Chasing Stanley (11 page)

Her mother bounced eagerly in her chair. “Name, I want a name.”

“Jason Mitchell.”

“Is he—?”

“No, Mom, he's not.”

“Not a problem,” her mother trilled. “He can always convert.” The news of Delilah's relationship seemed to have a profound effect on her mother's appetite. Delilah watched in fascination as her mother piled more whitefish salad atop her bagel and bit into it lustily.

“What does he do?” her mother warbled through the food in her mouth.

“He's a hockey player.”

Her mother looked at her blankly. “A what?”

“A hockey player,” Delilah repeated with annoyance. “For the New York Blades.”

“Never heard of them.” Her mother looked uneasy. “Does he have his own teeth?”

“Yes, Mother,” Delilah huffed, though she was embarrassed she'd asked the same thing.

“And he makes a decent living hockey-ing?”

“He's a professional athlete. What do you think?”

“As long as he can support my little girl, that's all that matters.”

“Mom!” Delilah was mortified.

“I know, I know, it's early yet. But the news that you have a boyfriend—” She took a deep breath as her eyes misted over. “Excuse me a minute.” She reached into the pocket of her raincoat and pulled out a tissue, dabbing her eyes. “That's better.” She put the tissue back in her pocket. “When do I get to meet him?”

Delilah panicked. “Not for a while. I mean, he plays hockey a lot. A lot. And he has lots of away games. I mean I barely see him myself.”

“I'm sure he can make time for brunch with his future mother-in-law.” Her mother winked.

Delilah's hands linked tightly beneath the table. “I wish you wouldn't say things like that.”

“Afraid I'll jinx it?”

Delilah nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Mum's the word, then. For now.” Beaming, Delilah's mother rose and came to stand behind her daughter. “I'm so, so happy,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Delilah's neck and kissed the side of her face. “I have to be honest, I was getting a little worried. That last one you brought home was such a loser. And then you were spending so much time with that
feygele
dancer, I thought,
She'll never meet a nice boy.
But you have, and I'm thrilled.
Thrilled.
” Her mother hugged her tighter. “Let me just say one more thing.”

“If you must.”

Her mother showered the top of her head with kisses. “I have a feeling about this, Leelee.”

So do I,
Delilah thought.
I have a feeling I've just painted myself into the tightest corner in the world.

“You're skating like
shit. Get your ass over here.”

The disgust in Ty Gallagher's voice made Jason slink off the ice like a puppy with his tail between his legs. Moronically, Jason had hoped his coach might not notice he was moving at half speed this morning, the result of one of the worst hangovers of his life. Five minutes of practice confirmed everything he'd heard about Ty: the guy didn't miss a trick.

Skull pounding, Jason stopped at the bench where Ty sat with a stopwatch and a clipboard, and waited. And waited. His humiliation grew the longer Ty ignored him. By the time Ty deigned to look up at him, Jason longed to sink through the floorboards.

“What's the problem?” Ty demanded.

Jason swallowed. “I'm not feeling too hot, Coach. I think I'm getting a cold.”

“I had the flu and was running a fever of one hundred and one when I won my second Cup. Don't give me this ‘My nose is stuffed up' bullshit.”

Jason winced and glanced away, unsure of how to respond. Should he just come clean and tell him he was out drinking with Eric and other assorted hockey players until three a.m.?

He hadn't meant to get trashed. But he and Eric were having such a great time that one drink led to another, and before he knew it, late night had somehow turned to early morning. Yet the evening was great only in hindsight; right now, with a head filled with lead and his coach looking at him like he was the lowest form of scum, the previous evening seemed far from worth it.

Jason forced his gaze back to Ty, who was still staring at him with contempt. “You're hungover, aren't you?”

“Yeah.” There was no point in lying. “I'm sorry,” Jason added, heartfelt.

“Me, too. Because we're playing Chicago tonight, and I really could have used you. Instead you're not dressing tonight—
and
you owe me five hundred bucks.”

