Perfectly Reasonable (17 page)

Chapter 37

Margo breathed in the fresh clean air of spring. Perfect day for Trace’s ball hockey tournament. It was warmer, and the weather forecasters were pretty sure the last of the winter storms were finished. She hoped so. She was so ready for brighter clothes and fewer layers.

She threw her purse and jacket on the front seat beside her and settled into her car. Her car. With a brand spanking new paint job and shiny new windshield. It was so good to have it back. The Spark was great, but there was nothing like zooming around in her zippy little Mini-Coop.

She made a left-hand turn.

The last two weeks had been quiet. Painting was slow. The hotel job had finished, and the new homes weren’t quite ready, so she and Chloe had a few days off.

Lots of painting-on-canvas time. Lots of thinking time. She’d even talked to her mom. Surprise, surprise. Not sure what had changed, but she decided not to analyze it and instead just enjoy it.

The big news? She had decided to go back to medicine.

Her gut clenched, and she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Obviously still a frisson of doubt there, but . . .
she missed it.

Family medicine was a two-year residency. She’d invest the time and energy to get her license and then see. If she still had doubts, she could paint, or even practice medicine part-time and paint. Combine the best of both worlds. She rested her hand on her stomach. Even though there was a tiny bit of terror mixed in, too.

She stopped at a red light and tapped the steering wheel. Really, she could have walked to the ball hockey tournament, but it crossed her mind that a car might be handy in case of an injury. Not that Trace had asked her, but if nothing else, she could offer to help with the first aid.

Actually, she had debated whether to show up at all. It sounded like Trace had everything under control, from what she’d heard from Hattie and Ottie. They were brimming with excitement and couldn’t stop chatting about it.

She, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic. It was a great cause. She knew she should support it. But she didn’t want to see Trace.

Well, she did. But she didn’t.

In the end, she decided to go, offer to help, and aim to stay out of Trace’s way.

Trace. Her heart twisted. After his interview, he had sent flowers with a short note of thanks. The flowers had been beautiful. She’d babied them so they’d last and finally had to throw them out two days ago. But it had been weird reading the words on the card written in someone else’s handwriting. Instead of Trace’s voice in her head, someone else’s popped up between them. She sighed. That was silly, but she longed to hear him again.

She pressed her lips together. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. There was no excuse for her to see him now that his interview was done. He was playing the waiting game. She grimaced. Her too, but for a different reason.

She was waiting to see if he would call.

She pulled into the parking lot and her eyes widened. Trace didn’t go halfway.

A huge tent, with a Breaking Bread banner, was set up in front of two rinks. The rinks were back to back and framed in knee-high boards around the periphery. Tall fences probably twice her height, towered between the rinks and behind the nets at the opposite ends.

Had she really been worried that no one would go? The place was packed. Kudos to Trace.

People milled about. Players registered at a table at one end of the tent. Teams of four in matching jerseys, with the goalies in full ice hockey gear, were waiting for their turn to play at the edge of the rink. Ottie, in his big top hat, sat on a high stool beside the registration desk, surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd.

Opposite, Hattie was busy handing out hot drinks. “Coffee or hot chocolate?” Hattie shouted above the din of the crowd as Margo approached.

Not waiting for an answer, Hattie handed her a cup. “Free coffee, courtesy of Tim Hortons. You here to help, baby girl?” she asked with a smile.

“Absolutely.” Margo took a sip. “They donated this?”

“Yessiree. Coffee and hot chocolate from Tim Hortons, sandwiches from A Slice Above, and free homemade cookies.”

“Wow, a feast. What can I do?”

“Smile and help me serve it up.”

Tim Hortons dropped off half a dozen jugs of Gatorade for the players and had to refill the coffee twice during the morning. It was a big hit.

They had a steady stream of customers. Their generosity was heartwarming, and Margo thanked every one of them for their support.

And she watched Ottie. Every half hour, when the games finished, he hopped down from his stool and recorded the scores on a huge white board under the tent. The rest of the time, she could only see a sliver of his top hat in the center of the crowd surrounding him.

