Chapter 154: Patty XVI—A Difficult Catch

 

            One hundred and eighty minutes.... One hundred and eighty minutes.... One hundred and eighty minutes... The phrase kept twisting in Patrick’s mind every so often. He couldn’t carry a straight thought.

            “.....and eighty minutes, that’s almost a tie with a personal best, do you think you can beat that record and is it your main priority?”

            Patrick blinked and squinted at the red cheeked face that had asked that question. He was a local reporter, one that was popular amongst his teammates in the locker room. Patrick knew his name but he couldn’t think of it at the moment.

            “Yes I think I can beat the record,” Patrick said. “Once the taste of a record is in my mouth it becomes bitable. But that is not my priority. Like I said before, my focus is on the team and how the team performs is my main interest. If it comes down to the fifty ninth minute and only one goal is on the board of course then I would think about maintaining the streak, otherwise I will be quite happy with a win, no matter the score.”

            “So are you saying that once you have a few goals tacked on the scoreboard, stopping every puck you see is no longer your main priority?” a woman had asked that question, he didn’t recognize her, but the tone of her voice irked him.

            Patrick frowned. “Of course I care about stopping every shot that I see!” he said. “I am only saying that there is less pressure when there is more than one goal scored. But I will let them worry about the offense. If the offense seems to be down on a given night then I will invest my complete interest in trying to maintain a shut out. I wish I could stop every shot that I see but of course this is not possible.”

            “Could have fooled us the way you’re playing now!” the first reporter barked and everyone laughed. Patrick made eye contact with him and smiled.

            One hundred and eighty minutes.... how much longer could it be juggled? Could he just approach Saturday’s game as if it were any other game and not think about the record? Looking at it from a mathematical perspective, the odds of shots he was facing and turning away... well it couldn’t last much longer. So why hold it important? This was a team game and he needed to worry about an overall win.

            All right. Then, it was just another game on Saturday. It would just be another win. He had to remove the previous streak from his mind. He had to be distracted!

            He couldn’t remember talking to any of his teammates after the game. Perhaps he did. Or perhaps at the next practice they’ll be making jokes about his cold shoulder to them or one of them would approach him with hurt feelings as to why he hadn’t answered them on Thursday night. It didn’t matter now; he had to be distracted.

            “Awesome game Dad!” Jonathan exclaimed in the car. “You got the puck right?”

            “Of course,” Patrick said with a yawn.

            “Cool.”

            The kids were animated and giggling in the backseat. Normally they were sleepy or quiet but they were excited about the streak. Were they talking to him? He couldn’t quite focus on what they were saying and if it was to him. It was just like listening to the chirping of birds or the yelping of puppies. Perhaps he answered them.

            His body was hurting and still misting heat and sweat. His brain was crashing. He felt like he was dreaming and he was falling silently at a high speed to the ground. The streetlights seemed too bright and he had a funny pain in the back of his throat, as if he were about to start crying. The scent off Michele was sugary and powerful, almost too strong for him to stomach at that moment. He could hear her talking as she drove, but it was to the children, not to him. The heater was on in the car, and it was coaxing more perspiration from him than he was comfortable with.

            The cold air that blasted into the car was a relief to him when they all got out of the vehicle. It felt thin and crisp over his skin. The bite was sharp and dry. He could hear the frantic yapping of the puppy inside the house. He could hear her little claws tearing at the door.

            She exploded out of the house once Michele unlocked the door, a furrball of destruction dancing at her feet. Patrick could feel Jana’s little hand slip into his own, her little body pressing against his side. He was beginning to comprehend it more he was feeling relaxed. He leaned over and picked up the girl and her giggles were a delight.

            “Come on,” Michele said with a light voice, “Let’s get to bed.”

            Patrick wandered into the kitchen while Michele shepherded the children up the stairs. His stomach was growling. He was exhausted to be sure, but the calories and body fluids lost during the course of the game left him famished as well. He was starting to feel lightheaded again and he knew it was due to hunger. There was a fat steak sandwich sitting on a plate in the refrigerator and he blessed Michele for making it.

            “Something to drink?” Michele asked as she came down into the kitchen, having put the children to bed.