The thought of not being allowed to play was torture. “It won't happen again, Coach! I swear!”

“You're fucking right it won't happen again,” Ty snarled. “ 'Cause if it does, you're gonna spend the rest of the season as the stick boy.”

“Coach.” Jason was seconds away from tossing all dignity aside and pleading. “I really didn't mean for it to happen. I was out with someone and—”

“Who?”

“My brother, Eric.” Jason removed his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “He can get a little wild sometimes and—”

“Jason?”

“Coach?”

“Let me point something out to you.” Ty still sounded disgusted. “We have a game tonight. New Jersey doesn't.”

Jason was confused. “So?”

“Did it ever cross your beer-sozzled mind that your brother, who just happens to play for a rival team, got you drunk on purpose so you wouldn't be one hundred percent? Or so you couldn't play at all?”

“Uh, no, that never crossed my mind.” The thought made Jason vaguely ill.

“Well, maybe the next time your brother invites you out for a brew, you'll check to see if
Jersey
has a game the next day before accepting.”

“I will,” Jason replied lamely.

“Good. Now get back out there and skate until you puke. You can give me my check for five hundred dollars before the game.”

 

 

“I'm not sure I'm up for this.”

Delilah's mouth felt dry as Marcus ushered her across the threshold of the Golden Bough, a New Age store down in Greenwich Village. Though she'd initially been excited by the prospect of a tarot card reading, now that she was actually here, she wasn't so sure. What if this woman could read her mind and her long-running, secret crush on Wolf Blitzer was revealed? What if the cards said she hadn't a hope in hell with Jason?

Marcus inhaled deeply as he closed the door behind them. “Mmm, lavender. I love coming in here. It always smells so peaceful.”

Delilah nodded in agreement. Marcus was right; the store smelled lovely, and the atmosphere created by the antique rugs and plump armchairs was welcoming. Delilah cocked her head, listening. Celtic music was playing softly.

At the back of the store, a woman sat on a high stool behind a small wooden counter. She was small and curvy, with a wild tangle of red hair and the friendliest green eyes Delilah had ever seen. Spotting Marcus and Delilah coming toward her, she smiled. “Hello. I'm Gemma.”

“Hi, hon.” Marcus rounded the counter and kissed her cheek. “I want you to meet my friend Delilah.”

Gemma held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” said Delilah, who couldn't help but notice the antique sapphire ring on Gemma's left ring finger as it dazzled in the light. “That ring is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Gemma blushed with pleasure. “It was my grandmother's.”

“How do you two know each other?” Delilah asked.

“Gemma is good friends with my friend Theo,” Marcus explained.

“Theo.” Delilah was drawing a blank.

“The performance artist? The one who made a bra out of two CDs and licorice and crashed the Victoria's Secret run-way show?”

“Oh. Now I remember.”

Marcus leaned close to Gemma, flicking a thumb at Delilah. “This one doesn't remember anything unless it has to do with dogs,” he drawled.

“That's not true!” Delilah protested.

Gemma smiled and patted the empty stool next to her. “Here, sit down,” she urged Delilah. Delilah sat. “I can do a bunch of different spreads for you. The simplest is a one-card spread, which might not be a bad way to start off if you've never had a reading before.”

“I haven't,” said Delilah.

Gemma smiled kindly. “Well, there's nothing to be afraid of, I promise.” She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small purple velvet bag, from which she removed a well-worn deck of tarot cards. “Now. What you need to do is think of one question, any question you want, and then shuffle the deck as many times as you want. When you're done, just put the deck down on the counter and turn over the top card.”

“Okay.” Delilah took the cards from Gemma. They were battered, almost flaccid; how many other people had sat right where she was sitting now, hoping for answers and insights? She kept waiting for some feeling of electricity or energy to shoot from the cards to her fingertips, but nothing happened. She decided to concentrate on her first question.