“What’s with all the commotion around Ottie? What’s he doing?” Margo asked Hattie during a lull.

“Signing autographs.”

“Autographs?”

“You’re not goin’ believe it, but Ottie played hockey with the Shields.”

“No.” She turned wide eyes to Hattie.

Hattie laughed. “Four seasons as a professional. No wonder he’s watching all them games. It’s his ole stomping ground. And look at the love they’re showering on him.”

“Wow. He never said anything? He looks like he’s having a blast.”

“His time in the spotlight,” Hattie said with a smile.

As the morning moved into the afternoon, the sunshine came out, and the temperature went up. A slight breeze helped cool the players.

By the time the teams narrowed to eight, then to four, and down to the final two, the tent and all the standing room only spots around the boards were full. Spectators cheered with each whistle. Young adults, families, and a few folks with a sprinkling of gray hair, crowded around the boards to watch the games. The fans were close enough to hear the players as they called out plays or banged their sticks for a pass. The four on four games were fast, with the players running and passing as they covered the rink from net to net.

The last
game was tied as the clock ticked down the
final forty seconds. With only twenty seconds left, the more aggressive team pushed passed the defense and deked the goalie, sliding a backhand shot past his pads. A horn sounded with the goal, and all the fans in blue and white jumped and clapped and high-fived their neighbor. The players, winded and sweaty, grinned and slapped each other on the back.

“Let’s get this done,” said the winger.

They set up at the centerline until the other team brought the ball out from behind the goal line. Ten seconds later, the whistle blew and the game was over.

The noise from the fans escalated until the players finished shaking hands.

Trace took a microphone at the center of the rink and addressed the crowd. “Congratulations to the Sharp Shooters on their win. Well played. And of course, the big winner today is Breaking Bread. Thanks to everyone who helped out, made donations of food and drink, of their time and, of course, their money. Every little bit helps and will go a long way. Thanks to our special guest, Ottie Blakeman. I’ll invite him to center rink to hand out the medals to the winning teams. Thanks again everyone. We hope to see you here again next year!”

Ottie stepped forward and handed out medals to the top three teams, with more handshakes and smiles.

Margo and Hattie cleared the table. The leftovers were packed up for Breaking Bread, and the rental company was standing by to take down the tent.

Just as they finished putting the last of the food away, Trace hurried past. “We’re all heading out for pizza at The Melting Pot. You in?” he shouted to Hattie and Margo.

Hattie laughed. “Oh, no. These old bones have had enough. I’ll drop by Breaking Bread to make sure everything is under control, but then I’m home for a hot bath, a quiet night, and a deep sleep. Let me give you a hug.” She walked over and embraced Trace. “You’re a good boy. Today was a huge success.” She nodded over to Ottie. “In so many ways.”

Trace leaned back and followed her gaze. “Do you think I’ll be able to pull him away?”

“Might be the hardest part of the day,” Hattie said with a laugh.

Trace looked over at Margo. “You’ll come, right?”

Margo hesitated and then smiled. “Sure. That’d be fun.”

Trace gave a thumbs-up. “Great. We’re meeting there in half an hour.” He strode away, calling out instructions to the last of the crew as he went.

Hattie turned to Margo. “You go and show that boy a good time,” she said with a firm nod.

Margo smiled weakly. Hattie’s definition of a good time and Trace’s might be slightly different.

Chapter 38

Margo walked up to the entrance of The Melting Pot as Trace arrived.

“Oh, hi,” Margo said, startled. “I thought you’d be inside already.”

“I ran Ottie home first. He was losing altitude.”

“What a day for him.”

Trace nodded. “He loved it.” He held the door open for her. “After you.”

They walked in and spotted the rest of the crew sitting at a table. Trace waved to them, grabbed Margo’s hand, and pulled her toward the table.

Margo had met the others briefly during the day when she brought them coffee and cookies. The men had been organizing the teams and refereeing, and the two women had looked after registration and timekeeping. Trace introduced her again and held the chair for her to sit beside him.