            Patrick’s mouth was full and he nodded before turning his full attention back to the sandwich. He listened to her as she opened the fridge and poured him a glass of orange juice.

            “Thanks,” Patrick mumbled as he took a swig of juice.

            Michele was quiet as she sat down. He could hear her small movements; he could see them from the corner of his eyes. He could catch a glimpse of the way her throat pulsed with breath and the movement of her eyelashes as she blinked. His senses were still sharpened from the game, and he still felt as if he had to pay attention to the movements of every creature around him.

            “I’m not going to hurt you,” Michele said in a quiet voice.

            “Eh?” Patrick asked, swallowing down the last bite of the sandwich, stomach placated. He looked at her now. Her smile soft, her eyes sleepy, her face scrubbed.

            “You keep looking at me with the corner of your eyes, as if you’re guarding me or guarding against me,” Michele said. “I’m not going to hurt you. You needn’t look at me like that.”

            Patrick sniffed. “No I’m not,” he replied.

            Michele sighed and pushed her chair back, standing up. He could hear the click of Gigi’s little claws on the floor, the puppy following her every move as usual.

            “Come on,” she said and her warm hand brushed over his shoulder. “To bed. You’re exhausted.”         

            It looked as if Michele was already asleep after Patrick had brushed his teeth and in the bedroom. He clicked off the light and slid under the covers, trying not to jostle her too much. Gigi was sleeping at the foot of the bed, on her side, puppy and master having come to a compromise. He yawned and peered over at his wife, he could see her body moving with her breath, but it wasn’t rhythmic. She wasn’t asleep.

            He rolled over to her and pressed his face into the back of her neck, squeezing her waist with his hand, just slightly. Michele sighed and ran her hand over his before pushing it off her body. “I’m tired,” she whispered.

            “No you’re not,” Patrick whispered back and he kissed the side of her throat.

            “Yes I am,” Michele said in a more stern voice, her word was final, of course.

            Patrick sighed and fell away from her body. He could hear her move as well, and he peered at her. She was lying on her back now; he could see her arms resting over her stomach, rising with her breathing. He reached over and grabbed one of her hands, holding it between them, running his thumb over the soft skin.

            “It’s Jennifer,” Patrick said.

            “What?” Michele said in an uncertain voice.

            Patrick brought her hand up to his lips, kissed it gently and then let it go. “Jennifer is saying things about me to Cecile, that’s why the girl is scared of me.”

            Michele rolled to her side, leaning on one arm. “Really? Jennifer has been tampering with her?”

            “Yes,” Patrick replied. “I don’t know why, but she has been.”

            He could hear Michele make a sound like a sigh and a squeak. “Well, then,” she said, “What are you going to do about her?”

            “I’m thinking,” Patrick said and then he yawned.

            “You better watch out!” Michele said in a needling, teasing tone. “Both of them might slip away from you and then I’d lose all my respect for you! Where would I be then, with a useless husband.”

            They didn’t say anything for awhile. Patrick was hoping to be on the verge of falling asleep but he felt bothered and energetic. He could still smell his gear and the ice in his nostrils; he could still feel a sore spot on his hand where the puck thwacked when he caught it. He could hear the voices around him of his teammates and his throat hurt from yelling so much during the game. One hundred and eighty minutes....

            He could see her pale green eyes, shining like jewels against the pale porcelain of her skin. Girls didn’t come as pale as that anymore. They paid for tans, they died for tanned skin, and they never really protected themselves from the sun. Black hair like a crow’s feathers, glossy, glossy, glossy.... But soft. Slim but soft.....

            Patty! Patty! Patty! Send it over here! Good stop! Keep it up! Wow that was a difficult catch. Avalanche goals scored by number nine Mike Modano!

            Patrick blinked and heard her almost flinty, quick tongued voice, I’m not that kind of girl! Difficult catch.

            Patrick sat up and dropped his face into his hands; his brain wouldn’t shut up. He was feeling more and more alert and there she was as calm as ice. He slid over Michele, kissing her soft mouth, sliding it open, and tasting her, drowning the sounds in his head. Michele moaned and he felt her body quicken and come alive, her fingers at his cheeks, pressing against him. And then she pushed him back.