She waited to see what her mind tossed up. An image of Belle swam before her. Delilah quietly asked, “Will Belle's other eye need surgery?”

“You're asking about one of your dogs?!” Marcus yelped.

Delilah's eyes flew open. “This is
my
reading and I'm doing it
my
way! If you don't like, just leave!”

Gemma raised her hands in a gesture of calm. “We need to get centered here, people. This negative energy is not good.”

Marcus made a zipping motion across his lips. “Not another word from me. I swear on Bob Fosse's grave.”

“Go ahead and shuffle,” Gemma urged Delilah.

Delilah once again closed her eyes. She waited until she felt calm again before shuffling the cards. She shuffled twenty times, because it just felt right. Then she put the deck down, opened her eyes, and turned over the top card. The image on the top card looked like ten tree branches sawed perfectly straight at the top and bottom.

Delilah held her breath as Gemma nodded slowly, looking pleased. “It's the Ten of Wands. A very good card in terms of your dog's health. It means problems are solved.”

Delilah let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Can I ask another?”

Gemma looked amused. “That's what you're paying me for.”

Delilah nodded gratefully and took the cards. She liked Gemma. She seemed to know just who she was. Delilah wondered: What did it take to achieve that kind of equanimity? To feel so at home in your own skin?

She asked a bunch of questions about her business, her parents, even Marcus. Finally, she picked up the cards and thought of Jason.
Is there any chance my friendship with him could grow into romance?

It felt like she was shuffling endlessly. Worried that the universe—and Gemma—might be losing patience, she put down the cards and turned over the top card. Staring back at her was a scythe-wielding skeleton stalking a barren landscape.

“Oh, God.” Delilah's eyes began filling with tears. Someone was going to die.

“Relax.” Gemma patted Delilah's arm reassuringly. “This is a very, very good card.”

Delilah looked at her through watery eyes. “Really?”

“Absolutely. The Death card means an overturning of the old life, of rebirth. It means regeneration. Change. Transformation. Shuffle one more time and think of Jason.”

Delilah gasped. “How did you know—?”

Gemma smiled enigmatically. Shaken, Delilah did as she was told. The card she turned up showed three chalices. Gemma grinned.

“Three of Cups. It symbolizes emotional growth, love, fulfillment in marriage or a relationship. That sounds good!”

“It does,” Delilah agreed uneasily.

Gemma gathered up her cards and returned them to their velvet pouch. “These things aren't carved in stone, nor will the universe just hand them to you.
You
have to play an active role in your own destiny.”

“How do I do that?”

Gemma's gaze was unnervingly direct. “Stop being so afraid.”

 

 

“ P lease
don't let
her kick my ass, please don't let her kick my ass, please don't let her kick my ass . . .”

Jason knew his chant was in vain as he and Stanley hustled toward Central Park for their next obedience lesson with Delilah. They were supposed to have practiced the “down stay” command, the next logical step after the “sit stay.” But Jason had been so depressed by not dressing for Chicago, everything else had flown out the window. He spent every spare minute he had preparing mentally and physically for the next game so he would be at his peak. It wasn't until he checked his schedule this morning that he realized he had another lesson with Delilah and had done nothing to prepare for it.

His trepidation abated somewhat as he caught sight of her waiting at their usual bench. She was oblivious to his approach, oblivious to how sweet she looked sitting there all on her own, watching a ponytailed dog owner play Frisbee with his dappled mutt.

“Hey.” Jason couldn't resist breaking into a big smile as he finally came to where Delilah was sitting and told Stanley to sit and stay. He wondered if he should bring up the last time they met, when he'd asked her for coffee and she'd squirmed, despite obviously enjoying their brief kiss. Maybe it was better to let it go for now.

“Hi.”

Jason loved the way Delilah's face lit up when she saw Stanley. She always leaned over to give him a big kiss. How sad was it that he envied his own dog?