They ordered pizza and pitchers of beer and snacked on roasted garlic bruschetta while they waited. They were floating on the success of the day, and the conversation was lively.

“How much do you think you raised, Trace?” Rob asked. He was the shortest of the bunch, and as a referee, had probably run eight times that of the players.

Trace shrugged. “Dunno for sure, but I figure around six or seven grand.”

Rob whistled. “That much. That’s impressive.”

Trace raised his glass. “To all the fantastic help today. Couldn’t have done it without the team effort.”

They clinked glasses and congratulated Trace for a smoothly run, successful day.

The pizza arrived and they dug in.

Conversations started around them, so Margo turned to Trace. “Thank you very much for the flowers, Trace. You didn’t have to do that, but they were beautiful.”

Trace finished chewing and wiped his mouth. “You’re welcome. Thanks for all your help. It really made a difference. I could hear your voice throughout the day, whispering advice.”

Margo smiled. “How did it go?”

Trace shrugged. “The group and one-on-one interviews went well, I thought. The MMIs were terrible.”

Margo made a sound to contradict.

“No really. It was awful.” He described the scenario. “There was no good way to end that.”

Margo shook her head sympathetically. “There really isn’t. It was probably more about how you approached it. Showing empathy when you had to break bad news. Exploring what the patient understood. It’s actually a good scenario because you have to talk with a colleague and give good news and bad.” She raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t be easy though.”

“No. Anyhow, it’s done. The research project I joined won a huge grant, and I’ve been offered a full-time position for a year. So if it doesn’t work out with medicine, at least I have something to fall back on.”

“That’s great. Congrats about the grant. When do the medical school offers go out?”

“May second. All the schools send out emails at the same time.”

Margo nodded. “That hasn’t changed.” She took a sip of beer. “That’s the same day I find out about the residency.”

“The residency?”

Margo looked at him. “I’ve decided to go back.”

Trace sat back with a start. “Back? Back to medicine?”

Margo nodded. “I decided to give it another try.” She sighed and shifted her beer mug, wiping the water ring with her napkin. “I’ve applied to family medicine.”

“What about your painting?” Trace asked with wide eyes.

Margo looked at him, surprised. She expected him to be grinning, telling her that there was no question she should go back. “I’ll still do that part-time. I don’t want to give it up completely. I couldn’t. But Chloe wants to take on more responsibility. I’ll do what I can during the two years of residency, and then I’m hoping I’ll be able to balance medicine with painting.” She shrugged. “I’ll try it.”

“Wow,” Trace said, raising his hands. “That’s great.” He reached for his beer. “You know, I was thinking of you when I finished the MMIs. I realized I owed you an apology.”

Margo looked at him, puzzled.

“I got a small taste of how difficult medicine could be with that case. I shouldn’t have said what I did at the hospital with Ottie.” He looked at her with sad eyes. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.” He gulped his beer. “But this is great news.”

Margo’s stomach pain flared. “What happened with Ottie was a bit different.” She forced herself to make eye contact. “Trace, I knew your grandfather.”

“Really? How?”

“I met him at the hospital. I sat down with him and had a conversation about how the procedure was relatively minor. I reassured him he would do fine.”

Trace stared at her. “That was you?”

Margo nodded silently. She wiped the table again and folded the napkin. “I felt terrible when he died. I misled him. I let him down. It must have been hard on your whole family.”

Trace looked at her thoughtfully. “Yes, and no. He knew he was at risk for a heart attack. He had been told that for years and ignored it.” He shrugged. “Is that why you couldn’t talk to Ottie?”

She nodded. “I was afraid I would say something to make it worse. I felt awful, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. I’m sorry.”

Trace covered her hand with his. “Hey, it’s okay. Ottie understood. He was totally cool with it. I was the one who was out of line. I’m sorry for making you feel like you did something wrong.” Trace squeezed her hand. “You’ll be fantastic. Medicine needs you.”

Margo smiled weakly. “You’ll be fantastic, too. I hope you get in.”

Trace looked at her. More than ever, he hoped so too.