            “Stop it!” she snapped and he heard Gigi whine from the back of her throat.

            Patrick felt rebuked and sulky and again leaned forward to her. Soft, slippery satin against his chest, a soft body....

            “I’ll go to Jonathan’s bed tonight I swear!” she snipped. “You can stay here with the puppy.”

            “Fine,” Patrick grumbled. “Fine.”

            The last thing Patrick wanted to think about was a puck as he yawned at the breakfast table the next morning. Michele and the children were gone, off to school, the puppy nowhere to be seen, no doubt with Michele. There was a large black puck on the kitchen table and he couldn’t stop staring at it as he poured his cereal. Black rubber disk, smacking off his pad and bouncing between his knees. Little bastard slut of an object, tormenting him, begging to be caught.

            No practice today, he thought with a smile as he picked up the puck and glared at it. You’ll be having no pleasure off me!

            Patrick didn’t see Michele all morning. He supposed she was running around with the coop, getting the last touches in on a photo shoot that would be tomorrow for the charity poster. He wasn’t particularly excited about it, not in the mood to pose for a photograph that would have the team grumbling and sniping at each other for hours. It was made even worse by the fact that he didn’t know what the little harlots were planning for the set-up to begin with.

            Around twelve, an extremely bored Alex Tanguay called wondering if he wanted to grab some lunch somewhere. Patrick didn’t mind that and readily agreed. One of the wonderful things about Alex was how relaxing the boy was. He wasn’t completely sure how honest or pure the boy really was, but he certainly seemed to leave his heart on his sleeve. There wasn’t a need to be on guard or unsure around him.

            “I can’t believe Dru tried beating us to the pies!” Alex exclaimed as he stabbed his penne pasta with his fork. “I mean really! The nerve!”

            Patrick smiled. “They’re not really meant for multiple hungry hockey players,” he said.

            “Well,” Alex huffed. “Still!”

            “Was Chris there when you came?” Patrick asked.

            Tanguay shook his head. “No we saw him leaving.”

            Patrick nodded. It could be innocent but he couldn’t recall Michele mentioning Drury. She told him about the other three coming over for the pies but not about Chris. Of course he knew something about her relationship with the boy when he was a rookie, she never really lied to him about it. She never brought it up but he knew that if he had asked her she would have told him. It had been somewhat amusing to see Drury’s inability to look him in the eye during that time, the guilt obvious in his round face. He would always shift away from him, mumbling his hellos.

            When Patrick came home from his lunch with Alex it was after three and he could see Cecile’s white car parked outside of the house. Michele was not home of course, now left to pick the children up from school. Still, the house wasn’t empty.

            Patrick walked straight into the kitchen. “It’s just me!” he called out in a loud voice so the girl would hear him. “You can lay aside any dangerous weapons you might be carrying! I’m unarmed!”

            He heard the girl laugh, her voice ringing up from the basement. “Of course Mr. Roy,” she called up. “I’ve put the knife back under my pillow! You’re safe!”

            There, that should be out of the way.

            She was down there. Patrick thought about it before he took the alternate staircase downstairs to the other side of the basement. He wandered through his card room, pulling binders out of drawers and blowing dust off other shelves. She was in the other room.

            It used to be simple things like this. He remembered teammates bragging about it before he even tried it himself. A young woman, an older girl, those ones with large blinking eyes and spindly arms, were such a treat. Often they didn’t object, often they didn’t struggle much if they did, and often they didn’t hold grudges for very long. Those were days when pleasures like that were everywhere.

            Now, teenagers were still headstrong but so were enforcement of laws binding them, and the laws that outlined the gray areas between “yes” and “no”. You couldn’t just take what you wanted with abandon. Pascal Trepanier’s fate proved that. Ideally, Patrick knew that boundaries such as this should deter him. Jacquelyn did speak sense when she tried to dissuade him, but telling him he couldn’t have something was not a good thing to do.

            He knocked on the door. He heard a pause, and then the startled voice. “Yes?”

            Patrick cracked the door open, “Good afternoon, little one,” he said brightly. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a red book in her lap.

            “Hello,” she said, a half-smile twitched at her lips. “How are ya?”

