she saw him come in, and when she finally glanced up from the computer, the shock on her face was nearly comical. She said, “You’re not Bernadette.”

He laughed, handing over the mug of coffee. “Nope, ‘
fraid
not. Sorry to disappoint, Anita.”

She wrinkled up her nose at him, half-standing and reaching across the table for a quick hug. “Jase Spencer, I didn’t think I’d see you in here.”

“Could say the same, Nita.” He settled into his seat, sipping his coffee. “How are you holding up, hon?”

With that question, all the humor fled her face and her lips twisted down. It was as if for a moment she had been able to forget her father’s death, and then his inquiry brought it crashing back down on her. “I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching across awkwardly to cover her hand with his.

She shook her head, waving a hand at him and picking up her mug of coffee. “It’s…thanks, Jase.” She sighed, reaching with her other hand to close the laptop. “I can’t believe he’s gone, eh?” Seemingly impervious to the heat of the liquid, she took a large drink from the mug. “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. He sure thought you hung the moon. He would be glad to see you back home.”

Jase nodded. “It was a mutual admiration society, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t be where I am now if it
weren't
for Coach. He helped keep me focus on what was important, letting all the rest float past. I thought the world of him.”

“And he knew it, Jase. You’d come home for a visit and he loved that you always made time for him. You always made a point of coming to see him at the icehouse, and it’d get the boys fired up for weeks, because the
great
Jase Spencer talked to them.” She laughed, sipping more slowly at the coffee.
“He milked those visits for a long time, would tell the boys you called to check up on one or the other of them. It worked to get everyone to dig a little deeper, work a little harder.”

Jase laughed. “Yeah, but I did call.”

She cocked her head to one side, a puzzled look on her face. “You called to check on the kids?”

“Well, yeah,” he
said
as if it was the only
reasonable
thing to do. “They were good boys; some of them had talent out the wazoo. Like Coach taught me, it’s never too early to evaluate the competition.”

She gave him a brief smile, but it faded too quickly. “Were you out running?”

He nodded, sipping from his mug. “Wanted to get a good run in. It’s offseason, but you never stop conditioning, eh?”

“How are Jacque and Kenny doing?” She smiled when she asked about his parents, and he remembered she had been friends with his little sister at one time.

“Good, real good. Da’s busy with the firm.”

He paused to take a sip, surprised when she said, “As usual.”

“I keep forgetting you know them from before.” Leaning forward, he tapped one finger on the laptop. “College?”

“Work, actually.” She smiled. “I cover
girls
hockey and the local ice scene for a couple of papers.”

“No way. You’re a sports reporter? When did you have time to go to college?” He was
astounded,
because it seemed only a couple years ago she was racing around the rink, chasing down pucks that slipped past the practice lines.

“Silly, I graduated a while ago. Daddy wanted me to go into sports management, but I like the stories behind the players more than anything else. He finally let it go when The Advocate picked me up, then stopped talking about me going back to school at all when The Journal began running my stories.” He was impressed, both the hometown Red Deer
newspaper, as well as the Edmonton one,
had hired her. Jase returned her smile when she glanced up at him and said, “I’ll be headed to Sochi next year to cover the Olympics. Here’s hoping Canada puts in a good showing, eh?”

He reached across and
clicked
the rim of his mug against hers. “Here’s hoping.”

They were quiet for a
minute. Then
she asked, “Where’s Sharon these days?”

He sipped his coffee then shook his head. “Last we knew she was in Florida, some town with a lot of letters in its name. She doesn’t call much.”

“I haven’t talked to her in a couple of years,” she said, leaning back and leveling a gaze at him. “Before she got married, she called all the time, but now…” Shaking her head, she set her mug down. “I don’t think her husband is
right
for her.”