            Invitation enough for him, Patrick entered the room. She swallowed; he could see her body tense up. Her fingers tightened on the book in her lap.

            “I am just fine,” he said. “And you?”

            Cecile nodded and her eyes darted briefly to the stairs. “Fine...”

            Patrick smiled at her; this could be too easy, with a nervous young doe like her. “You’re still afraid of me?” he asked just to jab at her.

            Ooooh a flash of anger! It streaked over her face and seemingly deepened the green of her eyes. “No!” she said quickly. “I’m not “afraid” of you as you put it! Not in the least!”

            “Then what would you call it?” Patrick asked selecting as tender a voice as he could. “Your eyes darting to the stairs like that, looking for an escape route?”

            Cecile wrinkled her nose and then relaxed her face. She tilted her pointed chin upwards and he could see the tightening in her long throat. “Wary!” she said decisively and with a power not common in the voice of a girl so young. “And with good reason so I hear.”    

            Patrick swallowed the fresh wash of anger at the thought of Jennifer Foote and he laughed. “Who is telling you terrible things about me? It isn’t fair you know. I should be able to defend myself.”

            Cecile shook her head. “It wouldn’t be fair to them. I promised.”

            “It’s isn’t fair to me,” Patrick put in, “to have my name tainted so much that it makes a young girl I am only trying to be nice to, “wary!””

            Cecile looked down at her lap, dropping her eyes. He could see the reddening in her cheeks. Patrick really congratulated himself on not losing all reason and just mauling the girl right at that moment.

            “I’m sorry,” she said in an almost child like voice. “I don’t like a gossip, and I don’t like being involved in it, and it seems as if I am. But I simply can’t believe that everything I’ve heard about you is a blatant LIE and I simply can’t break the promise I have to her.”

            Patrick couldn’t resist. “So it is a HER?”

            Cecile looked at him, paling and shocked. “Oh heavens please! Stop it!”

            Patrick shrugged. “I will not bother you anymore about it then, yes? See I am a decent person. I won’t distress you anymore, even if you are listening to someone who wishes me nothing but harm.”

            The girl tightened her lips, her brow furrowing. There was spirit there.

            “But if you won’t tell me who it is then at least tell me what she says!” he said.

            Cecile shook her head. “No I can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            A loud sigh from the girl and her face flushed, she couldn’t even make eye contact with him. Patrick grinned inside. Maybe Jennifer was helping him more than she knew if she already had Cecile thinking about him in many unsavory acts, things that made the girl blush to think of.

            “Because, it’s disgusting,” Cecile said. “And I can’t repeat it. It’s just... just wrong!”

            “But not so wrong as to listen to?” Patrick said.

            “OH STOP IT!” Cecile cried. “Please if you’re as decent as you say you are you wouldn’t pick on me like this!”

            “How am I picking on you?” Patrick asked. He could see the gloss of tears sparkling in her eyes. She had a temper, she had a spirit, she had a will up to a certain point and that’s where it stopped. She had strength until the tears.

            “You..” she said. “You’re twisting what I say around, you’re making me... I don’t know.”

            Patrick stood there for a moment, watching and waiting for that first tear to shine and drip down her cheek, to patter on the bed. She wiped at her eyes and then tried to glare at him. “What do you want?”

            “Certainly not to make you cry, chaton,” Patrick said, swooping by her side with a tissue, making sure not to sit next to her, not to scare her. “Please forgive me. I won’t bring the subject up again, it’s not important for me to hear fairy tales about myself if it scares you so much.”

            The girl accepted the tissue, a good sign, and dabbed at her face. “Oh please let’s forget it, really. I would appreciate it. I mean, it would be the best thing wouldn’t it?” she said. She looked at him, her complexion paling. “Please?”

            “Of course,” Patrick said smiling. “I don’t want to be enemies with you, I just want to be your friend. And it just distressed me to hear... no I will not bring it up again. See, there you go, yes?”

            Cecile nodded. “Friends then?”

            Patrick nodded back.

            Cecile sighed. It was a shame, Patrick thought that she was so hidden under a sweater. Sighs like that were meant for a man to enjoy the view.